Water Gypsies

by Annie Murray

  Forty

  The Esther Jane’s engine coughed, then jumped into throbbing life in the dawn, scattering alarmed moorhens towards sanctuary in the reeds. The Bartholomews had tied up the boats for the night on a remote stretch of the Oxford cut, and woke to find themselves still alone, no other boats nearby. The water was a deep, muddy green, lightly veiled by shreds of mist.

  From the back of the Theodore Maryann watched Joel, ahead of her on the Esther Jane, catch the rope flung to him by Ezra, who then scampered expertly back aboard before Joel poled the boat off the mud close to the bank. Maryann fixed the helm in place while Rose untied the Theodore from its mooring pins. They were in a good position to move off, she noticed with the small part of her mind that was paying attention. The routine of morning departure was so familiar as to be automatic. She steered out behind the Esther Jane, smelling the churned-up mud. Ahead of her, Joel stood at the tiller, cap on his head, looking resolutely in front of him.

  When we were first married, he kept turning round, waving at me, she thought. As if he couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t believe I was really here. And I was the same. Not now, though. She gave a sigh out of her deep sadness, watching Joel’s implacable back, which was turned firmly towards her. God help us, she thought. What’s happened to us? How did everything get like this? Here they were again, Joel with the boys on one boat, her and the girls on the other. That was how it was now – separated by night as well. And, in the daytime, barely speaking. Nothing had been right since Joel came back. The initial shock of events had brought them close for a while, but ever since they had seemed to grow further and further apart.

  Distracted by a sound from the cabin, she peered through the hatches to see if the kettle was boiling yet. Sally was trying to wipe over Ada’s and Esther’s faces and Ada was squawking and fighting her. The twins were a handful, but Sally was managing.

  It was her fault, Maryann knew, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted Joel close to her, to feel the comfort of him, yet she couldn’t bear it when he came near her. At first they’d had Sally with them in their bed, keeping her safe, trying to comfort her. After two nights they had moved her onto the side bench so they could reclaim their marriage bed, and Joel was so hungry for her, so insistent. He was her husband, of course he was – what was wrong with that?

  She lay frozen in the roseate light, hearing his sighs of pleasure as his hands moved over her, caressing, pulling her close against him so she could feel how urgently he wanted her.

  ‘Oh, that’s better.’ She felt his breath against her ear. ‘Oh, my bird, I’ve missed you. I know I’m home now.’

  She tried to respond, to lie close to him, her hands stroking his wide back, his hair, trying to desire him, to want what had to happen. Eyes closed, she tried to force her body to cooperate with the sensations of Joel’s lovemaking. His breathing became fast, excited. Maryann felt a frightening tightness growing deep within her. She She broke out in a sweat, not just from the heat of his body close to hers but from utter panic, and she found herself struggling for breath. Forcing her eyes open, she looked into Joel’s face. Why did she feel so cold and detached from him? Why couldn’t she just love him back? This is Joel, your husband! Joel, who loves you. His eyes were shut, his lashes rusty-coloured arcs, closed against her, mouth feeling for her with the blind instinct of a baby, wanting her, kissing, nuzzling … The tightness in her swelled and a whimper escaped from her which Joel heard as an indication of pleasure and he rolled over onto her, weighing her down with what felt an inescapable weight. And all at once, in the shadowy light, the lips reaching for hers were not his, the face breathing hotly on her in the gloom not Joel’s, but scarred and pitted, horribly distorted and the eyes boring into her with what seemed sadistic lust were Norman Griffin’s when he forced her down in the front room in their Ladywood house, heavy as a fallen statue on top of her, trapping her under him so she could not move. Revulsion and panic exploded in her and she tore at Joel’s back with her nails, kicking, struggling, letting out desperate, muffled cries under him.

  ‘Get off me – get off, let me out!’

  She sank her teeth into his shoulder and bit hard, panting and crying and Joel reeled back from her, clutching at the deep welts she had made with her teeth.

  ‘ Darn it! What the—? What the hell d’you do that for?’

