Rosie of the River

by Catherine Cookson

  From his shoulders down to the top of his buttocks he was black and blue.

  The doctor’s voice now said quietly, ‘Indeed, my God!’

  He looked at Fred’s ashen face. ‘No wonder you haven’t wanted to move. And there are two places that definitely need a pad with a rubber covering. I’m sorry, man, but I say again, you should be in hospital…Your wife’ll be all right. We’ll be staying here, and could give her a hand if she needs it.’

  ‘No. No; I told you.’

  The young man turned to Sally, saying,

  ‘Would you get me a bowl of boiled water, Mrs Carpenter, please?’

  She scrambled to do his bidding, then watched him go to the other seat and take from his black bag a small bottle, and pour half of its contents into the water.

  After putting on a pair of rubber gloves, he split open a plastic bag, and took from it a sponge and dropped it into the bowl. Then he asked for a towel, and indicated she tuck it under Fred, who was now lying on his side.

  Silently she watched the young man dabbing the sponge all over her husband’s back, and saying, ‘That should soothe it for a time. I’m not going to dry it, it’ll do that itself. But I shall put some salve on those grazes. It might sting a bit. Then I’ll put that rubber pad on; it’ll keep it clean for a few days. What should happen now’—he had turned to Sally—‘is that he should be put to bed. But then you would be unable to get about the cabin. So what I suggest is, you take away those cushions’—he pointed to the back of the seat—‘that’ll give you more room. Your bed tick is thin enough to be doubled. He’ll be more comfortable and you can get past.’

  ‘She’ll never be able to do that on her own.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Carpenter. Just don’t worry. James and I will come along and fix things. We used these little craft often years ago in our vacs.’ Then he added, ‘How does the back feel now?’

  ‘Oh, much easier. Thank you…This is all very kind of you, you know.’

  ‘Not at all. Not at all. We are glad, in a way. It gets us rid of Pontoon Mouth. He’s the big fellow. We’ll tell you about him later; there’s quite a story there.’

  Sally followed the surprising doctor up into the wheelhouse; and there whispered, ‘I just don’t know how to thank you. I’ve been worried to death. He should be in hospital, I know; but you can see he’s so stubborn.’

  The doctor laughed gently, then said, ‘Yes; and you’re the reason for it,’ with which enigmatic reply he stepped off the boat.

  They had arrived at Oulton Broad Yacht Station on the Saturday; on the Sunday they had crossed Breydon Water, where the accident happened; Sally spent Monday going crazy with worry over what had happened to Fred, and his reactions to it; that afternoon she had her first conversation with James Watson, followed by the meeting with Peter Wheeler, who unveiled the horror of Fred’s back and the awful fact that he was suffering from concussion and needed rest if he were to recover sufficiently to get them home.

  She need not have worried. Apparently, it was all settled. The following morning, Tuesday, they had another visit from Dr Wheeler, accompanied by his friend.

  They rearranged the cabin and then sat looking at Fred. It was James Watson who said, ‘You’re going to be bed-bound, Mr Carpenter, for the next couple of days, so I understand, and it won’t be pleasant for either of you tied up to this quay with all the coming and going and the bustle and noise around you; so we have a suggestion.

  ‘It’s like this. During the years we have spent on these rivers there was a part we called our secret slipway. It led nowhere; but it was so peaceful, with a good view across green farming land. And so, this morning, as we were making for there ourselves, hoping to get Pontoon Mouth to sober up, we thought that you might like us to lead you up there, where you could lie in peace for the next two days, before you return across Breydon Water again on Friday, ready to slip back into Oulton Broad Yacht Station on Saturday morning.

  ‘We have to leave on Friday, for I must be back at college on Monday. Peter here, too, will have a queue of patients waiting for him at home. What do you think?’

  ‘It’s very kind of you,’ said Fred. ‘And I’m not in any position at the moment to make any plans, am I? What do you think, dear?’ He had turned to Sally.

