by Annie Murray
Bobby nodded shyly. ‘S’all right. I shouldn’t have no problem finding a trip. We’ll all be back right as rain in a few weeks. Sorry to go, though.’ He glanced at the cabin of the Theodore and just as he did so Dot climbed out.
‘Breakfast,’ Maryann said. ‘Pass the other one to Sylvia, will you?’
‘I’ll be off then, soon.’ Bobby said.
‘So you will.’ Dot stood, somehow at a loss. She looked down at her boots then back at Bobby. ‘It won’t be the same – not without you to squabble with!’
A grin spread over Bobby’s handsome face. ‘You’re all right,’ he said, then added with a chuckle, ‘Dorothy Higgs-Deveraux!’
Dot blushed. ‘All right – I can’t help it!’
There was a crackle and a hiss and a voice called out harshly over the tannoy, ‘Mrs Bartholomew, Bartholomew, of S. E. Barlow carriers – to the office, please!’
Putting her half-finished breakfast down, Maryann hurried over to be assigned the next load.
The office was already humming with activity and the red-faced man at the desk handed her her clearance papers, hardly even looking up at her.
‘Steel billets – up to Tyseley.’
Maryann froze. She couldn’t seem to force her hand out to take the papers. She could hear the blood banging in her ears.
‘Come on – here y’are.’
‘But–’
‘What’s the matter?’ He spoke impatiently. You’re unloaded and ready, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’ How could she begin to explain why the thought of going to Birmingham filled her with such fear? There was a huge quantity of steel to be shipped to the Midlands and it was one of the main cargoes and a good load. Why on earth would she object? The silence went on and her cheeks burned. She felt more and more stupid, as if everyone in the office was watching her. Forcing her hand out, she took the papers and walked shakily out into the fresh morning. She pulled her old cardigan round her and stood for a moment, looking out across the low tide of the dock. She took in a deep breath, smelling the rank mud.
I won’t be afraid, she told herself. I won’t let him make me be afraid. And she turned and marched back to the boats, where the others were waiting.
Right, let’s get going,’ she said. We’re carrying steel to Tyseley.’
‘Can you come?’
Dot was standing out in the darkness. They’d tied up quite late after the first long day of work, of getting used to crewing together again. ‘It’s Sylvia. In a state. I need you. You know me. Can’t think what to say.’
Maryann glanced round her cabin. The children were only just settling for the night.
‘I’ve got to go and see Sylvia for a minute. Go to sleep,’ she commanded, fairly certain they would. It had been a hard day and it was late. She felt fluttery with nerves, wondering what was wrong. It was only at times like this that the age gap between Dot and the other two of them became so obvious. Dot hadn’t the experience of men and marriage.
It had started to drizzle and Maryann could feel the droplets brushing her face as they stumbled back to the butty in the dark. From inside the Theodore came the low sound of Sylvia sobbing. Maryann felt Dot’s hand on her arm.
‘Thing is,’ she whispered, she’s been all right all day. At least I thought she was. We were just getting ready for bed and I knocked her with my elbow by mistake, when I was taking off my woolly. And she just crumpled. I don’t know … I’m so bad at all this.’
So am I, Maryann thought. She already felt overwrought because of her own worries, but she was full of unease about what she had seen at Sylvia’s house. Not that she’d seen much, but there was just something about the atmosphere, about Roy Cresswell that had disturbed her.
‘Let’s go in to her,’ she whispered to Dot.
Sylvia was sitting on the side bench opposite the stove, on which the dipper stood which she had been using to have a wash. Rose was flat out, asleep on the bigger bed. Sylvia had her blouse unbuttoned down the front and was holding the sides of it together across her chest, arms wrapped round herself, head down and shivering. Maryann cautiously sat beside her.
‘Sylv?’ she spoke softly, but instinct told her not to touch the woman.
There was a silence before Sylvia said, ‘I just can’t stop crying.’ She sniffed and loosed one arm to search for her hanky. It was the first time Maryann could remember her not having one to hand. She wiped her eyes, but more tears ran down her cheeks, shining in the lamplight. She stared ahead of her. Her shivering seemed to increase in intensity.
