by Milly Adams
Polly screwed up her face, squinting into the lowering sun as they exited. ‘Let’s leave it for our return. That’ll give her just a couple more days, and who knows, we might at last be able to tell Joe.’
The others didn’t reply, just nodded, because none of them dared to think how Joe would react. Or anyone else, really, when it came to Joe leaving Howard House.
They made Tyseley Wharf in Birmingham two days later, and as they clambered on to the quay there was the foreman, Mr Roberts, his clipboard in his hand.
Verity murmured, ‘I feel he should have a stopwatch, to click us in, and click us out, and time us, particularly when we remove the tarpaulin so they can get at the hold.’
Polly nudged her. ‘He has ears like a bat, just like Bet.’
Sylvia stood the other side. ‘Quite, so shut up.’
‘Well, well,’ said Mr Roberts. ‘If it isn’t the three musketeers again. I’ve ’ad Sylvia’s young man pestering the life out of me, wondering when you was getting in. Worse than Pup, he is, yap yap. I says, d’yer see my crystal ball I happen to have on my person? He says, no. I says, quite, cos I ain’t got one. I told ’im though that since it’s almost dusk it won’t be till the morning, so he’s gorn off. Alf Green tells me he’s booked into Alice’s guest house. He’ll be in a room a floor down, and she’ll ’ear every blessed footstep, you mark my words, so no ’anky-panky.’
The girls just stared. They’d never heard Mr Roberts talk so much. Sylvia knew that she had blushed bright red. Steve had been here, he’d been wanting to see her so much that he’d yap-yapped.
She couldn’t suppress the grin on her face. Mr Roberts just looked at Pup at their feet. ‘Dare say you’ll be wanting me to take the mutt to the missus again. Well, since the lad is the one who hoiked you packets of trouble out of the rubble, dare say we can manage that. All that training lost under a load of bricks’d be a crying shame. You best be off, then. I have you booked in first thing.’
The girls shut Pup in the cabin, dashed to the lavs, then back to the boats, grabbing clean clothes and Pup’s blanket. Tying her lead on, they led her to the office for Mr Roberts, who was on the quay supervising the final unloading of Timmo’s boats. They rushed for the tram and now they laughed, and laughed, Polly spluttering, ‘Honestly, is there anything at all the cut doesn’t know about our lives?’
They said the same to Mrs Green who showed them to their usual cubicles, and said, as she stood outside before walking back to reception, ‘Ah well, women on the cut are summat to talk about, and you three are something else, an’ all, what with Saul being yer man, Polly, and Tom being on the boat fer a bit, Verity, and the coppernob being saved by another coppernob. Couldn’t make it up, could yer? Mark yer, Bet’s special too.’
Washed, and tidied, they walked from the baths to the Bull and Bush. Sylvia’s heart was thudding. The idea had been that he’d meet them here, and join them at Mrs Green’s. They entered the fug of the pub, and there, sitting with dear old Frankie still wearing his black armband and the other domino players, was Steve. The girls stood inside the door and waited for just a moment, then, in the hush, Steve turned and looked, his face breaking into a smile. He touched Frankie’s shoulder, and stood, then headed towards them. He looked different in mufti, Sylvia thought, starting to walk towards him, then they clung together. The pub regulars applauded.
Into the chaos Boris called from behind the bar, ‘Oh, lawks, is ’e going down on one knee too?’
Sylvia buried her head in Steve’s shoulder, as he kissed her hair. ‘It’s wet,’ he said, ‘and smells of shampoo. I do love you so, you know. Is it too soon to propose? Frankie, our stalwart domino player, says it’s not.’
She laughed up at him. ‘What do you think?’
He slipped through her arms, on to one knee, looking up at her. ‘I haven’t a ring, and I haven’t known you for long, but actually, I feel like I’ve known you for ever but you already know that. So marry me whenever we can, eh?’
Sylvia was scarlet, the heat beating in her face. ‘Do get up,’ she whispered. ‘Everyone’s looking.’
Verity, who was alongside now, muttered, ‘Let them look, and put the poor beggar out of his misery. What does length of time matter?’ Sylvia looked from her to Polly, and saw the underlying anxiety in their eyes, and for a moment she saw Harriet, and pushed her aside, saying in a rush, ‘Yes, yes, of course. I love you too, so much.’ The last bit was whispered.
