The Narrowboat Girl (33 page)

‘Oo is it?’ Even her mother’s voice sounded different, thinner, somehow cracked.

Maryann pushed the door open. It was gloomy inside and it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. She immediately recognized the table and chairs which stood to one side of the little room as the ones they had had in the last house, bought by Norman Griffin after they left Garrett Street. Her mother was standing between the table and the range, gutting herrings which were stinking the place out. She had looked up without stopping what she was doing until she saw Maryann. Flo straightened up, holding out blood-smeared hands in front of her.

‘’Ello, Mom.’

The expression on Flo’s face, already harsh and unsmiling, grew more taut. Maryann was shocked by just how much she had changed, as if in six years she had fallen into old age. Her face was pallid, almost yellow, the skin had lost its elasticity so that it sagged over her cheekbones. She looked hard and shrewish.

‘Is that you, Maryann?’

Maryann nodded. ‘I’ve been in service. Not in Brum.’ Even now she couldn’t bring herself to give away where she’d been.

Flo became suddenly aware of the mess her hands were in and picked up a damp rag from the table to wipe them. There was an ominous silence as she did it and Maryann could tell she was gathering her thoughts.

‘Where’s Mr Griffin?’

Flo slapped the rag back down on the table before walking round and advancing on Maryann, staring at her with her eyes full of loathing.

‘Where’s Mr Griffin?’ she mimicked. For a few seconds she couldn’t seem to find any more words. Maryann shrank back as her mother came right up close.

‘Mom! What’re yer doing!’

‘You did it, daint yer? You set that fire at Griffin’s before yer buggered off. Norman knew it was you, you evil little bitch. You destroyed my life, d’yer know that? D’you even care what yer did? You ought to be banged up in Winson Green, that’s where. You ruined everything we ’ad. He walked out and left and I ’ad nowt and two boys to bring up. I’ve been slaving in factories ever since, thanks to you. And d’you know why ’e left? ’Cause ’e said ’e weren’t staying in a family of bloody lunatics who’d taken away his livelihood. And it was all your fault, Maryann.’ The words rained down, sharp and hateful. ‘You ruined your own family – so ’ow d’you feel about that, eh?’

Maryann thought Flo was going to go for her throat with her fishy hands and she twisted away from her and backed across the room. She had such strong emotion rising in her she felt she might burst. The injustice of everything her mother thought and felt, the way she’d never listen or see the truth – never had. She’d never taken their side, hers and Sal’s. She was beyond tears: her feelings were too raw and harsh.

‘You’re a sad, blind woman, ain’t yer, Mother?’ She stood clutching the back of one of the chairs as if to contain the violence that raged inside her. Her voice was low and trembling with emotion. ‘Yes – I set fire to Norman Griffin’s offices and I ’oped they’d burn to the ground so there was nothing left for him. But that ain’t why he left you and you know it. ’E left because
we
’d gone, me and Sal, and there was nothing left for him that he wanted. ’Cause ’e didn’t like grownup women, did he? He liked little girls he could bully and do his dirty business with and turn them into . . . rag dolls, with no feelings or life left of their own.’ She in turn advanced on her mother. ‘D’yer know what it was he did to our Sal so she lost ’er mind and he’d’ve done to me too if ’e’d ’ad the chance? D’yer want to know what I found in the cellar of those offices the night I went down there? Do yer?’ She was shouting at the top of her voice, distraught.

‘No,
no
, shut up, you lying, wicked girl . . .’ Flo laid her arm across her face as if to protect herself.

‘No – you don’t want to hear that anything might be
your
fault,
your
greed, putting money and dresses and your comfort over and above your children.’ Now she’d begun to open the floodgates she couldn’t stop. She was growing hysterical. ‘You don’t want to hear about Norman, the oh-so respectable Mr Griffin chaining our Sal to a chair and doing God knows what to ’er and most likely promising to leave her down there with a corpse for company all night. Because that’s something that wouldn’t be my fault or Sal’s, would it? You’d have to face that you didn’t see and you wouldn’t see because all you could think of was saving your own skin. You daint see her stabbing at her own arms with a knife because she couldn’t live with herself. And it weren’t you that found her with her wrists slit open, was it? You never even went to look at her after . . . Was the mess too much for you, Mother? Too real for you that, was it?’

She couldn’t go on. She bent over the chair with her hands over her face as sobs choked her, the long-buried grief welling up from deep inside her. After a few moments she glanced up to see her mother looking at her with a terrible, twisted expression on her face.