Dot picked up the kettle and indicated that she was going outside to fill it from the water can. ‘I think we need some tea,’ she said.
Into the silence, Maryann whispered, What happened?’
Sylvia turned to her, looking into Maryann’s eyes as if seaching for something and her own filled with tears again.
‘Oh, Maryann, I’ve tried so hard, for so long.’
‘I know,’ Maryann said soothingly, sensing it was the right thing to say. I know you have.’
Abruptly, Sylvia pulled open her blouse and let it slide down over her shoulders so she was naked but for her brassiere.
‘This is what happened.’
Even in the poor light Maryann could see the welts, sharp and angry across Sylvia’s back and shoulders. Just then Dot climbed back in and stared, wide-eyed, at the sight of Sylvia’s back.
‘Dear God!’ she breathed.
‘Oh, Sylvia.’ Maryann couldn’t hide how appalled she felt either. ‘That looks terrible. Why didn’t you say before? Those must have hurt so much all day while you were working. Dot, get the kettle on and we’ll bathe them for her! Put your blouse on and keep warm a minute, Sylv.’ She tried to sound calm, but she felt shaky, horrified at the violence inflicted on Sylvia’s back. The marks were big and deep and angry.
‘He did most of it with his belt.’ Sylvia was sobbing, shaking. She looked up, with frightened eyes. ‘The thing is, I think I’ve just left my marriage.’
The words sunk into the quiet of the room.
‘He did that to me last night after we’d got ready for bed. I’d told him I was coming back here, to the boats. He doesn’t like me working or doing anything outside the house at all. It’s got worse since the children have been away. I suppose he thought they kept me inside, in his control. I never went to bed afterwards, last night. I sat up until he’d fallen asleep and then I got all my things ready bundled up and I left before it was light. Walked for miles. Didn’t care. I’ve … I think I’ve left him,’ she said again.
‘But – your children?’ Dot jiggled the kettle as if hoping this would encourage it to boil faster.
‘Well, fortunately they’ve just gone back for another term.’ She drifted off, still hugging herself, rocking slightly back and forth.
‘Has he done this to you a lot?’ Maryann asked gently.
‘No – oh no. Hardly ever. Just once or twice, but never as bad as this. This isn’t the worst thing. Not really. At least when he did this he was full of – something that I could see. Something like feeling, anyway.’ She glanced at Maryann for a second. ‘I’m afraid there’s something terribly wrong with my husband. It’s taken me years to see exactly. I always thought it was me, you see. That I was doing something wrong.’
Dot poured some warm water into a basin.
‘Let us see to those sores, Sylvia, eh?’
There’s a clean hanky of mine under my pillow,’ Sylvia said. ‘And I’ve got a bottle of witch hazel – over there.’ She pointed. There’s iodine somewhere.’
Between them, with gentle hands, Maryann and Dot bathed all the welts and cuts and dabbed iodine and witch hazel on the cuts and bruises. Sylvia hissed with pain when they dabbed on the iodine, but she didn’t complain. When they’d finished, they helped her ease her nightdress very gingerly over her head and shoulders. Dot made and poured the tea.
‘Perhaps you could do with some of this?’ Dot held out the whisky bottle.
<
br /> ‘Yes,’ Maryann and Sylvia said together and Sylvia laughed suddenly.
‘Look at us!’ she spluttered, voice rising hysterically. Dot’s even handing it out like medicine!’
‘Each one to their poison,’ Dot said dryly, pouring a tot into each teacup.
‘What did you mean, you thought you were the one in the wrong?’ Maryann asked.
For a second Sylvia sagged, leaning her blonde head on Maryann’s shoulder. Moved by this, Maryann put her arm gently round Sylvia’s waist. After a moment Sylvia braced herself, sitting straight again.
