The Narrowboat Girl (22 page)

Maryann nodded, listening as Norman outlined procedures concerning dates for interments, churches, death cards, hearses and coffins. All the while she was on edge because she thought he might
touch her like he did when they were alone at home, pawing at her breasts or trying to pull her against him. But he made no attempt at this. This was work. Gradually she began to relax. And after a
few minutes Fred arrived, crashing in through the front and saying ‘Mornin’, Mr Griffin!’ in his clogged, adenoidal voice. At last, she wasn’t alone!

Later, Norman went out and Maryann was left sitting expectantly in the chair which Sal had occupied all those months. Norman had told her she was responsible for keeping the shop clean but it
already looked immaculate and the desk was tidy. She was soon bored. She could hear Fred sawing away at some wood in the cellar.

‘Don’t let ’im get yer down in that cellar . . .’ Sal’s words came to her. What had she meant? Was that where Norman had always forced his vileness on her? Or was
it more than that?

Maryann tiptoed to the top of the stairs and looked down. She could scarcely see the bottom of the staircase, it was so gloomy down there and the sight of the place brought her up in goose
pimples. That was where they took the dead bodies. Surely he hadn’t been down there with Sal when there were dead bodies . . . It was too horrible to imagine. Looking down there, she thought,
I can’t stand being here
. She’d have to bring Flo’s and Norman’s anger down on her head and say she wouldn’t work for him . . .

She climbed down, jumping as the treads creaked, but Fred was making such a noise he couldn’t have heard her, and she wasn’t bothered about him. Maybe, she thought suddenly, if she
could make friends with Fred, it wouldn’t be so bad working here. She could get him to stay on until she went home each day, so she wasn’t left alone with Norman . . . Sal had described
Fred as being ‘as thick as horse shite’ but Maryann was hoping she’d been exaggerating.

Peering round the door, she saw into the poorly lit cellar. The door to the chapel of rest was closed. In the far corner she saw the cupboard, almost like a smaller room built into the cellar,
with brick walls, about six foot by four, extending halfway along the far wall. The long bench on which Fred was working was at the front end under the grating.

Fred was a pale boy of eighteen, with a gaunt face and prominent lips, his eyes set far apart, and thin brown hair.

‘Hello!’ Maryann called out.

He looked up, bewildered, and stopped sawing so abruptly that the quiet was startling.

‘I’m Maryann. Sal’s sister.’

‘Oh . . . ar – I saw yer. Upstairs.’

He stared at her. Maryann, with a sinking heart, began to see that Sal’s assessment of Fred might have erred on the side of generosity. He stood watching her as she explored the cellar,
walking over first to see what he was doing. He had sawdust all over his boots. She liked the smell of the bruised wood. She went to the cupboard and tried the door, which was locked.

‘What’s in ’ere?’

‘That’s Mr Griffin’s cupboard.’ He didn’t leave the workbench, just turned to watch her.

‘Yes. So what’s inside?’

He shrugged. ‘I dunno. Chemicals and suchlike for that em . . . emb . . .’

‘Embalming?’

‘Ar – that’s it. ’E don’t let anyone go in.’

‘’Ve you been in there?’ Maryann grinned conspiratorially.

‘No!’ Fred looked alarmed. ‘I don’t want the sack – I’d never go in there! No call to.’

‘It’s awright, don’t get all worked up. I was only asking.’

She tried the door once more. Sal knew what was in there. There was something down here that had frightened her badly. Something that had seemed to make her lose her will.

‘I’ll leave at half past five when Fred goes, shall I?’

Maryann was watching the clock, both out of boredom and anxiety. Norman had come back at dinner time and Maryann told him she’d had one woman in who needed to bury her mother. Maryann had
felt sorry for her, had taken down her details and thought she’d handled it all right. The woman had been calm and unemotional. Norman had been in all afternoon as various people came and
went, and all the time he had on his sombre, upright citizen face. But when she asked him about leaving he turned, scowling. ‘You’ll leave when I tell you and not before. Now get this
floor swept – there’s dust and bits all over it.’

