The Narrowboat Girl (41 page)

‘We’ll ’ave to start fixing up a wedding day.’ Joel looked into her eyes with a sense of wonder. ‘Little Maryann – and you’re going to be my
wife.’

She smiled back, face alight with happiness. ‘Soon as we can manage,’ she said.

He stroked a finger gently down her cheek. ‘We can share everything that comes – best mates, eh?’

She thought about this as she walked to Handsworth. Joel had said they could get married in Oxford, near to where his auntie lived and where old Darius Bartholomew was recuperating.

‘But if you want to get wed here – so your family can come,’ he said. ‘We could think of that instead?’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘My mom won’t come wherever my wedding is. I might be able to get our Tony down for it, but your family’s my family now, Joel. Oxford’s
lovely and it’ll suit me fine.’

She felt strong and joyful inside, as if nothing could ever harm her again, Joel’s love warming and strengthening her. Her only anxiety was his leaving hospital so soon. Where were they
going to go if Darius didn’t get back? But even this didn’t seem insurmountable. She still had some money left. If necessary they’d have to rent somewhere until the
Esther
Jane
was ready. She wouldn’t stay with Nance any longer than she had to. She felt she’d already brought enough trouble into her life.

Turning into the park she looked round for the girls. It was much quieter today, an end of summer quiet. School was due to begin the next day. With a sinking feeling of dread she thought for a
moment that they weren’t there. It was almost midday – this was when she had found them before.

After a moment strolling round she spotted them over by the pond, both kneeling, peering down into the water. Her heart went out to them.

‘Hello, girls,’ she said softly.

Still kneeling side by side, they swivelled round together so that the tops of their heads were almost touching. Their eyes held the usual closed blankness, though she thought she saw a flicker
of welcome in the older girl’s expression. Amy stood up slowly.

‘Hello.’

Margaret turned away.

‘I thought I’d come and see you – school tomorrow, ain’t it?’

Amy nodded.

‘I’ve er . . . I’ve got some nice peanut toffee – d’yer want some?’ She felt like a wicked witch in a fairy story, luring them with sweets, but she had to get
them to come and sit with her somehow. Margaret just shook her head and carried on facing the other way.

‘I’ll ’ave a bit,’ Amy said. ‘Please,’ she added.

‘’Ere – I’ll sit down next to yer,’ Maryann said, tucking the skirt under her on the grass, sitting quite close to Margaret. Even if she couldn’t get her to
come and sit with them she wanted to be sure she heard what she was going to say. Amy sat on her left, chewing the toffee, her legs bent, leaning sideways on one arm.

There was no point in dilly-dallying. She had to say something.

‘Look, Amy – you must’ve thought it was a bit strange me coming and seeing yer in the park. I mean it’s been nice for me getting to know you a bit – but
there’s another reason why I’ve been coming.’

Amy’s hair was hanging half across her face and she didn’t look up but Maryann could tell she was listening.

‘I’ve seen your stepfather – going to his shop and that. I know he calls himself Arthur Lambert, but the truth is, that ain’t his name. Or at least that ain’t
always been his name.’ Her heart was beating terribly hard. Was she wrong to do this, was she? She forced herself on. ‘The thing is – I used to know ’im under another name.
He was called Norman Griffin and he was my stepfather an’ all – when my sister and me were not much older than you are now. And . . .’

She swallowed, almost unable to go on. Amy cast her a quick glance, then looked down again. Margaret was sitting by the water, absolutely still.

‘The thing is – when ’e was living with us, he daint treat us like . . . like a dad ought’ve done. He was . . . bad. ’E . . .’ She took a deep, shuddering
breath. ‘Oh God help me for saying this to yer!’ She spoke with her gaze fixed on Amy’s face, watching for her reaction to her words. She didn’t want to leave them in any
doubt as to what she was admitting to them, but she was trembling as she spoke.

‘He was wicked, the way he was with us. At night he came to our rooms and . . . and made us do things – things children ain’t s’posed to do – and he made us feel
dirty and different to everyone else . . .’

She couldn’t go on. Her voice was choked with tears. Looking at Amy she saw that the girl had turned her head and it was tilted so that her hair completely hid her face. She had brought
her hand up and pressed it tightly over her lips. The gesture spoke more loudly than any words.