‘Get out of my ’ouse.’ Her voice lashed across the room. ‘You’ve done enough damage to us. We’ve lived without yer all these years. We don’t need you back ’ere now. Tek yerself and yer poison away from ’ere. I don’t want yer coming ’ere again.’

Maryann wiped her eyes, chilled by the hateful finality of her mother’s words. ‘I want to see my brothers.’

‘You ain’t seeing no one. Get out!’ Flo shouted. ‘Get out now and don’t ever come back. Never!’

Thirty-Four

Maryann walked back out of the yard in Sheepcote Lane so blinded by tears that she could barely see where she was going. Her mother’s rejection of her was so total, so final it had cut her to the bone. They had never been close as mother and daughter but she had hoped that somehow, after all that had happened and with Norman Griffin gone, there could have been a reconcilation. Now she had lost that hope for ever.

If only Nanny Firkin was still ’ere, Maryann thought. I could’ve gone to her – she was proper family. She’d’ve been glad to see me and it would’ve felt like home. The thought of this made her cry even more.

As it was, the only person she could hope to turn to now was Nance. She found her feet turning almost automatically to the familiar territory of Garrett Street. Somehow she didn’t doubt that the Blacks would be living in the same place. Before she went into the yard she tried to compose herself and dried her eyes. She was pleased at the thought of seeing them and even smiled slightly as a familiar sight met her eyes in the old yard: Blackie Black’s ‘fuckin’ barrer’ leaning as drunkenly as she had frequently seen its owner do, against the wall of the brewhouse.

The Blacks’ door was open and Maryann peeped her head round. The family was at the table having tea. Cathleen’s squiffy eyes, Blackie’s bloodshot ones and those of the six children round the table all peered at her.

‘Oo’re yer looking for, wench?’ Cathleen said. – ‘Eh, ’ang on a minute, I know you, don’t I? It’s . . . It can’t be Maryann?’ She pushed back her chair and stood up.

‘It is,’ Maryann said shyly.

‘’Eh, Blackie, it’s little Maryann, our Nance’s pal!’ Blackie squinted at her but there was a vacant look in his eyes. He made a sound between a grunt and a whine.

‘Come on in, bab!’ Cathleen came and stood gazing at her. ‘Don’t mind Blackie – ’e ain’t none too well these days. Well – look at you! Our Nance’ll be ever so pleased to see yer. You ain’t been round to see ’er, ’ave you?’

‘No – I’ve only just got ’ere.’ Maryann put her case down gratefully, trying to keep the tears from welling up yet again. It meant so much to be greeted kindly by people who were pleased to see her.

‘’Ere – ’ave a cuppa tea – it’s just brewed. You seen yer mom?’

Maryann nodded.

‘Well – what’d ’er say?’ Cathleen was stirring the teapot vigorously.

‘She daint offer me a cuppa tea, I’ll tell yer that much.’

‘Ooh dear – like that, was it?’

Maryann nodded, conscious that the family were all staring at her. Good heavens, – that oldest one was Perce – he was eighteen now! And young Horace who’d still been sucking his thumb and peeing his pants was a lad of nine now! There was Lizzie who’d only been a babby. And who was that? There was another little girl sitting at the table between William and George, who were now also a good deal more grown up.

‘You ’ad another daughter then?’ Maryann smiled at the child.

‘Ar – that’s our Mary,’ Cathleen said. ‘She were the last. Four year ago that were. I ’ad to ’ave all my – you know – taken away after. It were a blessing really, God forgive me, but I’ve ’ad my ten and that were enough for anyone.’ She watched anxiously as Blackie pulled himself up from the table and lurched over to his old chair with the fag burns and settled into it with a loud groan. She leaned forward shaking her head and whispered, ‘’E ain’t ’imself.’

‘What’s up?’ Maryann whispered back.

‘Oh, they don’t really know. They think ’e might ’ave ’ad a bit of a turn. ’E can ’ardly speak. Not that ’e was a great talker before. I dunno.’ She sighed, looking across at him worriedly. Maryann felt sorry for her, poor, worn-out woman. Cathleen and Blackie had both aged considerably.

‘Any’ow, enough of our problems – where’ve yer been, Maryann?’

She told them a bit about Charnwood, then asked after the rest of the family.

‘Where’s Nance – and Charlie?’

‘Oh, our Charlie’s been wed a good while now – three kiddies they’ve got. All girls, would yer believe it! Alf and Jimmy’ve got one apiece. Alf was wed two year ago and Jimmy last year. They’re all good wenches they’ve found themselves, all Catholics ’cept Jimmy’s wife Lena, but she ain’t no trouble.