  Through the blood pounding in her ears, she could barely hear the frustrated anger in his voice. She had curled into a tight ball on her side to protect herself and for some moments couldn’t be sure if she was inhabiting her younger self or her daughter. Sally’s suffering possessed her, wrapped itself round her tightly with her own memories. She was a child again, trapped in a dark place, terrified of what would be done to her. The horror began to choke out of her. She moaned and sobbed.

  ‘Maryann? Love?’Joel sounded frightened. Cautiously he touched her shoulder, but she fought him off. She was still horror struck and could not see him as he was. He was someone else, someone dangerous. She was so far down in her pain and fear that she barely knew he was there. Joel knelt, watching her, bewildered. Nothing had happened like this before. Not even in the early days, when she was afraid to give herself to him. He had known she was fragile, had suffered something, but he had been confident then that with enough patience, his gentleness and the pleasure of love would thaw her and bring her through. He knew no other way – this was what was natural to him. And it had done, he thought. He had touched her with care and respect and loved her into pleasure. He had never before seen her as she was now.

  After a time her crying stopped and she lay quiet. They were both silent behind the little curtains veiling the bed. Maryann looked out from between her lashes, as if emerging from the darkness to see little chinks of soft light, and sensed Joel still close to her, heard his breathing. Her cheeks were wet with tears and she felt exhausted, wrung out. She could not look at him.

  ‘You don’t want me,’ she heard him say flatly.

  She couldn’t bring any words to her lips to reassure him.

  Eventually Joel pulled up the bedclothes with a heavy sigh, turned away from her and was soon asleep.

  It had not got any better. It was a month now. In those early days when Sally was back with them, Maryann had been very gentle with her. At first the little girl wouldn’t speak at all and seemed in a trance. Day by day, though, she became more herself as the impact of the shock receded, and she began to get up and play with the others. Maryann had warned them not to ask her questions, and in any case they soon forgot their curiosity about where Sally had disappeared to and she, though quiet and seeming older suddenly, fitted in with them as before. Alone, though, sometimes Maryann tried to get her to talk.

  ‘Did he touch you?’ she asked her, one day in the cabin.

  Sally stared back at her, wide-eyed. It took Maryann back to the day she had asked the same question of Amy and Margaret Lambert and seen the fear and shame flicker in their eyes.

  ‘ That man – Mr Griffin. Did he do things you didn’t like? Touch you where he shouldn’t?’ She wanted to speak calmly but somehow the words came out sounding harsh. ‘It’s all right,’ she added more gently. ‘If he did, he shouldn’t’ve done. It’s not you that’s wrong – it’s him.’

  She saw her daughter’s blue eyes fill with tears. ‘ I shouldn’t’ve gone with him. He said he’d get us all some nice things – sweeties and that …’

  ‘ Course he did!’ Maryann said fiercely, sitting down beside Sally and putting her arm round her. ‘That’s because he’s a bad man and a liar. Weren’t you frightened – of his face and the way he was?’

  ‘ A bit. But he spoke to me ever so nice. And he had a little dolly with him in a pretty dress, said he’d give it me in a minute, when we got to where we was going. He never did, though.’

  ‘And where did you go?’ Maryann asked, heart beating faster.

  ‘He took me in his moty car, said I could have a ride if I was good and quiet. We went to a shop and bought s
ome mints and he said I could have them when we got home. He never gave them me. Then he took me to a house. Later, when it was dark. I kept saying I wanted to go home.’

  ‘Where was it?’ Maryann couldn’t help asking, even though she knew that Sally could really have no idea.

  ‘He wouldn’t have me sitting in the car. Said it was a game and I had to lie down on the floor and he put a rug over me so I never saw nothing. When we got to the house – ’ her voice stalled, became halting – ‘he said I wasn’t to make a noise, wasn’t to cry. I don’t know where it was. It was all brown inside. And he took me upstairs and there was a bed and a woman’s face and he made me … he made me … she kept looking at me all the time …’

  ‘ A woman?’ Maryann frowned.

  ‘On the wall. I went into the picture with the lady. She was pretty. She had a hat on with a feather in.’

  The picture. It came to her. The picture of Norman Griffin’s mother with her proud, stern face.