  ‘It sounds lovely,’ she said. ‘But we’ll need provisions quite soon.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ put in the young doctor quickly. ‘We’re taking the boat straight back to Yarmouth today after we leave you, in order to catch the train to London, because we have an appointment with James’ father. We’ll be back on Thursday morning, and there are one or two nice corner shops up there. One is called Harrods.’

  Sally laughed. ‘Yes, with everything three times the price.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the doctor, himself laughing now; ‘but isn’t it a nice feeling walking along the street swinging a bag with Harrods printed on it in large letters? Anyway, we’ll be passing you in a few minutes, and we’ll slip you a bottle of milk we have spare, and you slip us a shopping list. Get her ready now for off and follow us.’ He turned to Fred and said, ‘How are you feeling now, sir?’

  ‘Better, thank you. Oh, much better.’

  ‘Your back still aching?’

  ‘Oh, not so bad at all, thanks to you.’

  ‘That’s good. Well, we’ll leave things as they are till we get back. We must be off now.’

  In the cockpit, he said to Sally, ‘You’ll be able to manage her?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes. After that journey through Breydon I think I could take a steamer across the Channel now.’

  She and Fred both laughed, and James added, ‘Good girl!’

  After they were gone, she stood for a moment thinking. They were lovely, like two fathers looking after Fred and herself. Even if she was in her early forties, and Fred six years younger. Fathers indeed!

  That Tuesday morning, they moved from the yacht station. Sally endeavoured to keep her eyes on the boat ahead so did not take in the places they were passing.

  Soon James Watson was signalling her to slow down. He pointed to his right and shouted, ‘The next cut on the left,’ then added, ‘Can you whistle?’

  ‘Whistle?’ she shouted back. ‘Yes, I can whistle.’

  ‘Well, when you reach a green bank, tie up and whistle. That’s if you feel it’s all right.’

  She did as she had been directed, and went through a green channel into an open space where the bank was almost on a level with the gunwale. Quickly, she shut off the engine, jumped out, thrust in the rond anchors, then whistled shrilly, to be answered by the toot-toot of a horn.

  She went downstairs and said to her smiling husband, ‘We’re all set, but I’ll see to the oil and things first.’

  ‘Good girl!’ he said. ‘You’ve done marvellously.’

  Ten minutes later, Sally slumped on his makeshift bed and said, ‘It’s lovely here. You can see for miles over the far bank; it’s a little lower that side. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll be able to sit outside in the cockpit.’

  He reached out and said, ‘Give me your hand.’ He stroked it, and his voice was soft as he said, ‘You’re not only beautiful, but you’re charming, for you have charmed two of your noisy young men.’

  ‘Charmed!’ she said indignantly. ‘A doctor and a priest just doing their duty because the opportunity occurred? Now, let’s be practical: are you hungry?’

  ‘It’s funny, but I am a little.’

  ‘Well, it’s not funny, I am a lot, I mean hungry. What about bacon and eggs, fried bread and a sausage?’

  ‘Oh!’ he laughed. ‘You’ve forgotten the kidney.’

  ‘Well,’ she rose, laughing herself now, ‘if those two fellows go to Harrods, we’ll likely have them on Thursday. But seriously, they are nice chaps, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, they are. And to think we owe them to the kind concern of our Mancunian friends…’

  It was a wonderful day. The sun came out, really hot at times. Bill thought he
had reached his seventh heaven for, after a thorough search of the land surrounding this wired-in field, Sally let him off the lead. He romped for a time, and explored, but then returned to the boat; in spite of his freedom, it would seem he did not want to be separated from his owners.

  The next day, she banked Fred up on the bed so that he could see further out of the window; then she pushed a stool near him and asked, ‘Are you really feeling better?’

  ‘Oh, much,’ he replied. ‘And I’ll get up tomorrow and do a little walking. It looks lovely out there; I could stay here for a week. I can’t believe it’s Wednesday already, and we must be back in dock by Friday night.’

  He turned towards her and said, ‘I wonder what the boys are doing in London.’

  ‘I do too. But I bet they’ll not be back till late tomorrow, with Pontoon Mouth singing his head off.’

