The Narrowboat Girl (12 page)

‘What d’you mean?’ Maryann asked in a small voice.

‘Things you shouldn’t even ’ave to know about. Look, Maryann – you’re better at standing up to ’im than me – do anything yer can, even if you get into
trouble. But don’t let ’im make yer work in that place. Get yerself another job after you’ve finished school.’

‘I will,’ Maryann said. ‘But why don’t you leave an’ all? You don’t ’ave to stay there, do yer? Just walk out – ’e couldn’t do nothing
about it.’

‘I can’t,’ was all Sal would say.

Maryann couldn’t understand her. It was as if their stepfather had cast a spell over her and she couldn’t resist anything he did, wouldn’t stand up to him. She just
couldn’t get Sal to tell her more. She lay awake, full of disturbed feelings at the thought of Norman Griffin’s hand moving over her. At the end of this school term she would reach the
end of her education, of being a child. She was nearly fourteen. What had he meant when he said Sal wasn’t clean any more? Was that to do with the bleeding? None of it made any sense. All she
knew was that nothing at home felt safe any more. She thought with sudden longing of Nance. Nance had always been a good pal and she’d treated her badly. If only she could patch things up
with her. She needed Nance now more than she’d ever needed her.

‘’Ello there, stranger!’

Cathleen Black appeared when Maryann knocked on the half-open door.

‘Well – we ain’t seen you in a while, even though Sal seems to think she lives ’ere nowadays! Awright are yer, Maryann?’

‘Oh yes, ta,’ Maryann said, distracted from everything else by the sight of Cathleen Black’s enormously swollen belly. It would have been impossible not to notice that she was
expecting another child, she was so big she looked as if it might decide to pop out any moment.

‘Look who’s ’ere, Nance.’ Cathleen waddled over to the range and picked up her cup of tea.

Nancy was doling out spud at the table to the four youngest, and a grubby lot they were, all grime and snot but cheerful. Perce was eleven now, William and George, nine and six, and Horace who
was two and a half and kept sliding off his chair and running about. Nance tutted and banged the pan down.

‘’E won’t keep still, Mom!’ She picked Horace up and slammed him down on the chair again. ‘Just park yerself and for God’s sake stay there!’

‘Ain’t yer going to say ’ello to Maryann?’ Cathleen said.

Nance’s eyes were unmistakably hostile under her curly black fringe.

‘So yer’ve turned up all of a sudden then. Don’t I stink after all?’

Maryann blushed. Nance was in the right. She had been vile to her for ages. ‘I know I’ve been a bit mean to you, like, Nance. Only I wanted to see you.’

‘Go on with yer, Nance.’ Cathleen put her cup down. ‘Get yerself a plateful and yer can go and eat it on the step and cant with Maryann – I’ll see to this shower in
’ere.’

‘S’awright, Mom,’ Nance said stiffly. ‘I’ll ’elp yer first.’

‘Don’t talk daft.’ Cathleen waved a hand at her. ‘You’ve been carrying on about ’ow yer ain’t seen Maryann, so get off with yer. You’ll ’ave
plenty of ’elping to do when this babby comes, so yer might as well enjoy yerself while yer’ve got the chance.’

Nance doled the unappetizing food out on to a plate. Maryann watched with a pang of guilt. Her family had much better food than the Blacks – meat every day! ‘What won’t fatten
will fill,’ were words often on Cathleen Black’s lips, and most of the Blacks’ meals were in this vein. Then they both sat squeezed in side by side on the step. The yard was full
of metal smells from the foundry at the back.

‘Sorry I ain’t been over,’ Maryann said. ‘Only things at ’ome ’ve been a bit . . . well, you know . . .’

‘Is it yer old man?’ Nance asked through a mouthful of tater.

Maryann hesitated, then nodded.

‘’E killed that cat, daint ’e?’

‘Who else?’ She wanted to pour everything out to Nance. Coming back here again felt nice. Mrs Black chatted to her children, asked them the odd question about school, was always on
about one or the other of them’s First Communion. She took an interest, unlike her mom. Being here was a taste of the old times and it made her long for everything to be as it was before,
back on the old footing, without all the horrible things going on at home. But she didn’t have words for all of it. How could she say what had happened last night, Norman Griffin pawing at
her through her nightshirt? She couldn’t tell Nance or anyone that, but she did want to joke and laugh like they used to, before her dad died and everything went bad.

‘It’s my birthday next week,’ Nance said. ‘I can walk out of that school and never go back – get myself a job of work. You can an’ all soon, eh?’