Maryann obeyed, sweeping the brown linoleum of the dirt Norman seemed to imagine he could see there. She worked slowly, still glancing continually at the clock. Whatever happened she was going
as soon as she could. She had to get over and see Sal. And she could sense a change in Norman as time wore on. He was at the desk, thumbing through the ledgers, not looking up at her, but all the
time she could hear his breathing. As she swept beneath the chair the pace of his breaths increased a fraction. She had heard it before, when he made her put her hand in his pocket, and when he
touched her. It was the barometer of his excitement. Her own heart beat faster with dread and she was all nerves. Any second she expected him to reach out and grab her. She couldn’t do this.
Not stay and work here. Until now she had held on to herself, kept her mind aloof from it: although he’d done things to her that sickened and disgusted her, she still had her spirit. But she
could not endure more of it. It wasn’t going to work. She knew that much more of it and she would lose herself, like Sal, and wither away inside. As she turned, pushing the few bits of dust
and fluff away with her broom, Norman’s hand fastened on her thigh, pushing her skirt between her legs and she jumped, letting out a little scream and moving quickly away.

He stood up, cleared his throat and crossed the room to the stairs.

‘Time Fred was off.’ She saw his wide shoulders disappear through the door, heard him going downstairs.

Oh Lord
, Maryann thought,
why did I come here?
Why hadn’t she just stood up to them and said she wouldn’t work for him? She looked wildly round the room. It was five
and twenty minutes past five. She left the broom against the wall, grabbed her hat and cardigan and ran to the door, cursing the loud, tinkling bell, and fled out on to the street.

He arrived home soon after her, not taking the trouble to conceal his fury.

‘What d’yer think yer doing running off before I tell yer to go? Eh?’

He became aware that Flo was watching from the kitchen door. She could see a sheen of sweat on his pale, freckly face. ‘Don’t you
ever
do that again,’ he snarled.
‘D’you hear?’

Maryann kept her gaze turned down to the floor so he should not see the defiance in her eyes.

‘No, Mr Griffin. I certainly won’t.’

She hurried over to Hockley that evening, but the landlady said Sal wasn’t in.

‘Can I wait for a bit?’ Maryann asked. ‘I don’t s’pose she’ll be much longer.’

‘I shouldn’t bet on it.’ The woman was even less friendly than last time and sounded very disapproving. ‘To tell yer the truth I’m thinking of looking for a new
lodger. That feller who came with ’er weren’t ’er ’usband at all, was ’e?’

Maryann didn’t answer. She felt an ugly blush creep up her cheeks.

‘Thought not,’ the landlady said, sounding self-satisfied. She stood back, folding her arms. ‘Go on up then.’

Maryann sat in Sal’s dismal room, picking at the loose threads in her frock and reduced to twiddling her thumbs, until it was almost dark outside. She got up from time to time and stood on
tiptoes to look out of the window, though she could not see the street properly from up here. Gradually the night came on, lamps were lit outside, and still her sister didn’t come. Maryann
grew more and more anxious. Where had Sal got to? Her landlady would never put up with her if she carried on like this.

Eventually she had to give up and go home, and by the time she got there Flo had already gone to bed. Maryann realized her mistake as soon as she walked in through the front door and found
herself looking into Norman’s eyes as he sat waiting by the fire.

‘I’m going to bed,’ she said, hurrying across the room.

‘Oh no – not yet.’

He sprang out of his chair and grabbed her just as she reached the door to the stairs. He clamped his hand over her mouth.

‘Thought you’d avoid me today, then, did yer? I’m not ’aving that.’ He ran his hands over her chest. His eyes were terrible; cold, full of hatred.
‘You’re turning into quite a young lady nowadays, aren’t yer, eh? And I’m going to make the most of it while yer still a child. Yer no good to me once yer’ve got yer
monthly . . .’

Maryann tried to speak, shaking her head and making a strangled noise.

‘What’s that?’

‘I ’ave – come on. Just last week,’ she babbled as he released her. She yanked herself away from him. ‘You touch me again and I’ll scream. I’ll get my
mom down ’ere and then she might believe what an evil, filthy bastard you are.’ She had her hand on the door to the stairs. ‘You’re never touching me again.’

Norman lunged at her and Maryann opened her mouth and managed to force out a scream.

‘Shut it!’ He was ablaze with fury and frustrated lust. ‘Shut up that racket, yer little bitch.’

He went to put his hand back over her mouth but she yanked the door open and screamed again. There came the sound of a door opening upstairs.

‘Norman?’ Flo Griffin’s voice was full of sleep. ‘What’s the noise? What’s going on?’

Maryann fled up the stairs, not meeting her mother’s eye.

