The Narrowboat Girl (26 page)

‘Oh yes.’ She spoke lightly. ‘S’awright with them.’

‘Good. Well, that’s that then.’ Maryann felt his blue eyes on her, as if really examining her for a moment, and she hugged her knees. It was a special sort of look he was giving her and she didn’t know what was he was thinking, but it felt nice, him looking at her like that.

He handed her a plate on which there was a thick wodge of bread topped with crispy bacon.

‘’Ere you go. Get that down you.’

They loaded up that morning, their cargo sacks of bolts and screws bound for Banbury, and by midday they were well underway. Maryann worked as hard as she could, pulling on ropes with all her strength, turning lock gates with the windlass. Both men knew they didn’t need to tell her to be careful. She had learned that lesson back in the summer. But she still felt nervous in front of old Darius.

‘I’ll try not to do anything wrong,’ she told him. ‘And I’ll work ever so ’ard for yer.’

‘That’s all right, lass,’ he said. ‘Everyone makes a mistake now and then. I can see you’re stroving ’ard as you can.’

His leathery face stretched briefly into a smile. Maryann thought he seemed tired through and through. She had seen that both his hands and Joel’s were rough and cracked, the tips of their fingers split from the wet and cold, and Joel was wheezing and coughing badly.

‘Your fingers look sore,’ she said to him. Joel held out his enormous hands, turning them this way and that.

‘Not very pretty, are they?’ he said.

Maryann was proud to think she might be of help, but she knew she was about to find out about the harshness of life on the cut in winter. The day was another bright, frosty one and she was very glad she’d bought the new boots. But she was ready for it all.

For that first morning she was filled with an almost insane sense of relief and excitement. She’d got away, she’d found the
Esther Jane
, she was safe, and no one would ever come and find her here! She ran along the bank, a ball of energy, taking the windlass and running at the locks until Joel said, ‘Eh, steady on there. There’s a long way to go yet!’

But she couldn’t seem to help it. As the day wore on, though, her energy began to flag and the cold, strange feeling that had possessed her came back. They had left Birmingham behind, and she shrank into herself and quietened. For a time she climbed up and sat, huddled in her coat, on the roof of the cabin as she had in the summer, and she looked out at the beauty of winter on the cut in Warwickshire. The fields spread out around her, grass hard and sparkling with frost in the low sunshine, the reflection of which rippled along the water. Where there were hedgerows close enough she could see blood-red berries, and the grating cry of crows echoed across from the hoary trees in the distance. The sights were magical, but the further they went, the more the awful numbness seemed to possess her. She was back behind the glass screen where nothing around her felt quite real. She looked down at her hand with its bitten nails, stroking it along the
Esther Jane
’s wooden roof. Even her own hand seemed distant and unreal. She was frightened by it.

‘’Er’s steadied down a bit,’ she heard Darius say to Joel. They were at the tiller and didn’t seem to expect her to hear although she was not far away. ‘Like a barrowload of monkeys she was, this morning.’

Joel must’ve nodded or made some other sign because she didn’t hear him reply. Maryann sat listening, head lowered so that her long hair fell forward. She heard Darius say, ‘That child’s grown up into a proper lass since we last see’d ’er. She’s a proper ’and to us now, Joel, and that’s a godsend.’

Maryann felt a blush rise up through her cheeks, filled with a contradictory mix of pride and self-consciousness. It was true, she had grown, suddenly, her body filling out, but it felt odd to hear them talking about her like that. Darius was pleased with her and wanted her on board! She really had found a new life where she was wanted, away from all the disgust and fear and sorrow of her life in Ladywood. Tears blurred her eyes as she looked along the cut. If only she could start to feel back to her normal self, everything would be truly fine.

They were back in the rhythm of the cut, working hard, not speaking much throughout the jouney. Maryann fell exhausted into bed the first night while the men were still in the pub. She was too tired to feel lonely. The second evening they reached Fenny Compton. It was the first of November and very cold, though not quite severe enough to freeze over the cut. By the time Bessie was stabled and Maryann had prepared the evening meal, the frost was setting in. The sun set over the fields in a glow of orange fire and the spare shapes of the trees were silhouetted against the eggshell-blue sky higher up. She saw Joel looking at her as she wiped unexpected tears from her eyes. She never seemed to know what her mood was going to be from one moment to the next.