Steve grinned, and sprang up. ‘Thank the Lord for that, my knee was killing me.’ The pub was watching and waiting. He kissed Sylvia, and the feel of his lips was gentle, and exciting, and she wanted to hold him, and be held for ever. She drew away, and the regulars were still watching, and waiting. Polly sighed, and whispered, ‘You, kind sir, are going to have to buy everyone a drink. You walked right into that, as did our Tom and Saul, who got down on their knees here too. I reckon it’s Frankie’s little game to up Boris’s takings.’
Steve looked round and laughed. ‘What are you all having?’
A babble of voices answered, and he went round each table taking orders, while the girls asked what was on the menu. Boris was leaning on the bar, grinning as Steve tried to remember the drinks. He yelled, ‘Don’t yer worry, lad. I knows ’em all by ’eart. Come and choose yer meal.’
Verity said, ‘Well, come on, Boris, out with it. What’s on, and what’s off tonight?’
He took his pencil from his ear, and the pad from his apron pocket, licked the end of the pencil and said, ‘It’s fish ’n’ chips, or sausage and mash.’
The three girls waited, while Steve returned to the bar. Verity conducted as Boris said, ‘The fish is orf.’
All together the three girls shouted, ‘Oh, a hard choice, girls. I suppose it will have to be the sausage and mash then, Boris.’
Boris laughed until he coughed. ‘Oh, yer girls crack me up.’ It was these things Sylvia would remember for the rest of her life, and suddenly she was glad, so very, very glad, that Steve had proposed here, where Saul and Tom had done the same.
Steve left Boris to dispense the drinks, having done his bit by coughing up the money, and carried three half-pints of mild and a pint to the fireside table. He sat down, just as Verity said, ‘So, where’s it to land this evening?’
‘Steve’s plate, on the mash,’ Sylvia and Polly said as one.
‘You’re on.’ Verity spat on her hand and held it out to be shaken. ‘You’re disgusting,’ Polly said. Sylvia just sighed. ‘Put it away.’
Steve held up his pint. ‘Cheers, girls. I’m really glad you didn’t shake her hand, sweet Sylv.’ He took hers in his and kissed it. ‘Did you mean it?’ he asked.
The other two girls waited. Sylvia smiled, drew in a deep breath, because to say she would marry would close all the doors finally, on betrayal and guilt, and confusion of any sort. ‘Of course, but only if you stop calling me Sylv.’
‘I didn’t know you preferred Coppernob.’ He kissed her hand again, winking at the other two girls. Polly whooped. ‘Oh, he’ll do, indeed he will, Sylv.’
Gladys was approaching, and the girls sat very still. The tray was loaded with four plates this time, and Steve leapt to his feet and said, ‘Allow me.’ He took the tray. Gladys’s ash fell on the floor. Verity’s face was a picture.
The girls stayed in the pub until closing time, and a bit beyond. They knew where Mrs Green’s key was and none of them wanted the evening to end; somehow having Steve amongst them was almost like having Saul and Tom too. The talk was a bit about the war, a bit about Boris’s missus who none of them had ever met, and about Gladys who must be seventy and was still at work. Then they moved to Dodge’s missus, who was working his allotment because the plants had a right to grow whether Dodge was there or not. She’d added, ‘And he is here, in the fact that he planted ’em.’
They tiptoed up the outside guest-house steps, while Verity felt for the key under the plant pot to the right of the front door. ‘It’s not here,’ she hissed.
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It was freezing. Steve rummaged too, and while he was bent double, the front door opened and Mrs Green stood there, in her dressing gown, with her hair pinned up. ‘Boris called, he said yer were celebrating so I knew to keep yer fires burning in yer rooms, and I wanted to be here for yer. Good news is always worth staying awake for.’
They trooped in, the cold hanging around them like a blanket. Mrs Green held Sylvia’s face between both hands and looked hard. ‘The shadow ’as gone from yer eyes, and not before time. Yer treat her right, young man. Yer room’s on the first floor, the girls’ is on the second, cos I’m not ’aving any hanky-panky under my roof.’
Verity was mouthing the words. Sylvia remembered them from the night Tom had stayed.
‘We promise,’ said Steve, looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights. They all followed Mrs Green to the first floor, where she pointed to the second room on the left. ‘Alf and me is in the first, and there’s a couple of creaking floorboards outside our room, and I have ears like a—’
‘Bat,’ the girls chimed in.