  She was wrong there, for shortly after midday the next day, there they were sailing past and calling out, ‘Be with you shortly!’

  ‘No roaring…no singing,’ said Fred. ‘They must have left him behind.’

  ‘We’ll soon know.’

  It wasn’t ten minutes later when they entered the cabin, and Fred watched Peter hand Sally a bag with ‘Harrods’ printed across it, at which they all burst out laughing.

  ‘I told you there was a good corner shop up there. See if we’ve brought everything you want.’

  She turned out the contents of the heavy bag, and exclaimed, ‘Oh, Peter! You shouldn’t.’

  ‘It was half-price day,’ he said.

  Apart from the bread, tea, sugar, butter and ham she had asked for, there were tins of fruit, pots of dressed crab and pâté, special marmalade, two tins of treacle pudding, a box of chocolates, and another of almonds and raisins.

  She wanted to turn and fling her arms around them; instead she looked at Fred and asked, ‘What can we say to this?’ And he, looking at their benefactors, said, ‘Only thank you, fellows, very much indeed. You’re placing us more and more in your debt.’

  ‘Nonsense! Nonsense!’ said Peter. ‘But aren’t you going to ask what we’ve done to Pontoon Mouth, and why we went to London?’

  Fred laughed. ‘To tell you the truth, we just can’t wait to find out.’

  ‘Well, let’s get settled and we’ll tell you a story. That’s after we have a glass of this.’ Peter pulled from his jacket pocket a bottle of muscat, saying, ‘It’s an either-sex drink, and it’s very nice.’

  With this, he uncorked the bottle, took four small glass mugs from the rack and filled each with wine. Then they all held them up together as he said, ‘To new but definitely future friends.’

  Following this, they settled down round the bed.

  It was Peter who looked at James and said, ‘You’re the Bible-pusher and fable-spouter, so I leave you to tell the tale.’

  James laughed and said, ‘Well, before I begin I’ll say we won’t be having the company of our friend for some time. He was to meet us off the train this morning. He hadn’t returned to the boat. So we guessed he had found a new lady-love, and that we wouldn’t see him again until we went back to dock tomorrow. Tomorrow is our last day, and we had arranged to have a little farewell do before parting on our several ways: Peter back to his patients; me to college; and Big Charlie McHannen to America. The latest news from there his valet-cum-warder imparted to us yesterday: America is too hot to hold him.

  ‘Now, we’ll go back to the beginning. As I understand it, Charlie’s great-grandfather came over from Ireland in the middle of the last century in one of the starving boats. And even as a child, he understood that without money his father and family might die. He seemed to be the only one of the line with an astute mind, for he did not bother to beg, instead he stole. In between times he took every job available to him, from sweeping the streets to making matchboxes at slave-labour rates; to running for a betting business; to setting one up on his own, no bet higher than sixpence, which within ten years and studying the Financial Times introduced him to the stock market. He was a gambler and would risk anything, even take on a rotting business, going on the premise that even rotting apples could make a certain kind of cider.

  ‘He didn’t marry until he was forty; then he had a son and brought him up on the same lines along which he himself had travelled, but in a more polished fashion.

  ‘His son, though not blessed with brains, was a good imitator. He married and had a son, Mike.

  ‘By now, Mike’s father and grandfather were sharing a company. One of them only had to find a rotten hulk of a boat, employ some of the still starving Irish who were willing to work for bread and beer, and another small cargo boat was added to the McHannen fleet.

  ‘It was soon after the First World War that this young Mike McHannen went to America, set up in business, married and had a son.

  ‘He had picked his wife with the knowledge that her father, too, was well up in the business field and with a good head on his shoulders. From this marriage was born our friend, Charles McHannen, and from the moment of his first yell, it would seem he never stopped. He had only to yell to get someone to do his bidding and give him whatever he wanted.’

  ‘He was six years old when his mother felt she had had enough of both him and his father and walked out on them.