‘Roy and I were introduced through a friend of my mother and father. We’re both about the same age. He was nice looking – handsome really – and polite. A bit stiff – I noticed it even then, but I thought it was shyness. He liked me, I thought. Oh, I was such a silly thing. I was young and I just thought it was astonishing that any man would like me. Hadn’t really had any experience, you see – sheltered life, girls’ school. He asked me to marry him quite early on and we got engaged, nice ring, the lot. I mean, it took me quite a time into the marriage to see, really see that there was something not right. Roy had been to one of those public schools which can make men a bit sort of stiff and humourless. He was never nasty, exactly, not then. It wasn’t anything really that you could put your finger on. He was trying to be pleasant and a few months after the wedding I conceived Kay.’ She paused for a moment. ‘It took me years to work out that it wasn’t me. You couldn’t exactly fault Roy. He got a good job in town, he worked hard and we had our children. He was quite considerate, but I always found him very cold, in his feelings. As if he was going through the motions but wasn’t really there. That’s what I mean about thinking it was me. I thought maybe I couldn’t make him feel the right things, make him laugh more or be sort of spontaneous. He’s very wooden. I barely knew any other men – not well, and I’ve no brothers, just Ruth, my sister – so I thought maybe they were all a bit like this and if you were a proper wife you could get round it. I tried so hard. He’s always liked me to look the part – you know, nicely dressed and made up. D’you know, I’ve got to the point where I can’t stand my face without make-up now! Silly, isn’t it? Anyway, he was all right with the children – not demonstrative, but proper. A good provider. But he can’t stand change. Not without warning, anyway. I moved the furniture round in the sitting room once while he was at the office and when he came home he was absolutely furious.’
She took a drink of tea, then stared bleakly into her mug. I’ve been so lonely. I didn’t know how much until I came on here with you two. Actually, just a few months before I came I had to go to my doctor about something. He’s a nice man, not one of the sort who talks down to you. Roy had been home on leave then as well and I was feeling very low. Really in the doldrums. He’d been worse than usual – perhaps he found the adjustment to coming home again difficult – but he was cold and silent and wouldn’t talk to me or the children. It’s like living with a machine, really it is!’ She stopped for a moment, fighting back tears.
‘He just kept on making these wretched models he’s forever building. He’s obsessed with them. He gets obsessed with all sorts of odd things … Anyway, I was so miserable and I didn’t have anyone to turn to, and I ended up blurting it all out to the doctor. He was rather wonderful, I must say. He listened and asked me some questions. Then he said, “You really shouldn’t be blaming yourself, Mrs Cresswell. I do believe it’s not your fault.” He told me he thought Roy might have some sort of mental condition. He said there were doctors who’d done new research and that some people were born like Roy, and they can’t understand emotions like other people. You see, I felt sometimes, if I looked at Roy and smiled, perhaps, that he was sort of reading my face and waiting to find out what to do before he could smile back. As if he didn’t know how without watching me. Anyway – I did feel better thinking he really had something the matter. But then he’s still my husband and all these years of living with him have made me feel dead inside. And when the war ends I’d still have to live with it, whether it’s my fault or not, and I can’t.’ She wept again for a moment before going on.
‘Yesterday he was very edgy. As bad as I’ve ever seen him. He was having to go back and he can’t stand the fact that I’m on here. He more or less ordered me to give it up and stay at home. He was hateful about it. And I just told him I wasn’t going to take any notice of him … I rather lost my temper. That stupid matchstick ship he keeps fiddling about with and never any proper company or conversation. Not ever, really. That was when he came after me.’
She sat silently, shaking her head, before saying, What have I done? I can’t take in what I’ve done.’
‘But,’ Dot said, ‘does your husband know you’ve left? Really left? I mean you could go back – if you wanted.’
‘Oh no. No.’ Sylvia sat up straight. ‘I’m not going back to that. Never. Whatever I have to do – even if I have to live in a potting shed with Kay and Dickie, I’m not living like that any longer. Being here with you two has shown me how much better things can be. I can’t go back.’
Maryann watched Sylvia’s face, the determined tilt of her chin as she spoke, feeling for her. But, she thought, you can’t just stay here! Joel will be back, and Bobby, and we shan’t need you. But she touched Sylvia’s hand, and at this sympathy Sylvia’s face crumpled again. Whatever have I done?’ she said. What am I going to do?’
Thirty-Two
‘Hello there – you’re a sight for sore eyes!’