Maryann shrugged. ‘S’pose so. Where’re you gunna go?’

Nance grinned. ‘Kunzle’s’d be nice. Eat cakes all day! I’ll go round the firms, see who’ll ’ave me. Eh—’ She nudged Maryann. ‘If
you’re looking too, why don’t we go round together?’

‘I’ve got a bit of time to go yet.’ Maryann felt cheered. Nance was so warm-hearted and she already felt forgiven.

‘Oh ah, that’s a thought. Anyroad, I’ll let yer know what it’s like, wherever I end up.’

They chattered on a while while Nance scraped up the last of her food, and they had a bit of a giggle.

‘’Ere—’ Nance grinned and budged up a bit closer. ‘I saw your Sal and our Charlie at it kissing the other night. They was in the brew’us and they never knew I
was ’aving a look in!’

‘They never!’ Maryann didn’t know whether to feel glad or not. Sal had turned fifteen. She was growing up. But she’d never said a word about it. There were too many
things about Sal she didn’t know nowadays.

‘She was all over ’im,’ Nance went on with relish. ‘She ain’t backward, your Sal, and that’s a fact!’

The two of them were tittering over it, but while Maryann was intrigued – Charlie Black was a handsome devil, there was no denying – she felt hurt and left out.

‘She never breathes a word to me about it,’ she complained to Nance.

‘Well, what d’yer expect! – O-oh,’ Nance said as they heard loud muttering and blaspheming approaching along the entry.

Blackie appeared in the yard, walking with a gorillalike gait, arms swinging, cap on askew, his jacket hanging open.

‘Dad,’ Nance said. ‘Over ’ere.’ She and Maryann got up out of the way and Blackie looked and looked.

‘The door!’ He pointed a wavering finger. ‘Shome-one moved . . . the fuckin’ door.’

‘Oh come on in, yer silly sod,’ Cathleen shouted from inside.

Blackie stumbled in through the door and they heard a grunt as he fell into his chair, followed by a loud, grating belch.

‘Well,’ Nance said with a wry look. ‘That’s ’im finished for the day.’

Friday night was bath night. Maryann got home feeling much more light-hearted after her visit to Nancy’s and found Flo filling up the tin bath which usually hung on a
rusty hook on the wall of the privy outside.

‘Glad you’re back at last,’ she said resentfully. ‘Yer can come and bath the boys for me.’

Maryann agreed gladly. She enjoyed soaping the boys in the warm water, the feel of Billy’s soft little body. He was nearly five now, still small, with shoulder blades like little
angels’ wings.

While she was pouring in a last kettle of water, Norman arrived home, bustling through the front door. Maryann felt herself tense as if there were pins pricking her skin. He was not a man who
could move quietly. He was always a noisy, disturbing presence about the place. She hated the way he came and looked in when they were bathing, especially after last night. Sal refused ever to have
a bath in the house now: she went down to the public bathhouse.

He came and stood at the kitchen door, hat in hand. ‘Oh-ho, bath night, eh?’

Well, it’s not as if we only do it every hundred years, Maryann thought. She didn’t look up at him or answer, but she could feel him staring at her.

‘Your tea’s nearly done, Norman,’ Flo said. ‘Yer might as well come and sit down.’

‘I’ll just wash my hands.’ He came and leaned over the bath opposite Maryann, took the bar of soap and rubbed his stubby white hands, using the nails of one hand to dig out the
grime from under the nails of the other. She watched, repulsed. For a moment he looked into her face and she could feel his breath on her cheek. Maryann got up abruptly and moved away to call Tony
and Billy.

She bathed the two of them while Norman sat at the table eating his mutton stew, Flo sitting opposite him. He ate up quickly, then sat back and lit a cigarette, watching them lazily, his eyes
narrowed a little.

‘I can do myself,’ Tony said, so Maryann concentrated on Billy, splashing about to make as much noise as she could and drown out the sounds Norman made when he was eating. Billy
laughed, pouring water energetically over his fair hair.

‘Go easy,’ Flo snapped. ‘You’ll soak the whole floor else. Where’s Sal got to, Norman?’

‘She said she ’ad to go to the shop for yer.’

‘For me? I never asked ’er.’

Maryann rubbed Billy dry on a strip of cloth and he put his clothes on again.

‘You go in next,’ Flo said. ‘Use the water ’fore it gets cold.’

Maryann felt her body go stiff. Not with him sitting there, she thought. ‘When tea’s finished,’ she said.

‘Oh, that’s awright – you can carry on,’ Norman said.