Maryann wiped her eyes, trying to control herself. Very slowly and gently she reached out her hand and pushed the girl’s hair aside.

‘Amy? I was so frightened of speaking out of turn and getting it wrong. Is it . . . is he still the same?’

She released Amy’s hair and watched her. There was a long pause during which Maryann almost despaired of an answer. But then the coppery hair began to quiver and she saw the girl was
nodding. A quick, frightened nod.

‘Oh God,’ Maryann gasped. ‘You’re saying yes, ain’t you, Amy?’

This time the nod was more definite.

‘You poor things . . .’ She wanted to reach out and take the child in her arms, but she restrained herself. Half whispering she said, ‘What about . . . Margaret?’

Again the nod, more vigorously this time.

‘Your mom – does she know anything about it?’

This time a shake of the head.

They all sat in silence for a minute. Margaret had still not turned round.

Maryann sat thinking furiously. Her own mother had not believed her. Why should theirs be any different? She had her life to protect, her security. And Norman was so smooth and respectable. Why
would the woman listen to a complete stranger?

‘There’s one more thing I want to tell you, Amy. My name’s not Esther Bartholomew like I told you. I daint want to tell you my real name in case you mentioned it at home in
front of him. I’m Maryann Nelson – you can call me Maryann. Look, I can’t promise you anything, Amy. I don’t know if I can make it stop – if I was to see your mom. She
won’t want to hear it. But d’you want me to try?’

Amy’s head swung round and for the first time she looked into Maryann’s eyes. Her own were full of tears. Never had Maryann seen a more desperate, yearning face.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Make it stop.’

‘Come on then.’ Maryann stood up and Amy did the same. ‘It’s now or never, Amy.’

She looked warily at the younger girl. Amy went to her.

‘Margaret – come on. We’re going ’ome. This lady’s coming with us.’

Margaret slowly, almost mechanically it seemed, got to her feet and turned to come with them. As she did so the blank expression in her young eyes chilled Maryann to the bone.

Maryann brought her hand up to knock at the door. Amy had been about to open it but she said, ‘No – wait. I can’t just go walking into your mom’s house.
I’ll knock first.’

She was terrified, her knees like jelly, yet somewhere in her she was also triumphant. No longer did she have to feel wicked, to be told she was imagining things. She was not alone. She and
these girls could stand together.

‘She’ll be cross,’ Amy said uncomfortably as Maryann knocked. ‘Takes ’er a while to get to the door.’

They heard her moving painfully along the hall. When the door opened Maryann suddenly found herself looking into the face of the auburn-haired woman. There were lines across her forehead and at
the corners of her mouth which indicated that she suffered pain. She had pale skin, lightly freckled, wide eyes of a deep blue and a gentle, patient expression. Maryann was reassured. Her face was
not the tight, bitter mask her mother had taken on through her hardships.

‘Oh—’ the woman said, eyeing her daughters. ‘Is summat the matter? I hope they haven’t done anything wrong?’

‘No—’ Maryann smiled nervously. ‘Nothing like that. Only – I’ve met your daughters over in the park a few times recently and we’ve got a bit friendly
like. There’s a reason why I was looking out for them . . . D’you think I could come in and talk to you for a minute or two? There’s summat I’d like to say to you.’
She glanced at Amy and Margaret but their faces were blank once more.

‘Well – awright then,’ the woman said doubtfully. ‘I ’ope it won’t take long though. I’ve got the dinner on.’

She led them into the nearest room, which was the front parlour. Maryann was not in a state to take in much detail except that the room was very clean and neatly arrayed, with polished brasses
by the grate and moss green curtains.

‘Sit down, won’t you?’ the woman said, easing herself into a chair. They were positioned either side of the fire and there was a rag rug between them in bright colours. Maryann
could smell lavender. Nervously she took off her straw hat and sat holding it on her lap.

‘Why don’t you run along, girls?’ Janet Richards said.

‘Oh – no, please,’ Maryann said quickly. ‘They need to stay.’

‘But I thought you said – I mean they’re not in trouble . . .?’ She frowned anxiously.

‘No – at least, not the way you mean. Oh dear, this is so . . .’ She clasped her hands under her hat to try and stop them shaking. ‘I don’t know where to
start.’