Maryann walked into the toll office at Tyseley, to be greeted by a familiar gap-toothed smile.
‘Awright, Charlie?’ She felt a grin spread across her own weary features, which immediately froze again as Charlie said, ‘Funny you should roll up today. Had a bloke in with a message for you yesterday. Come in special like. Here – what’s up with you? Don’t you want to hear it?’
‘No!’ she was already on her way out of the office. They had to leave straight away. How did he know? The very day she was coming back to Birmingham – only hours before and he was here, looking for her! Her chest tightened until she could scarcely breathe and every hair seeming to stand up on her body. How did he know? Once more she had the feeling that he knew every move she made, as if he was forever watching.
‘Maryann…’Charlie ran after her, grasping her arm to stop her. He looked into her eyes and she saw his face change at the fear and desperation he saw there. Look – he said he was your brother.’ He held her for a moment by her upper arms, then his hands dropped to his sides. He saw her panicky breathing subside a little.
‘You all right?’ he asked gently.
‘My brother? What did he look like?’
‘Young. Dark.’ Charlie shrugged. ‘Thin, like.’ It sounded like Tony. Certainly not like Norman Griffin.
‘He said your mom’s been took bad – thought she wouldn’t last the night. Said if your boats was to come in in the next day or two, you’re wanted at home.’
‘Home?’ Maryann laughed bitterly. ‘That’s a good ’un. Anyroad – ta, Charlie. Sorry for snapping at you.’
He watched for a moment as she set off back along the wharf, arms folded across her wiry form as if holding herself in. She was a smasher, that one, he thought. Worked like a little Trojan.
Maryann slowed her pace and stopped, looking along the wharf towards where their boats were tied up. She stood still, the life of the wharf going on around her, and felt cold and suddenly exhausted. All the way up from Limehouse she’d forced away her dread of coming back here. There was enough else to think about. As well as the everyday busyness of the boats and the family, Sylvia was in pain and Dot was still quietly grieving. She felt for them both and it was easier to think about their problems than face her own. They sat together at night and talked about Roy Cresswell and what on earth Sylvia was going to do, and allowed her to cry and let out some of the anguish over her marriage.
‘I never felt loved,’ she sobbed one evening. Not properly.
Not once in twelve years.’
Though they were so fixed on comforting Sylvia, Maryann sometimes noticed Dot looking at her, wondering, and she was sure Dot and Sylvia talked about her, about the nightmares, trying to work her out. But how could she talk to them, bring all the past out into the open? It was dirty and shameful. No one else would ever understand except Janet Lambert. And Amy … oh God, Amy! How could she tell them any of the nightmare that went on in her head day after day?
And now Tony had come. For what? she thought angrily. As their mom’s messenger? And what the hell does she want? Me there at her deathbed telling her what a wonderful mother she’s been and how she’ll go straight to heaven?
She felt her face twist with hurt and bitterness. If there was anyone she needed to be with while she was here it was Janet Lambert. Janet had been kinder to her than her own mom had ever been. And they were in it together – the hell that was ever having anything to do with Norman Griffin.
But she thought about Tony coming all the way over to Tyseley to find her. He needed her. And she owed him, her little brother, little Tony whom she’d left behind when she ran away from home to join Joel on the cut. She couldn’t just ignore him. She’d tell Sylvia and Dot that they would have to delay leaving.
‘We’re going to visit your grandmother’s house.’
She couldn’t call her mother any of those pet names – Nana, Nanny, like she’d called her dad’s mother, Nanny Firkin. Just the cold truth. Your grandmother. My mother.
‘Have we seen her before?’ Joley asked, puzzled, as they set out the next day. She took all the children except Rose, who begged to stay with Sylvia. There was enough for Dot and Sylvia to do on the wharf without minding all her kids again, and she wanted them to see Tony. It was a Sunday, but as they waited for the bus into Birmingham, Maryann thought for a moment that the atmosphere of the morning was missing something. It was too quiet. Of course, it was missing the sound she remembered from childhood – church bells. The war meant that they were still not allowed to ring out and the street felt eerily deserted.