  Maryann gently pulled her into her arms. ‘Oh, my baby. My poor baby.’

  Thoughts of what he had done to Sally wouldn’t leave her. Maryann felt scraped raw. She knew now that the fringes of these feelings had begun to surface again when she was in the hospital in Oxford, and she had pushed them away. But now memories kept coming to her at odd times, unbidden except by a chance fall of the light, certain smells: sweat, a whiff of smoke from someone’s cigarette, an odd sound or feeling of cold on her skin. Her own wounds tore open, memories she had long hoped to bury seeping out again and, with them, the terrible knowledge of what he had done to her daughter when she had been unable to protect her. Once again he seemed to be everywhere, creeping, oozing into every situation. Life became like a bad dream, in which he was the dark shadow at the end of each corridor, the face at every window.

  Yet she couldn’t speak of it, or explain it to Joel. Standing at the helm of the Theodore that morning, she felt utterly hopeless. Even to Sally she could not bring herself to say that this man had been her stepfather and had committed the very same foul acts with her. It was too shameful, too hard to bring the words out or explain. She found herself longing for Dot and Sylvia. Though she had never brought herself to talk to them about it, now she felt as if that might just be possible. They would try to comfort her, would not demand anything from her. It would be so much easier than trying to speak to Joel, who wanted her love and her body so badly, yet each time he tried to get close to her she suddenly became like a frightened child again, crying out and sobbing with panic. And, she thought, rage flaming in her, he never asked, never tried to understand why she felt as she did. He had just cut himself off from her, hurt and rejected, unable to find any words of comfort for her. She felt utterly abandoned and lonely, even though Joel was here with her only yards away along the cut.

  Forty-One

  As spring slid into a warm summer, the Bartholomews’ boats worked the Oxford cut. As they travelled north this time, on the stretch where the Oxford shared a section of cut with the Grand Union, Maryann kept an eye out to see if she would spot Sylvia and Dot. Last time they came along here, they had spotted each other close to Nethercote and there had been much excited waving and calling out, exchanging scraps of news while on the move. Sylvia, steering the monkey boat, actually jumped with excitement on catching sight of them.

  ‘Maryann, we miss you! Is everyone all right? Coo-eee – Rose! Hello, darling – see you soon!’ And she blew kisses as they passed and her voice faded.

  And then Maryann spotted that their third crew member, all smiles beside Dot on the butty, was Bobby! The children waved and shouted.

  ‘We need you!’ Maryann teased. ‘What’re you doing on there with them?’

  ‘Keeping these two in order!’ Bobby shouted. ‘That’s what he thinks!’ Dot called.

  Bobby’s grin and Dot’s tanned, radiant face came to her and her spirits lifted. If only they could all be together, she thought as they moved apart, calling, ‘See you soon – somewhere!’

  It was a month since they’d been to Birmingham. They made their way through the city on a muggy afternoon, the air heavy with smoke and fumes. The noise of the place seemed overwhelming to Maryann: the roar of buses and shriek of brakes on the bridges running over the cut, the clatter of trains and racket from the factories along the banks. She felt wound up to the hilt, her nerves assaulted by the noise, and she wanted to ask Joel to turn round, for them not to have to be here. But of course they couldn’t turn round when they had a full load of coal to deliver, the laden boats riding low in the water. Even if she called to Joel, who was ahead of her, he couldn’t hear her. After all, she thought sadly, when did they ever really speak to each other these days in any case?

  While they were unloading at Tyseley, Maryann went to find Charlie Dean. Looking up and down the wharf, she soon spotted his jaunty figure by the cab of a truck, squinting as he looked up at the driver, cap tilted to the back of his head. She waited, arms folded, until he turned and saw her. She forgot for a moment all her grim troubles, when his face broke into a grin at the sight of her in her blue frock and boots, dark hair curling round her face. She was one who didn’t half make him wish he was young and free and that she wasn’t already wedded to another man!

  ‘Hello there!’ He strode over. ‘Bout time you got yourselves back here – haven’t seen you in weeks!’

