The Narrowboat Girl (42 page)

‘How could you come and say such terrible things to us. What’s wrong with you?’

‘But they’re true – every one of them! Look at your daughters! They’re too frightened of him to speak. When did Margaret last speak at all? And that’s what he’s done to them – you’ve got to believe me. Why else would I come to you – you’re strangers to me. But I saw your daughters and I saw myself in them . . .’ Her weeping took her over then. ‘Oh why doesn’t anyone ever believe us?’

‘That’s quite enough of that.’ Norman suddenly laid both his hands on Maryann’s shoulders and began to propel her fowards. ‘Get out of my house, away from my wife and daughters with your filthy lies . . .’

‘If she’s your wife then you’re a bigamist!’ Maryann shrieked helplessly. She twisted round. ‘Amy – Amy, I wanted to ’elp you. I did – I wanted to be there with you.’

Amy looked across at her, her face blotchy with tears. Suddenly they heard her voice raised in a howl. ‘But you
won’t
be here, will you?’

That was Maryann’s last sight of her as Norman propelled her to the front door. In the few seconds before Janet managed to limp out into the hall he spun Maryann round and forced her up against the front door, one hand against her throat. This time there was no doubt as to whether he recognized her. His eyes were malicious slits.

‘Don’t you
ever
come near me again, or you’ll regret it. You know I mean what I say, don’t you, Maryann?’ He pulled her back and opening the door, handed her out into the street.

‘I know you!’ she yelled, spinning round. ‘I know who you are even if they don’t!’

The door slammed, sealing the family in behind its solid green exterior.

For a moment she stared at it, stunned, then took off along the road.

She slid down into a deep black hole that afternoon, wandering the streets with no thought as to where she was going. Seeing Norman Griffin again at such close quarters, his physical presence, his denial of her had stripped her in just a few moments of the calmness and sense of identity she had painfully erected for herself over the years. She had come crashing back down into her childhood emotions. The child who had lain in her bed looking up into the empty darkness, helpless against the progress of Norman’s feet up the stairs. Never again, she had said, never again will I let him have power over me – yet just a few minutes with him and she felt close to disintegration. She walked and walked, in such a state she saw nothing of the people, houses, factories, parks around her.

At some point in the afternoon she found herself walking along the boundary of a cemetery and when she reached the gate she went in and sat down in a quiet spot on the damp grass, looking out across the graves, scattered and tilted like old men’s teeth. The sky was hazy and it was still warm. She gave no thought to whether she was warm or cold, hungry or tired. She tried to think clearly but only terrible, negative things came to her.

I can’t stand up to this. Sal couldn’t and I can’t. Sal’s dead and I’d be better off dead, peaceful like these people in here. I can’t face anyone again. I can’t marry Joel. Can’t do anything . . . There’s nothing left . . . And she had let those girls down so badly. She had utterly betrayed them. She kept hearing Amy’s last despairing cry, ‘But you
won’t
be there . . .’ What would Norman do to them now?

She lay on her side on the grass, wishing there was something that could cover her: a blanket, a mantle of leaves or a thick fall of snow, or that she could burrow into the earth like an animal, anything so that she could hide her grief and self-disgust away. Curled up tightly, she could smell the grass, the earth. Birds chirruped in the trees. Eventually, overwrought and exhausted, she fell asleep.

It was dusk by the time she turned into Nance’s road, the light going and the air full of smoke, trapped in the breezeless space between the houses. She was trembling with weariness and lack of food and couldn’t put on a brave face to hide her leaden despair.

Nance was sitting at the table darning a sock with sharp, angry movements but she got to her feet immediately. ‘What’s ’appened? You look terrible!’

Maryann sank down at the table and began to weep wretchedly. ‘Oh Nance . . .’

‘What is it? It’s not Joel, is it?’

Maryann shook her head. ‘I ain’t seen Joel today. It’s
him . . .
I’ve seen him, his family. . . .’ Nance sat back down again as it all came pouring out. Norman Griffin, Amy and Margaret, everything.

‘I wanted to save Amy and Margaret and all I’ve done is let them down and make everything much worse for them and I can’t do a thing now. I can’t marry Joel – I can’t even face seeing him. I feel like I did that time I ran away from him before – I thought it was all better, but it ain’t. I ain’t normal, Nance. I’d be better off finishing myself off, that I would.’