They ate the stew round the tiny table without saying much, but she felt Joel’s eyes turning to her often, his face anxious, and to her frustration her own eyes kept filling with tears which she had to wipe away. All that afternoon, however hard she had tried to force them away, memories of Sal kept pushing into her mind, not as she had last seen her, in despair and death, but as she had been when they were young, so lively and pretty with her long blonde hair, running and laughing in the park or leading Tony by the hand. Sal had loved having a baby brother. Maryann could hardly swallow down any of the food, however much she tried not to think of it. After a while she gave up. She went out and climbed on to the bank, trying to calm herself, looking out across the stern of the
Esther Jane
along the darkening water, her vision blurred by tears.

‘’Ere – you’ll need this.’

Joel was holding out her coat and she put it on, glad of it.

‘Come on with me, this way. We’ll ’ave a bit of a walk.’

He led her away from the cut and the pub, along a footpath into the fields. There wasn’t much light and she had to concentrate on walking on the frozen mud track. For a while Joel led her in silence, along the edge of the field until they came to a gateway, which opened out into another field where black and white cows were just visible in the dying light, standing huddled together not far away.

Joel leaned over the gate for a moment. Maryann looked up at him. He seemed so familiar standing there, his face, the shape of him, his big, work-roughened hands on the gate – it was as if she had known him all her life. He turned to her, one elbow still leaning on the gate.

‘You ent yourself since you’ve come back with us, Maryann.’

‘I’m . . . I’m awright.’ Once more the rush of tears. She wanted to stamp: stop it, stop it, I’m all right! Don’t make me talk or remember. I’m where I want to be, just leave me alone!

He stepped away from the gate and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her towards him. She had grown a little, she realized. Her head now came up to his chest.

‘Look, little ’un—’ Despite his affectionate names for her, she sensed he was treating her differently, like someone older. There was vulnerablilty as well as kindness in his expression. ‘I can see there’s summat amiss. I don’t know what’s driven you away from your family, but I do know what a sunny face you ’ad before, Maryann, and I don’t see it now. The Maryann that left us is ’ardly the same ’un that’s come back.’

Maryann kept her eyes on the ground, shoulders heaving as the great swell of her grief struggled to the surface.

‘Speak to me, girl,’ Joel said gently. ‘It can’t do no harm.’

‘M-my sister . . .’ she managed to say, eventually. ‘She ki . . . ki . . . took ’er own life. We only buried ’er in the week.’

‘Oh no – oh—’ she heard Joel say. ‘My poor little bird.’

He took her in his arms and she felt herself held tight against his chest as his deep, growling voice made ceaseless, comforting noises. Over and over again he stroked her hair as she wept, beginning to let out some of the reservoir of horror and pain inside her.

He held her, murmuring his comfort to her for as long as she needed it, not asking questions, just letting her weep until she began to grow quieter. She went limp, leaning against him, gulping and sighing.

‘Oh Joel,’ she said eventually in tired despair.

‘Poor little thing.’ There was great tenderness in his voice.

‘I thought I’d be awright back with you, and look ’ow I’m carrying on.’

‘You will be awright. In a while.’ There was a pause, then he said gruffly, ‘We didn’t half miss you.
I
missed you.’ He squeezed her shoulders. ‘You ent ’alf growing up, Maryann. I can’t help seeing you a bit different. I’ve not ’ad soft feelings for many lasses, but you – you’re coming to be special to me. Silly old fool, ent I?’

Maryann felt the affection and warmth of his words go through her. She gave a tiny laugh. ‘No you’re not, Joel. You’re just you and I want to be with yer.’

He leaned down and carefully planted kisses, first on one cheek, then the other, and she giggled as his whiskers tickled her. His face was still close to hers and he was looking into her eyes.

‘You’re so sweet,’ he said longingly. ‘Just so sweet, lass.’

His holding her, the desire in his voice, aroused a flicker of excitement in her. He brought his lips close to hers and gave her a soft peck of a kiss. When she didn’t pull away, he embraced her properly, closed his eyes and kissed her more passionately, hungrily. For those first seconds as he had looked at her, kissed her, she had been deeply touched by his gentleness, his desire for her. Then she felt his tongue between her lips, his hands pressing her now more ardently, and in her hurt state, her confusion, something hard and cold slammed down in her like a shutter. What was he doing? He was supposed to be her friend, her brother! And he was starting on this dirty stuff,
invading
her like Norman Griffin had done! But this was Joel. Joel didn’t do things like that . . .