Steve stood his ground for just a moment, stooping, and kissing Sylvia on her lips, eyes and hair. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for agreeing to be my wife.’
He walked away, and two floorboards creaked on the landing as he tiptoed past the bedroom where Mr Green was sleeping. Mrs Green followed him, opened her door, waving the other three up the stairs, whispering, ‘Usual rooms. Breakfast at seven.’ The door shut behind her.
The three girls smiled and crept upstairs, letting themselves into their rooms quietly, though Polly popped back out for a moment as Sylvia entered hers. ‘We so want you to be happy, right through to your heart and soul, Sylv, so that the shadows lift completely, and the confusion. If he can do that, then we love him.’
Sylvia smiled as she shut the door and leaned back against it. The coal fire was low in the grate – rationing made a fire a small thing but it gave warmth, and a flickering light. She raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For giving me this love.’
She slept and dreamed, not of the cut, but of the picture of Christ knocking on the door, which hung on the refectory wall. She heard the words: I am here, at last. It was Steve’s voice and it woke her. She looked around, and smiled. ‘At last,’ she whispered. She slept, and woke again and this time thought of Solly, looking for his friend, the accountant. She slept and dreamed and woke again to a knocking. It was Polly. ‘Come on, lazybones. Can’t be late for Mr Roberts and his stopwatch.’
She sat up, shouting, ‘He hasn’t got a stopwatch.’
It was Verity’s voice this time. ‘Oh yes he has, in his head. Come on, I can smell toast, and scrambled powdered eggs, and there will be Steve, not to eat, but to sit next to.’
She hurried. She had a fiancé, she had someone to love, and a family in the girls, and Steve, and would one day have her own children. It was in Ma Porter’s water.
Steve rushed from the guest house to catch his train, and they rushed for the tram to untie their loads, and within an hour everything was back to normal except for the fact that soon Sylvia would wear a ring and belong with someone.
They headed off within three hours to pick up coal from Coventry. Once there, the coal train came along the quay, and the team of men offloaded the dusty black lumps, their faces as black as the coal. They did it quickly in return for copious cups of tea, and then Marigold and Horizon set off again on a short tow, not covering the hold with the tarpaulins because they’d long ago decided the coal could withstand the rain better than the tarps could withstand the filth.
They kept going steadily, catching up with Timmo, Peter and Trev on Venus and Shortwood also on short tow, and settling down behind them, passing Steerer and Ma Mercy on Lincoln and York, who were heading north, and hailed them to ask if they were seeing Granfer and, if so, to say ‘’Ow do.’
‘We will,’ shouted Verity. As usual there had been no mention of Maudie. To their surprise, when they approached the turn to Buckby, Timmo and the butty turned too. Even more surprising was when Timmo and the boys tied up at the Buckby mooring. The girls moored up behind and, with Pup, jumped on to the bank. Timmo came strolling along, with that walk that boaters had, which seemed to be going nowhere fast but ate up the miles.
‘’Ow do,’ Timmo muttered, his face flushing. In his hand were a couple of pheasant.
Polly reached out for them, but he shook his head. ‘These does be fer Granfer and the like. I is catchin’ yer some on t’way on down.’
Verity said, ‘Would you like us to take them for you, Timmo?’
He shook his head. ‘I said to ’em last time, I’d bring ’em again meself. Seems it’s a good idea, Granfer says. I knew ’er, yer sees, afore that Leon turned her ’ead. Poor poor lass.’
Verity nodded slowly, and Sylvia could see the abacus of her mind making two plus two equal fifty, or in other words, a love match where there probably wasn’t. But as they walked together, and Timmo talked of growing up alongside his Maudie, she realised that perhaps Verity’s counting had been accurate.
They passed Spring Cottage on the left, where icicles hung from the back eaves. Somehow it didn’t seem that cold, but it was north facing. Timmo nodded. ‘I nipped in an’ paid respects, I did. She were a grand wee dog.’
Pup was leaping ahead on a long rope. Timmo said, ‘She be fine too, you girls. Yer see, show’s yer love can be replaced, d’ya think?’ There was pleading in his voice.
