The Narrowboat Girl (39 page)

Moving round, she positioned herself in the path of the hoop that the older one was holding behind her head ready to lob overarm. It bounced and skittered across the grass. The younger girl ran
but Maryann got there first, catching it as it spun past her.

‘Oh – caught it for yer!’ She smiled as the girl ran urgently towards her. ‘Here you are, love.’ She held it out but when the girl took it, Maryann held on so she
couldn’t just run off.

The girl tugged at it, frowning furiously when Maryann didn’t immediately let go.

‘It’s awright – I’m not taking it away. It was just coming at me so fast I caught it.’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw the older girl running towards them.
‘It’s a nice one, ain’t it? Who bought you that then?’

There was no reply.

The older sister arrived, looking very wary.

‘I just caught your hoop – you threw it so hard,’ Maryann said.

‘Sorry,’ she said, dully.

‘No – it’s awright.’ Maryann gently released the hoop, asking as she did so, ‘You must have a mom who’s good at sewing – did she make your lovely
dresses?’

Amy nodded. She seemed to see that Maryann was being friendly. While she still looked solemn, the hostility drained out of her expression. She stood holding the hoop against her legs, with her
weight on one foot, the other leg bent back, the toe of her black rubber pump resting on the ground.

‘Well, she’s better at sewing than I am.’ She fought desperately for a reason to keep them with her and fumbled in her pocket. ‘Look – I’ve got some toffees.
D’yer fancy one?’

The girls looked at each other, then nodded in unison.

‘Here y’are.’ Maryann sat down hoping they would do the same, but they stood above her, the toffees bulging in their cheeks. They each had freckles, the older one just across
the bridge of her nose, while the younger one had them scattered, golden, all over her face.

Maryann wanted to be gentle with them, befriend them, but she was also worried they’d run off before she could ask them anything, so she came straight to her questions. ‘So –
your mom or dad not out with you?’

Amy shook her head.

‘Your dad’s at work I expect?’

The two girls seemed to draw physically close, together as their eyes lost contact with hers and looked down at the ground. The fierce tone of the older girl’s voice as she half spoke,
half whispered, brought Maryann’s flesh up in goose pimples.

‘
’E ain’t our dad.
’

The emotions were there for anyone who knew how to read them the fear, the disgust and loathing. And for Maryann it was like listening to herself speak, as if her own soul had addressed her from
out of the young girl’s mouth.

She kept them with her for as long as she could. They accepted another toffee but still wouldn’t sit down.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked the older one. Of the two she had the longer face, was rather pretty with her autumn looks. But her gaze slid distractedly away when Maryann spoke
to her. She might meet her eyes for a fraction of a second, then she would stare away across the park towards the trees or look down at her feet.

‘I’m Amy. This is Margaret.’

Margaret’s gaze didn’t leave the ground. She was standing with her weight on the outside of her feet, concentratedly chewing her toffee. Hers was the rounder face, hair more carroty,
expression closed tight as a trap.

‘How old’re you then, Margaret?’

‘She’s nine,’ Amy said. ‘I’m twelve.’

Maryann longed to ply them with questions but she did not want to frighten them. Margaret had still not said a word to her. ‘You’d better get back to your game then,’ she said.
‘D’you come to the park every day?’

Amy nodded in her vague way, eyes sweeping the park. Margaret put her head on one side and looked sulky.

‘Might see you again then.’ Maryann got up. ‘T’ra for now. Have a nice game.’

They returned immediately to their hoop as if she had never existed.

She found them the next day sitting on the grass not far from the park entrance, the hoop lying on the ground beside them, each wearing turquoise dresses and a white bow in
their hair. They were turned slightly towards each other, their heads bowed, and Maryann thought that from the way they were sitting they must be busy playing or making daisy chains. As she came
closer, though, she saw they were not doing anything.

‘Amy? Margaret? Hello there – thought I might see you again.’

Margaret, as ever, kept her head down, but Amy glanced up and her mouth almost twitched into a smile. Maryann sat down on the grass beside them. What she said next had taken some careful
thought.