  Maryann managed a smile at the sight of Charlie’s cheerful, coal-smeared face. The sensation of the corners of her mouth lifting felt unfamiliar. God knew, there’d been precious little to smile about recently. But Charlie’s features grew solemn again.

  ‘No news for you, I’m afraid. Nothing, even now. The fuzz aren’t getting nowhere and no one’s set eyes on that Griffin bloke. Not a peep. Sorry, Maryann.’

  He saw her face tighten and, as on other occasions, had to fight a desire to put his arms round her to try and give comfort.

  ‘What’re they playing at?’ she demanded furiously. ‘They must’ve done summat by now! How many more people’s he going to do in before they get to him?’

  ‘They just can’t seem to find where he’s gone to earth. His car turned up, miles out somewhere. But no one’s seen hide nor hair of him. D’you think he might’ve gone away from Brum?’

  Maryann shrugged. ‘Someone must’ve seen him.’ Her mind seemed to drift. ‘Ta anyway, Charlie,’ she said and began to walk off, her thoughts miles away. Charlie watched wistfully. Maryann always touched a soft spot in him. And her suffering wrung his heart.

  Being in Birmingham tore the wounds back open. Unable to think of anything else, Maryann did the rounds again. One of them must know something: Pastor Owen, Janet Lambert. There wasn’t time to go and see Mrs Biggs, her mom’s old neighbour. And she didn’t see any reason why Norman Griffin would want to go back there now. Nor did she bother visiting the works. If he’d turned up at his factory, they’d have had the police onto him straight away.

  She found Janet Lambert even more pale and worn.

  ‘I can’t rest until I know they’ve got him and put him away,’ she said, leading Maryann into the back kitchen. In the gloomy light of the little room, her skin seemed to have a yellow tinge and her eyes were sunken. Her hair was a dull mousy-grey now, thinner and scraped carelessly back into a bun. Maryann was alarmed by her appearance. She looked really ill. As she made tea her hands shook, clattering the spoon convulsively against the side of the cups as she put the sugar in.

  ‘Janet.’ Maryann moved closer to her and looked into her eyes. Gently she said, ‘Janet, love, I know you’re going through hell, but you must look after yourself. Don’t let him do this to you.’

  Janet turned to her and Maryann saw the utter despair in her eyes.

  ‘What more can he do to me, Maryann? He’s already taken away everything I ever had. He might as well just come and kill me now. It doesn’t matter any more.’

  They sat in the parlour, the cups on a small occasional table on a cloth embroidered with butterflies. Janet had alwa
ys kept a genteel home. They talked for a while and Maryann steeled herself to ask about Margaret, Janet’s other daughter.

  ‘I want to go and see our Margaret.’ Janet looked across with begging eyes. ‘I don’t go often. Can’t stand it. And I can hardly manage the tram and all that now. But it’s a visiting day tomorrow. Will you come over there with me so’s I don’t have to go on my own?’

  Maryann felt a plunge of dread inside her. Oh God, not this on top of everything else! The asylum! The very word filled her with horror, let alone the thought of the huge, grim building with its dark gates. She had only seen Margaret there once before and the images she carried in her head of the child were terrible. How could she stand to go and face Margaret now? But how could she refuse Janet, the state she was in? Her mind raced. If she was to go with her tomorrow, they’d have to put off leaving Birmingham after they were loaded up. She’d already left Joel to do everything this evening and he’d be cross at the delay. Joel became angry so easily these days. She knew the pain in his back and his sense of helplessness in the face of her suffering made him frustrated, but it didn’t make anything easier.

  ‘Course I will, Janet,’ she heard herself saying. She felt melted with pity inside and reached over to take Janet’s hand. How could she not meet this desperate request? ‘Course I’ll come with you.’

  Janet accepted the comfort, fingers exploring Maryann’s palm, and the feel of the callused skin distracted her for a moment.

  ‘ You lead a rough life, don’t you, dear? Hard-working, I mean. It must be tough on you.’

  ‘It doesn’t let up much,’ Maryann agreed. ‘Best never to think about how tired you are.’

  ‘You’ve a good husband, though.’ Janet’s eyes searched her face. ‘Counts for everything, that does. Look what happened to me. Don’t you forget it.’