‘What
are
you going on about?’ Nance blazed at her. ‘You love Joel and ’e loves you! What the ’ell’s got into yer? You can’t let that bastard wreck yer life for you the way ’e did Sal’s! You and Joel are made for each other. How can yer even think about saying that? If I had even a tiny bit of a chance to marry Darius I’d be off like a shot and there’s nothing standing in your way, Maryann. You’re lucky – just you remember that!’

Maryann put her face in her hands, shaking her head. Through her fingers she said, ‘I don’t feel lucky. I feel dirty and disgusting. You can’t be happy, Nance – so why do I deserve to be?’ Face wet with tears, she looked up at her friend.

‘Oh Maryann,’ Nance said sadly, her anger gone. ‘I know I don’t know ’ow it feels to ’ve ’ad all that going on with him and Sal and that. Only – there must be a way of making things right. If you let ’im wreck yer chances with Joel he’ll’ve spoiled all yer life . . . Look – you ain’t in a state to think about anything. Let me get you a bite to eat and a cuppa tea and then you can ’ave a sleep. You’ll see everything straighter in the morning. I saved yer a helping of stew – soon get it heated up. And there’s apple and custard.’

‘Ta, Nance,’ Maryann said dully, wiping her eyes on her sleeves, grateful for Nance’s mothering. ‘Don’t know what I’d do without you.’

Nance gave a crooked smile. ‘You don’t ’alf look a sight, you do.’

Maryann looked down at herself. She knew her hair was all hanging down. Her hands were grubby and there was mud on her grey skirt and shoes. She got up to wash her hands in the scullery.

‘Where’s Mick?’

She saw Nance’s expression tighten. ‘Not been ’ome yet.’

‘What – not for ’is tea? That ain’t like him.’

‘Nope.’ Nance stirred the stew fiercely.

Maryann went to her. ‘You don’t think summat’s happened to him – an accident?’

Nance shrugged. ‘If it ’as, no one’s been to tell me about it.’

Maryann sat to eat her tea and did feel a little less wretched after it. She and Nance sat drinking tea together and still there was no sign of Mick. The hands of the clock moved past ten o’clock and Maryann found she could no longer keep awake.

‘I’ll have to go up,’ she said. ‘I’ll doze off down ’ere else.’

‘I was just thinking,’ Nance said. ‘Them little girls – you could at least tell them where you live – you know, just in case like.’

Maryann got to her feet. ‘But this is your address.’

‘Well – if it’d make yer feel any better, I don’t mind them knowing that. For the time being.’

‘Awright, thanks, Nance.’ Maryann was grateful but felt suddenly hopeless again. How could she even get it to them?

‘You go on up,’ Nance said. ‘A good sleep’ll sort you out.’

But a good sleep was not what she was destined to have that night.

Forty-Three

Before Nance had come up to bed the front door opened with a bang that shook the house. Within moments the shouting and screaming had begun and Maryann was jerked out of a deep sleep. She soon realized that Mick and Nancy were fighting with a ferocity beyond anything that had gone before, and she climbed out of bed, disorientated from being woken so suddenly. She hated interfering between them, but it sounded as if someone would have to. As she put on her shoes and slipped a cardigan over her nightdress, she heard crashing and the splintering sound of china breaking and she ran downstairs.

Mick was so drunk he couldn’t stand without swaying perilously. He still had his work jacket on, covered in muck, his face was puffy and florid and he was standing by the humble little shelf they had in the living room to keep their few crocks on, picking them up one by one and hurling them across towards the far end of the room.

‘Stop it!’ Nance shouted, pushing at him. ‘You’ll break the whole lot, yer kalied bastard!’ He swung round and smacked her in the mouth and Nance groaned, reeling back away from him, too stunned to have a go at him. He reached round for another cup, lurched to one side and seized hold of the shelf to save himself. It came off the wall with a crunch and everything crashed down, plates, cups, saucers, Mick falling with it, ending up in a pile of broken china. He hit his head on the wall and there was a split second’s quiet.

‘Look what yer’ve done, yer drunken Irish navvy!’ Nance had recovered enough to run at him, so beside herself with fury that she kneeled down, oblivious to the shards of white china all over the place, and began raining blows down on her insensible husband. There was blood trickling from the left side of her mouth and another shiny mark on her cheek.

‘I hate you!’ she yelled, hitting and slapping. ‘Hate you, hate you, yer fucking useless bastard. Yer not even a proper man, are yer? Yer useless to anyone . . . I bloody hate yer . . .’ She was sobbing hysterically.