The girls looked at one another as they neared Granfer’s cottage. Polly said quietly, coming alongside Timmo, ‘Oh, yes, Timmo, especially if the love is better. But it has to be a gentle and patient love, if you get my meaning.’
Timmo looked down at her. ‘A waitin’ love, yer means.’
Sylv said, ‘That’s exactly what she means, Timmo.’
They reached the picket gate. Polly opened it, but Timmo hung back. ‘It would please me for yer to go first, cos my heart is in a flummox. And, rest easy, cos I knows her my life’s length, and I cares, yer see, so I is used to waitin’, and lovin’ and lookin’ after, for I does that from a distance. Always ’as, always will and that Leon won’t come near ’er less I ’ear o’ it first, cos Buckby looks after its own, it do.’
The girls walked down the path, Verity whispering, ‘I don’t think I have ever heard such a genuine and wonderful declaration of love.’
They knocked, happy that Maudie had a protector, but then, the whole of the cut, and Buckby, had already taken on that role by their very silence about Maudie’s existence, and their awareness of the need to be vigilant.
Sylvia said, ‘Now we’ll see how she is but we shouldn’t ever tell her that we worry about Leon when he’s probably never going to emerge from whatever hole he’s in. As we’ve said a million times, even if he isn’t dead he thinks she is. Heavens, I’m muddling myself, let alone you two.’ They heard footsteps coming along the flagstoned hall.
Polly whispered, ‘You’re not muddling us, we do that for ourselves.’ They all smiled. ‘I do just hope she’s stable, and wants Joe to know of her survival. But what will happen then? Does he come here, or will she visit him at Howard House?’
Sylvia held Polly’s hand. ‘After that, will she take him away from the “parents” and life at Howard House?’
Verity leaned forward. ‘I hardly slept last night, wondering how on earth Joe, and the grown-ups, will handle it all without disastrous pain? And even though the boaters and Buckby people are keeping a watch, how … just in case …’
She petered out, and Sylvia whispered, ‘Just in case Leon is still …’
She too couldn’t finish. Polly said, ‘We mustn’t keep going with the what if, and the in case …’
As the door began to open, Polly’s whisper was harsh. ‘Mum said she always knew the day would come, and that the important people were Joe and Maudie, so we’ll just hang on to that and it’ll all be fine.’
But all three feared that it wouldn’t be and Sylvia co
uldn’t bear for Joe to be caught in this confusing love, and perhaps … If only they knew if Leon still lived, and if so, where he was, Sylvia thought.
Chapter 20
Maudie’s progress is revealed
Granfer opened the door, ‘’Tis yer girls, and little Pup. Oh, ’tis good to see yer on this cold and frosty day.’ He seemed different – lighter, taller. ‘Yer is to come on in.’ He raised his voice and called over their heads, ‘Yer planting yerself out by t’gate, Timmo lad, growing pheasant, ’stead o’ apples?’ Bring ’em birds in, and we’ll ’ang ’em out in t’larder, or Lettie will, so don’t be ’anging there, or our Lettie’ll be out after you, beating yer in with her broom. She don’t want t’heat letting out.’
He waved the girls in past him. They kicked off the mud from their boots first and made to take them off. ‘No, lasses, see, ’tis newspaper on t’floor, so leave ’em on. She says that’s the best place for all them little newspaper letters that a body can’t be seeing but with a magnification glass.’
They were all squashed up in the hall as Granfer waited for Timmo, patting the man on his shoulder and talking of Fran’s school play her little ’uns had performed, until Lettie called from the kitchen. ‘Yer weren’t born in t’barn, our Artie, so shut the door, do, and come on through. I want to put our Timmo’s birds out in’t larder, or might even put ’em hanging in t’shed. Nice and cold ’tis.’
Somehow they all untangled themselves and headed for the kitchen, then sat around the table. Lettie was by the range, topping up the teapot. ‘I felt it in my bones you’d be coming in today my girls, but weren’t sure about our Timmo. Sometimes he do, sometimes he don’t. Sit down, lad.’
Sylvia hadn’t realised Timmo made a habit of calling, and exchanged a smile with the other two. He was edging towards the back door, the pheasants hanging from his hand. Lettie smiled at him. ‘Yes, I think, all things considered, we’ll put ’em out in the shed, lad. Off yer go, and yer might give our Maudie an ’and getting the lunchtime veggies, if yer’ve a mind.’