  ‘Up till then, young Charles had been fed with a silver spoon; but from that moment his father turned it into a gold one. Everything he wanted he got; nothing he did was wrong. It was all put down to his being a braw Irish laddie. That was until he became engaged to the daughter of one of his father’s partners. She was a high-spirited society beauty. The wedding arranged matched anything our royalty here could put on: all New York who was anybody was invited. Then bang! A fortnight before the appointed date the spirited lady came to him, threw her engagement ring into the fire, and then, I understand, to use her own words, which the headlines of the papers quoted, she told him where he could go and take his two fancy women with him.

  ‘The newspapers, as you can imagine, had a field day.

  ‘The next piece of news was that her father confronted the great Mike McHannen and told him exactly what he thought of him; and McHannen told him that if he didn’t see that his daughter took back her words and continue with the wedding arrangements, and not make a laughing stock out of him, he would ruin him.

  ‘By this time most of New York was well into the picture, and Big Charlie couldn’t stand it, so fled to England. And who do you think he came to? To Peter, there. He and I were the only two friends he had previously made in this country, during his university days here. And Peter’s father being a doctor, and Peter himself one, what could they do for him? He was in a hellish state.

  ‘Peter’s father, being a naturally kind man, suggested that Peter and I, having arranged for a trip on the Broads while Peter’s wife Gail had gone to visit her parents in Scotland, should take him along with us.’

  James paused here and took a deep breath before going on: ‘Well, you’ve seen and heard what we took on, haven’t you? And, on the quiet, we’ve talked about what he’s likely to do with himself after we leave him. It isn’t all his fault, you know, that he’s turned out like this: his whole childhood was ruined through lack of proper care and through being hopelessly overindulged. He’s never known what it is to have wanted anything and not be given it. So Peter, here, thought up a crazy plan; which is really why we rushed to London on Tuesday to put it to my father. It’s just this. You see, Charles can drink most men under the table and still stand on his feet and go on singing. But now and again, as we had previously discovered during the two years we knew him, there comes a point when he blots right out. It’s usually after mixing his drinks, whisky and rum, which is followed by a dreadful two-day hangover, when he can hardly move for the pain in his head.’

  At this point, Peter started to laugh as he said; ‘I could see it all happening, for, as James’ father said, it was being worked by two healers of the body and one of the soul.’

  He laugh
ed again, then said, ‘Go on now, James, and tell them the plot.’

  ‘We intend to get him dead drunk,’ said James, ‘drop him in the gutter here and there to muddy his clothes, get him into Father’s old banger and take him deep into the East End to a parishioner friend of my father, Joseph Connolly, who has fallen in with the plan, and leave him there.’ And here, he lay back against the window and ended, ‘Well, that’s about it. We’ll know nothing more until my father writes and informs us how it’s going. We only hope it shows Big Mouth how the other half of the world lives, and take it from there. Anyway,’ he said, ‘when he does I’ll give you a ring.’ He paused before he added, ‘That’s if you would like to keep in touch.’

  Fred was before Sally in answering, ‘Oh, yes; yes, by all means do let us know.

  ‘Do you think he’ll turn up at Oulton tomorrow looking for you?’ he continued.

  ‘Oh, yes; of course he will. We have already arranged a farewell dinner for tomorrow night. What happens to him afterwards is in the lap of the gods, or the Connollys, and, of course, James’ father, who is a rare old schemer for the saving of souls.

  ‘Anyway, about you two,’ Peter looked from Sally to Fred. ‘As you know, we give up our boat tomorrow. Now, it’s difficult getting out of this retreat because one has to back out, so we think we should take you with us earlier in the morning and see you settled in a nice little creek we know of, close to Breydon Water. You can lie there until high tide and get across Breydon and into Oulton Broad by Friday night. It’ll be straight going from there. What about it?’

  ‘Oh, that suits us,’ said Fred; ‘and I’ll be on my feet tomorrow.’

  ‘You might be,’ put in Peter; ‘but you must still be careful. That back of yours will take a week or so to heal.’

  So it was left at this, except that Sally’s last words were, ‘I’ll be sorry to leave here, it’s so beautiful.’