‘I never said what my name was when I saw yer yesterday. I’m Esther. Esther Bartholomew.’ She didn’t want to tell them fibs. But nor did she want to ask them to keep her
meeting them a secret from their mother. If she told them her real name though, and they mentioned it in front of Norman . . . She went cold at the very thought. ‘’Ere – I brought
some bull’s-eyes today – d’yer fancy one? I never go anywhere without a bag of rocks.’

When the girls were both sucking their sweets, she took the plunge. ‘So you live with your mom and stepdad, do you?’

She got no reaction from little Margaret, but Amy nodded, tugging furiously with her thumb and forefinger at the short, dry grass.

‘What happened to your real father?’

‘He went away.’ Amy spoke so quietly Maryann could barely hear.

‘Oh dear, did he? How old were you when he went away?’

‘Nine.’

‘And has your stepdad been with you a long time?’

Amy nodded. A long time could mean anything, Maryann realized. Most likely it seemed like an eternity to them.

‘I had a stepdad when I was your age,’ she told them. ‘My own father died in an accident and our mom got married again.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I daint like
’im. In fact I hated ’im.’

Amy looked at her, her expression betraying nothing more than mild curiosity. She was tapping her foot up and down on the grass.

‘Is your stepfather nice to yer?’

‘’E’s awright. Takes us to the pictures, and that, sometimes.’

‘D’you like going to the pictures, Margaret?’

The girl’s head seemed to sink further down, her hair hanging over her face. There was a long silence.

‘You’re a quiet one,’ Maryann said gently.

‘She don’t speak,’ Amy said.

‘Not to anyone?’

‘Only me. Sometimes.’

‘I s’pose you’ll be back at school soon.’

Amy nodded. ‘Next week.’

‘D’yer like school?’

‘S’awright.’

She could think of nothing to say which might lift their apparent dull acceptance of life. It was as if there was a wall round the two of them. How could she, a stranger, break through it? She
didn’t want to frighten the girls. Mostly she wanted to put her arms round them and comfort them.

She left them that day, feeling desperate, as if she had let both them and herself down.

That afternoon when she went to see Joel again, she didn’t mention Amy and Margaret. She hadn’t told Nancy either. She couldn’t bring herself to speak of it. And if it was hard
for her, she knew that it was well nigh impossible for those little girls to put into words what was happening to them. She couldn’t go barging into their family and confront Norman. After
all, who would believe her? Her own mother hadn’t. It seemed hopeless, the seal of privacy around respectable family life behind which a man’s tormenting habits could hide and grow
monstrous. Whatever could she really do to help them and stop Norman Griffin’s vileness – for good?

‘What’re yer wearing that long face for?’ Nance asked the next morning. She was clearing away the remains of Mick’s breakfast – a bloater and
bread and butter – screwing up her nose at the fishy smell. Maryann leaned over to wipe the table, glad that her hair swung forward to hide her face.

‘
Have
I got a long face on?’

‘Yes, you ’ave. I thought everything was awright – you said Joel was looking much better yesterday.’

‘Oh – ’e is – I was just thinking, that’s all.’ Maryann quickly rearranged her expression along less perplexed lines and stood straight, shaking back her
hair. The strain of the past weeks showed in her face, even though she tried to look calm.

She couldn’t tell Nance just how much those two little girls were possessing her. She lay awake at night thinking of them. One minute she was telling herself she was imagining it all. They
were well dressed and cared for, they played in the park like any other children. She should stop thinking she had any place in their lives. But it was the tiny signs which she understood so
intimately that gave them away. Margaret’s silence, the shame that made Amy’s eyes slide away from anyone’s gaze, the very way they held their bodies, never quite at ease. They
were suffering and only she could imagine how. What could she do? She felt furious at her helplessness. That night she had resolved before she went to sleep that she would go and see the
girls’ mother and speak to her. At least tell her what she suspected, alert her to what might be going on in her home. Now, this morning, this seemed preposterous. Maryann ran the cloth over
the table, mopping up rings of tea and crumbs. She must talk to Amy and Margaret again first, see if she could get them to trust her, open up to her.

‘How long d’yer think it’s going to be before Joel can go out of the hospital?’ Nance was saying, scraping off Mick’s plate into a piece of newspaper.

‘Wish I knew, Nance. ’E’s so weak it’s hard to watch ’im sometimes. ’E can barely stand out of bed. Sometimes I want to just pick him up and carry him he
looks that thin.’ She went and rinsed out the cloth in the pail of water Nance kept out the back. ‘I just want ’im out, Nance. All this time I’ve been away and now
’e’s stuck in there. It feels as if we’ll never be able to be together.’