‘And our Nance married Mick just a few months back – in the spring. She ’ad ’er nuptial mass in April. It were lovely, weren’t it?’

‘Me and Mary was bridesmaids,’ Lizzie chipped in.

She reminded Maryann a little bit of Nancy when she was younger, with her head of black curls, although she had a softer, more feminine look about her.

‘Nance’d’ve asked yer to the wedding only she daint know where yer were,’ Cathleen said. ’Er missed yer, yer know, after yer went.’

‘I know,’ Maryann said. ‘I missed ’er too. But I ’ad to get away.’

Cathleen nodded sympathetically.

‘Where’s Nance living? And what’s ’er name now she’s married?’

‘Oh, Mrs Mallone. Mick Mallone’s ’er ’usband. They only live over the back in Alexander Street. Yer can pop round and see ’er when yer’ve ’ad yer tea.’

‘Any babbies on the way yet?’ Maryann said smiling.

Cathleen shook her head. ‘No – but they’ve only been wed a few month. It’ll give ’er time to settle.’ But Maryann thought she seemed rather lacking in warmth on the subject of Nance’s marriage, however nice the wedding had been. She glanced at Blackie and saw that he appeared to have fallen asleep, his head lolling down on his chest.

‘’Ere – if you’re going round to see our Nance, take the girls with yer and get ’em out of my hair for a bit, will yer? They like going round there.’

Nance was living in a front house which opened on to the street. The door was open and the two girls ran straight in.

‘We’ve got Maryann!’ she heard Lizzie shouting excitedly.

Immediately, as Maryann reached the house, Nance’s face appeared at the open door, looking out with a combination of wariness and disbelief. For a second Maryann was shocked by Nance’s thinness and the dull sullenness of her expression under her mop of black curls, until she registered that it really was Maryann and burst into delighted laughter.

‘Oh my God – well I never! It really is – Maryann!’

Laughing and tearful at the same time, the two of them flung their arms round each other.

‘Why didn’t yer tell me where you was living?’ Nance reproached her. ‘I wouldn’t’ve let on to anyone and I couldn’t drop yer a line back or invite yer to the wedding or nothing! ’Ere – come in. It ain’t much but we’ve got it to ourselves.’ She drew Maryann inside and shut the door. ‘Let me get that kettle on – or d’yer want a nip of summat stronger, eh?’

‘No – tea’d be nice, Nance.’

The two little girls seemed to have disappeared upstairs. ‘I’ve got a couple of old dollies and a few bit of clothes up there for when they come round,’ Nance said. She rested the kettle on the hob, then stood back to look at Maryann.

‘You ain’t changed – not really. You look ever so well.’

Maryann smiled. Hadn’t changed? How could Nance say that? She felt like a different person. And Nance looked different, too, in a middle-aged woman’s dress and her apron. She was beginning to look just like her mom!

‘I’m awright,’ she said. ‘Got lots to tell yer. But what about you, Nance. Look at you – a married woman! What’s your ’usband like?’ She had noticed uneasily the cut healing on Nance’s left cheekbone, a yellowed bruise round it. Nance seemed to feel her looking and put her hand to her cheek.

‘I could tell yer everything’s perfect, Maryann. Wedded bliss and that. But I’ve never lied to yer. ’E’s a boozer like me dad only not so soft-hearted. ’E’s down the pub now. ’E ain’t too bad when ’e’s sober but with a skinful inside ’im ’e gets all maudlin and sorry for ’isself.’

‘Why’s ’e sorry for ’imself?’ Maryann asked.

‘Oh Christ alone knows,’ Nance said impatiently. ‘’E’s one of them ’as a few and ’e ’as to wallow. ’E ain’t got me expecting yet – ’e ’as a wallow about that.’

‘But yer’ve only been wed, what a few months?’

‘Three months – nearly four.’

‘Well then.’

Nance shrugged. ‘To tell yer the truth I’m bloody glad of it. I only married ’im to get out of ’ome. There’s kids and mess and noise everywhere and now our dad’s bad ’e’s sat there like a dummy even when ’e ain’t been on the bottle. I thought, I’ve got to get out of ’ere or I’m going straight round the bend. And Mick came along and ’e was willing and a Catholic so I married ’im and we kept our mom ’appy doing it proper like. And I got me own ’ouse. That’s worth ’aving to put up with Mick, I can tell yer. If ’e stays down the boozer, good riddance.’

It sounded to Maryann as if there was a fair bit of bravado in what Nance was saying, making the most of a bad situation, but at least her spirit was far from being broken.