‘Nothing, love – just Maryann being silly. Now she’s gone and woken yer.’

‘I’m not working for you no more.’

He was eating breakfast. She stood by the table, in front of all the family.

‘What’re you talking about?’ Flo turned on her at once. ‘You’ve only been there one day!’

‘I ain’t staying.’ She screwed up every ounce of self-possession and courage and looked into Norman’s eyes.
I’m not scared of you
, her expression said. She
was, she was terrified, her hands were shaking, but she pressed them together. She wasn’t going to let him see. ‘I’m going to look for another job today.’

‘How
dare
you talk like that!’ Flo erupted. But Norman raised a hand to silence her.

‘I can’t say I’m not disappointed in yer, Maryann. It’ll cause me a lot of trouble ’aving to get someone else. But if yer not happy – I know some people
don’t take to working with the dead. I don’t want anyone saying I’m not a reasonable man. And if you go in one of the factories you should get a decent wage.’

‘But, Norman!’ Flo protested. ‘You’re surely not just going to let ’er get away with this, the little minx?’

‘It’s awright, Flo. ’Er’s more hot-headed than our Sal. Let ’er go ’er own way. As long as you work out the rest of the week, Maryann, that’s all I
ask.’

‘There,’ Flo cried. ‘See ’ow nice yer father’s being after all the trouble you’ve caused!’

There was a long silence. Maryann felt Tony’s eyes on her face. She looked away across at the range where the kettle was starting to boil.

She spoke quietly. ‘I’m finishing today.’

‘You’ll work the week out.’ She couldn’t look at him any more, couldn’t face the cold hatred in his eyes. She knew that beneath the calm exterior, Norman Griffin
was seething with rage at being thwarted.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Today.’

She found a job at a jam factory, where she had to be in as the hooter went at ten to eight. Another went off at eight and work began. The girls all wore clogs, which were hard
and blistered her feet. Fruit and sugar were brought on carts and the jam stirred in huge vats, its smell sweet and cloying. Maryann was in the labelling department, not an arduous job, but even if
it had been, anything would have been better than working with Norman Griffin. She had some laughs with the other girls, biding her time. This wasn’t where she was going to be for ever. As
soon as Sal got herself sorted out a bit she’d be off. She spent as little time as she could at home and at night she took to ramming her bed close up against the door so it couldn’t
open. She wasn’t going to let him get at her, never again. When she heard him come up to bed the first time, and push at her door, she lay seething with hatred of him and fierce
satisfaction.

That’s stopped your game, she thought.

As the summer passed and turned into autumn, she knew Norman, too, was biding his time. But she was at work all day, and she managed carefully to avoid being alone with him at
any time. Her main worry was Sal. She couldn’t keep going over every day, especially as Sal often wasn’t there. She did try and go at least once a week. But after that time of closeness
when Sal had cried in her arms and admitted how wretched she felt, she never let Maryann see her true state of mind again.

Twice when Maryann went in August, Sal came home late and clearly the worse for drink.

‘What the hell’s kept yer?’ Maryann raged at her the first time, as Sal came staggering in after dark. She’d been waiting ages, cursing Sal, worrying about her. She felt
as if things had reversed and she was the older sister now, having to keep an eye on Sal all the time. ‘You’re in a disgusting state. You’re going to have to pull yourself
together or you’ll get thrown out – she’s already said she don’t like the way you carry on.’

Sal lurched over to the bed. Her cheeks were grimy with sweat and face powder, she was dishevelled, hair all in a mess and she stank of drink.

‘I’m in a disgusting state!’ she repeated. She rocked back and forth as if thinking about this, then started laughing, a drunken, foolish laugh that made Maryann feel like
slapping her. Instead she stood over her and shook her by the shoulders.

‘Who’ve yer been with? Who is it’s buying yer all this booze?’

‘Oh, mind your own bloody business,’ Sal sneered. Her face was grotesque in the candlelight, with its pencilled-in eyebrows. ‘I’ve got my own pals now, ta very much.
I’ve got my big strong friend Bill, looks after me. Oh yes ’e does – ’e’s a big’un now, ’e is . . .’

‘You’re horrible—’ Maryann pushed her away. ‘You’re nearly as bad as Norman. Look at yourself, Sal. What’s going to become of you?’ She went to
the door. ‘I’m not staying with you like this. There ain’t no point in talking to you.’