Maryann looked at her mom mutinously. ‘I’ll wait till you’ve finished.’ And she walked off upstairs, knowing Flo was too idle to follow. When she was certain Norman was
ensconced in the front room with his paper, she crept down, closing the kitchen door. Flo was in there, tutting about how long Sal was going to be. Maryann could hear the boys playing out with some
other lads at the back.

She slipped her brown skirt off and her cream blouse, wishing she had the room to herself, without even her mom there. She felt suddenly curious about her body and would have liked to be alone
to have a good look. Lately she had sensed it changing, little swellings on her chest when it used to be quite flat. But there never seemed to be a place where you could be on your own without a
brother or sister or
someone
gawping at you.

She dipped one foot in the water.

‘Can I ’ave one more kettle, Mom?’

Flo sighed. ‘Oh, go on then. As it’s boiled.’

She topped up the bath with hot water and it felt lovely as she sank down into it, even though it was scummy from Tony and Billy going in it before. She couldn’t quite lie down full
stretch any more, she had to keep her legs a bit bent up and in the winter you could feel the cold nibbling round whichever bit of you was sticking out of the water. But today it was warm and she
relaxed, then sat up and began soaping herself. She was just rubbing suds over her shoulders and arms when the door opened and Norman came in. Maryann instinctively crossed her arms over her chest
and tucked her head down.

Get out!
she felt her whole being scream.
Just get out of here and don’t look at me.

He had his hands pushed down in his trouser pockets. Maryann turned away, trying to block him out.

‘That looks nice in there,’ he said. ‘’Ere – let me put some of that soap on your back for you.’

‘No!’ she almost shouted. ‘I can do it myself.’

‘Oh, don’t talk so silly, Maryann,’ Flo said irritably. ‘Norman won’t bite yer – ’e’s just trying to give yer a hand. You can’t reach yer
back, can you?’

He was kneeling down, rolling up his sleeves and grinning at her. She cringed away from him.

‘There you go—’ Round and round he rubbed the soap in his hands until they were frothy with it. Her back was rigid. She wanted to jump out of the bath and run away from him,
but she couldn’t move.

Flo went to the back door. ‘Billy? Billy! Get in ’ere now. It’s time you was getting to bed.’

He was kneeling on her left, she could smell him. Death, he smelled of. He began to soap her back, his right hand circling round and round, caressingly.

‘There,’ he said. ‘Nowt wrong with that, is there?’ The soap slid from his left hand into the bath with a plop. ‘Oops. Now where’s that gone then?’

He was pretending to look for the soap, but she saw his eyes were on her breasts, his hand still circling on her back.

‘That’s the trouble with soap . . .’ His breathing was louder. ‘Slippery blooming stuff . . .’

‘Billy!’ Flo was shouting, furiously.

Maryann couldn’t believe at first what she was feeling: a hard poking between her legs which for a second she couldn’t connect with anything but then knew it was Norman’s
finger or thumb, jabbing, forcing up into her.

‘Youch!’ she cried, pulling away with a splash. ‘What the ’ell ’re yer doing?’

‘Ah – ’ere it is!’ A quick sweep of the bath and he brought up his hand, triumphantly holding the soap. They looked into each other’s eyes and his were as icy as
pebbles. Maryann turned cold all over.

‘Sorry – did I catch yer by mistake?’

Flo, oblivious to all this, was bringing Billy crossly in through the back door. ‘Look at the state of yer – you’ll need to go back in the bleedin’ bath!’

‘Language, love!’ Norman stood up. ‘There we go – another one all fresh as a daisy.’

‘Out you get then, Maryann,’ Flo said. ‘Billy’s dipping back in.’

Maryann sat quite still. She couldn’t look at Norman, at any of them. Shame seemed to burn up from her chest to the top of her head. Was this what Sal meant, this, and more, things Maryann
could not even imagine? After a moment, Norman went out again, closing the door.

‘It’s nice the way ’e tries to be a dad to yer,’ Flo commented.

Two days later, when she went up to their room, Maryann found Sal sitting on the bed. Her left arm was held out, underside upwards in front of her. In her other fist was a
kitchen knife with which she was stabbing at her outstretched arm, making jerky little digs into her flesh, some not breaking the skin, others harder. There was a thin trail of blood running down
over her fingers.

For a second, Maryann couldn’t believe the sight in front of her.

‘Sal! What ’re yer doing!’ She seized the knife, stopped its jabbing motions which seemed to be happening almost independently of Sal’s will. She opened her
sister’s fingers and prised the knife away from her. Sal looked round mildly as if woken from a dream.