‘No! Stop it!’ She pulled away with such vehemence that he released her immediately, confused. ‘Get off me! Don’t you ever touch me. I hate anyone touching me!’ She was crying again, distraught, starting to run from him, but she had only gone a few paces before her ankle turned on a hummock in the frozen ground and she fell over.

Joel reached down to help her up but she slapped his hand away. ‘Don’t you ever touch me, yer dirty bastard. I hate yer!’ She scrambled up.

‘Maryann, don’t – what’ve I done to you?’ He seized her arm and made her stop. ‘I’m sorry. I just thought you’d . . . You seem so grown up and I’ve such feelings for you, but I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. Please – don’t be like this. I’d never do a thing to harm you . . .’

‘Take me back to the boat,’ she snapped, yanking her arm away. ‘Don’t touch me. Just take me back.’

Joel stood, hands on hips, staring at her, completely bewildered. ‘We’ll get back then.’ He sounded confused, irritated even.

They walked back in silence. Maryann’s mind was in turmoil. How could he have done something like that? He was a grownup man and she was just a girl! This was supposed to be her safe place, the refuge she had run to for help. But it wasn’t safe. He was just like Norman, he’d made her feel foul and loathsome, and nothing on the
Esther Jane
would ever feel right again.

She refused to speak to Joel again that night, despite him trying to make up with her. She lay down on the side bench and turned away from him. She barely slept at all, listening to the sound of the men a short distance from her, repelled by both of them, wanting now to be anywhere else but here.

The next day they docked at Banbury and work began on unloading the cargo. Darius was busy overseeing that, and Joel had gone in search of another load to take on south or back up to Birmingham. Maryann would have expected to use the time to clean up the cabin, do some washing and put a sparkle on the brasses. Instead, once the men were out of the way, she wrapped up her few things again, pocketed the last of the money she had taken from Norman and climbed ashore, looking round her to make certain both the Bartholomews were out of sight. She walked briskly through the busy wharf area and slipped away, unnoticed, into the bustling town of Banbury.

P
ART
T
WO

Twenty-Seven

1934

Maryann carried the tray along the gold carpet of the landing, at pains not to slop tea from the large cup into the saucer. Beside the cup, arranged on delicate china plates, were two boiled eggs, one in the cup, one tucked beside it in a cosy, three slices of buttered toast, a pot of Chivers marmalade and a starched linen napkin in a silver ring. When she reached the last door along the landing, she set the tray down on the floor and knocked.

‘Come!’

Each day she carried his breakfast to him, after she had already been up for four hours and had had her own meal in the servants’ hall. Roland Musson liked to lie late in bed and eat his breakfast late, and it had been long agreed by the rest of the family that he should because this was what was good and right for him.

‘On the table as usual please, Nelson.’ He was sitting, tousle-haired, on the edge of his bed, his sturdy frame wrapped in a tartan wool dressing gown although it was May and quite warm. As usual, the room was fuggy with cigarette smoke.

‘How do you come to look so hot and rosy-cheeked,’ he complained petulantly, arms folded tightly across his chest. ‘I feel quite shivery this morning.’

Maryann smiled. ‘I keep warm working – it’s nonstop this time of day.’

Roland Musson didn’t reply, but sat looking sunk in gloom. He had the solid Musson looks, large blue eyes and a shock of thick fair hair, but his complexion was growing ruddy from too much drink. When she first arrived at Charnwood House Maryann had found him bad-tempered, demanding and unlikeable. She asked the other housemaids why this young man, a robust twenty-seven-year-old, as he had been then, spent his life confined in the parental home, and much of the time lounged about without purpose in his room.

‘It were the war,’ Letty, the first housemaid, told her. ‘Shot ’is nerves to bits. ’E’s better now, Mrs Letcombe says.’ The housekeeper could remember the five Musson children as babies. ‘’E were ever so bad when ’e came ’ome. Crying, nightmares and everything. Wouldn’t ’ardly go out of ’is room for months on end.’