Janet was beginning to look as if she doubted her own wisdom in letting this stranger into the house, so Maryann plunged in and began talking quickly, explaining, trying not to put things too
harshly nor to skirt round the truth. The girls stood close by.

‘See – as soon as I saw him again I knew it was him,’ she explained. ‘’E weren’t called Arthur Lambert when ’e lived with our mom – Norman Griffin
was his name. But it was him, and when I saw your daughters, the way they were, I just knew. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve suffered it yourself. No one’d believe me when I
was their age. My mother turned against me – she still won’t see me. And today I asked Amy whether ’e was . . . well, doing the same to her and Margaret and when she said ’e
was I just couldn’t let it rest. I know this’ll be a shock to you and you must think I’m terrible to interfere, but I had to come and say something rather than let them go through
the same . . .’ She ran out of steam at last.

The woman’s expression was frozen. Shock, fear, disbelief all competed and for a time she couldn’t speak.

‘Amy—’ she gasped eventually. ‘Amy? What’s she saying – who is she? And what’ve you been telling her?’

‘Oh, don’t be angry with them!’ Maryann implored her. She all but got down on her knees in front of the woman to plead with her. The girls stood listening, hanging their heads.
She wanted them to speak up and plead with their mother, but she knew they couldn’t do it. ‘They shouldn’t get in any trouble for telling me. They’ve been through enough
– it’s him you want to ask questions of. He’s the one who takes over people’s families, wrecks their lives. I know ’e looks like a gentleman and ’e’s
polite and well dressed and everything but underneath ’e’s summat else – there’s a side to ’im only a few of us have seen.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits, the look of sweetness quite gone from her face. She struggled to her feet, raising her walking stick as if she was going to hit Maryann, who hastily
stood up as well.

‘Who
are
you?’ she hissed. ‘What d’you think you’re about, coming into my house and coming out with this
filth
in front of my two young girls?
What’ve you been saying to them – poisoning their minds and filling them with these dirty lies. What do you want? You must be wrong in the head. Why didn’t you say this
woman’d been hanging around yer, Amy? What’s she been saying to yer? Did she tell yer to come and make up stories about your father?’

Maryann’s hand went to her throat as she watched Amy. For a second, which seemed eternal, the girl stood motionless. Then she raised her head a little and her face was burning red. Eyes
still looking at the floor, she said, ‘She daint make me, Mom. It’s true. It’s what ’e does – to Margaret and me. ’E does . . .’ Her mother was shaking her
head in horror. ‘’E
does
, Mom – upstairs, at bedtime.’

They all froze then, because there came the sound of the front door opening and a man’s heavy tread entering the house. The front door was closed, loudly, and his footsteps moved through
to the back.

‘Janet!’ They heard a moment later, ‘Janet?’

She looked round at her daughters and at Maryann with utter contempt. Maryann, feeling her legs give way, sank down on to the chair.

‘He’s come home for his dinner.’ Janet’s mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Now we’ll see, won’t we? Arthur!’ she called. ‘We’re in the
front.’

The door opened and Maryann found herself face to face with Norman Griffin.

He looked so wide, filling the doorframe, standing there in his black coat. There was a long silence. In a corner of her mind, Maryann could hear the clock ticking and a
horse’s hooves passing in the street. His glance swept round the room, rested on her for a fleeting moment during which her pulse seemed to stop, then passed over to his family.

He had shown not a flicker of recognition. Have I changed that much? Maryann thought. Looking at him she was stunned once more by his familiarity, as if even now when he was fatter and his hair
thinned she could remember every pore of the skin on his face, every quiver of expression. Her body, seeming in his presence to remember even more, his loathsome touch, felt turned to water. If she
had not already been sitting down she would have collapsed.

‘My dear? What’s going on?’

Janet Lambert was standing, leaning on her stick, the girls near to her. ‘Oh Arthur,’ she said and then burst into tears. He was beside her immediately.

‘Whatever’s the matter, love? What’s been going on? Who’s your visitor?’ His words dripped concern like syrup.

‘She came in with the girls – she’s been saying the most terrible things, Arthur . . . And now Amy’s saying them too – the same lies . . . I can’t even bring
myself to tell you . . .’