‘Oh – you will.’ Nance turned and looked through the door at her, wistfully. ‘You’re ever so lucky. You know – starting out right with someone.’

Maryann came back in from the scullery. ‘But you and Mick’re getting on better. I mean you ain’t been fighting and carrying on like you did before . . .’

‘No – I know.’ Nance pushed her hands down behind the belt of her apron. She looked miserable. ‘But there’s no
feeling
between us. Never was really –
we both sort of went along with it. I’d never ’ad those feelings, see. So I daint know I was missing anything. But I know there’s summat more and you’ve got it – you
and Joel. It’s made me see . . . And now I’m stuck with ’im for ever . . .’ She stopped, looking down miserably. ‘I’ve always tried to be good, you know,
Maryann. Listened to what the priests said and done what I was told. But I don’t ’alf ’ave some bad thoughts lately. I don’t even dare go to confession and say what’s
been going through my mind.’

‘Oh Nance . . .’ Maryann, who’d never had to go to confession in her life, struggled to find the right words, but failed and just stood looking at her, full of pity.

Nance put her hands over her face for a moment, then drew them away and turned round. ‘Well – this won’t get nowt done. I’d better get cleared away and off up the
shops.’

‘I’ll finish clearing up,’ Maryann said. ‘You go on out. It’ll make you feel better.’

When Nance had gone she washed and dried the breakfast things as usual, swept the room and got ready to go out, feeling nervous and unsettled. Should she talk more to the girls today? Tell them
the truth: that their stepfather had also been hers? Would that be the best thing? But her heart was heavy. What did she think she was trying to do – break up a family? Thrust them out of one
kind of suffering into another – the insecurity and poverty into which she had condemned her own mother?

It was raining gently outside, through a heavy, late summer warmth. She took her coat and started off down the road. But before she had got very far she saw a tall figure turn in at the end of
the street, walking towards her through the drizzle with an unmistakable gait. Her pulse quickened.

‘Darius!’ Overjoyed, cheeks flushing a healthier pink, she ran down the road to meet him. He smiled, seeing her dashing along the street, impatiently pushing strands of her black
hair out of her face. ‘When did yer get in? I daint know when we’d see yer again!’

‘I’m glad to see
you
,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d find the right place again.’

‘You just caught me – I was off out. Come on down to the ’ouse. Nance is out shopping but she’ll be back soon. Oh Darius, you should see Joel – ’e’s
looking so much better than last time you was ’ere.’

‘Oh—’ Darius seemed to sag with relief. ‘Thank ’eavens for that. I’ve been thinking, round and round, what we’re gunna do. My father’s still not
right and I’ve ’ad to keep Ernie on. I couldn’t think ’ow I could manage – even selling out. Joel looked that bad – I thought ’e might not come through
after all. Is ’e going to be in there much longer?’

‘I don’t know – he’s ever so keen to get going. You know Joel. He’d be out of there by now if he had the strength to move hisself.’

Darius chuckled. Once more he seemed very tired, but more relaxed now he had heard the good news. He sat at the table in Nance’s house and Maryann stoked the fire and put the kettle on
again.

‘You’d like some breakfast, wouldn’t yer?’

‘Wouldn’t mind – if you’ve enough. Been going most of the night again.’

‘We ain’t got much in till Nance gets back, but ’er won’t be long.’

‘Oh – a cuppa’d do me.’

‘You can ’ave that for a start – our Nance’ll feed you up like a turkey cock.’

She made tea for them both, scraping out the last of the condensed milk, and sat down, beaming at him. ‘I’ve got summat to tell you.’ She couldn’t wait any longer. It
already felt as if he was her brother. ‘Me and Joel, we . . . well, ’e asked me if we’d get wed.’

Darius stared at her, swallowing a mouthful of tea. A smile spread slowly across his face. ‘What – and yer’d come and . . .?’

‘Live on the
Esther Jane
– course we would. Where else d’yer think Joel’d ever live?’ She was full of excitement. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come
now because I was afraid you’d already’ve sold her and you don’t need to – we can all work her together and stay as Number Ones . . .’