‘Nance!’ Maryann could barely get near her. ‘Nance – stop hitting ’im – I think ’e’s knocked himself out – look!’

‘Good! I ’ope ’e bloody kills hisself!’

‘
Nance!
’ She succeeded in grabbing both of Nance’s arms at once and held on, gritting her teeth while Nance fought like a rabbit in a sack before suddenly going limp. Maryann let go of her and gingerly went over to Mick, afraid for a moment that the bang on the head had really done him in.

‘Is ’e awright?’ Nance suddenly sounded frightened.

Maryann prodded Mick and he stirred, groaning.

‘Oh, ’e’s awright,’ Nancy said, disgusted. ‘Can’t even knock ’isself out properly, the silly bugger.’

‘What the hell was all that about?’

Nance’s face crumpled. ‘His brother Paddy – ’e’s gone and got Marie in the family way
again
. That’ll be their fifth, popping them out like peas every year and God can’t spare us even one – just one little babby—’ Her voice cracked and she let out a howl of distress. ‘Oh Maryann – if we could at least ’ave a babby I could think of staying with ’im without wanting to cut my own throat.’

‘Oh Nance . . .’ Maryann kneeled down with her amid the wreckage and held her tight. ‘Poor old Nance . . .’

‘What ’m I going to do, Maryann? I’m going to go round the bend living like this.’

Maryann rocked her, feeling desperately sorry. There was nothing she felt she could say.

‘I feel as if there must be summat I did when I was younger to deserve punishing like this.’

‘Oh, yer didn’t do anything. Course yer didn’t.’

‘I’d better go and see Father Maguire and make a clean breast of everything that’s been going through me ’ead,’ she said. ‘I might be able to stand it better then.’

There came another moan from beside them and suddenly Mick sat slowly up, rubbing his head. ‘Christ Almighty.’

‘Don’t blaspheme, yer bleedin’ navvy,’ Nance snarled at him.

He stared blearily at the chaos of breakage round him, saw Nance and Maryann staring at him in disgust and groaned, ‘Oh God save us.’ Slowly, like a great ox, he lumbered to his feet and disappeared up the stairs.

‘Well,’ Nance said dully. ‘Now yer can go back to sleep.’

‘Not before we’ve cleared up.’

‘Maryann—’ Nance took hold of her wrist as she squatted, about to get up.

‘What?’

‘Go and see Joel tomorrow.’

Maryann hung her head, not meeting Nance’s eyes.

She barely slept at all after that, hearing Nancy crying next door, Mick snoring, and all their troubles churning round in her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about Amy and Margaret as well, full of frustration, anger and pity. In the morning she woke early from an uneasy doze, her head aching. But she got up, dressed silently and slipped out of the house. There was at least one small thing she could do.

There was a mist and the streets looked ghostly but she was glad of its grey obscurity in which to hide herself. When she got to Handsworth she waited in the side street where she had stood before. As time passed the streets took on a purposeful atmosphere. Children started coming out of the houses in their school clothes and scurrying down the road. Soon, the door of the Lamberts’ house opened and she saw Amy and Margaret come out. Maryann shrank back. Janet stood for a few moments with her arms folded, her hair a bright flame in the pale morning, face turned to watch her girls. Then at last she stepped back and the door closed. Maryann slipped round quickly after them.

They were almost at the school gates when she caught up with them. She watched them tenderly from behind. They stood out amid the rag-taggle bunch of children as among the best dressed and neatest. Amy’s hair had been plaited immaculately and each plait tied with a blue ribbon and Margaret’s was put up in bunches, big bows tied with the same ribbon. As ever she was walking with her head jutting forwards, eyes fixed on the ground.

‘Amy—’ Maryann spoke softly, but her urgency was clear. Amy turned and gasped, seeing her. They stopped for a moment, letting the other children stream past them.

‘What d’
you
want? Mom’ll kill us if she sees yer!’

‘Don’t worry – I won’t get you into trouble. You awright?’

Amy’s gaze slid away. She swallowed. Nodded.

‘I’m sorry, Amy. I’m so sorry,’ Maryann said helplessly. She felt a huge lump rise in her throat. ‘I was hoping yer mom’d listen – but then she daint know me from Adam, does she? I don’t know what else to – ’cept I brought you this—’ She slipped a scrap of paper into Amy’s hand with Nancy’s address on. ‘That’s where I live just now. It’s my friend’s house. I won’t always be there but if you need help, go to her. She’s kind, and she can get in touch with me . . .’