by Annie Murray
‘No, I, er . . .’ In her awkwardness she rubbed one shoe against the back of her other leg like a much younger child. ‘No, thanks.’
Mr Griffin leaned forward with a grunt and eased himself up out of the chair. Blood started to pound in her ears. But Norman went over and drew the curtains, even though it was still light outside, so that the room turned dim and green. He lit the gas mantle and the pop-pop sound started up. Then he stood with his hands straight down by his sides, looking at her. Maryann ran her tongue over her lips and looked down at the floor. Slowly, knowing in her heart that he was not going to let her go, that there was something he wanted badly from her, she began to edge across the room towards the door to the stairs.
‘No, don’t go!’ His voice had a hard edge. ‘I said stay ’ere with me.’
He walked over to her.
‘I like you better than your sister, I must say.’ He picked at a lock of her dark hair and stroked it. She drew her head back. ‘D’you know why, Maryann?’
Still not looking at him, she shook her head.
‘You ain’t like her. You’ve got more fire about yer and I like that in a woman.’
Woman? Maryann thought. But I’m a girl, not a woman. I’m still at school.
‘Sal were good to me for a bit. Helped me out and did what I told ’er. See, we men are different from you women.’ He spoke in a very reasonable voice. ‘We need – satisfying – now and then. That’s what comes natural to us, see, that’s all. And you girls have a way of getting me . . . excited.’ He was taking his jacket off. She heard him throw it on to the chair.
His hands came down on her shoulders and she cried out.
‘No need for that. I’ll show yer what to do. This is what wenches’re made for. I’m just teaching yer, that’s all. Now – you just do as I say and we’ll ’ave a nice time.’
His arms came round her and she felt herself lifted off the ground and carried to the peg rug by the hearth. When he pushed her down she banged her head on the floor and gave a moan of pain, which seemed to arouse him. She heard his hard, ragged breathing.
‘What’re you doing?’ Her voice had gone squeaky. ‘You shouldn’t be doing this.’
‘Who says so?’ His voice had lost its wheedling tone and was as cold as the frozen east wind. ‘Who’s gunna stop me now? You, yer little bitch, eh?’
His hands forced up her skirt and she felt him tearing her underclothes down.
‘No!’ She lashed out, trying to kick him. ‘Stop it . . . stop it! Get off me.’
‘Shut yer mouth.’
Everything went darker as he leaned over her, blocking out the light and his weight came down on her so she was struggling then only to be able to breathe, gasping. Her legs were being forced apart and that hard prodding started like in the bath until she was sobbing it hurt so much, with him pushing and jabbing, burning his way up inside her, panting in her face, filthy words dropping from his lips.
When he climbed off her she was like a rag doll, dizzy, her back sore and smarting. She went very cold, starting to shiver until her teeth chattered, wet stuff oozing out down her legs as she stood up.
Mr Griffin went out to the kitchen and she heard the splash of water. He came back, buttoning his fly.
‘Now. That’s it then. Sal could keep a secret and I know you can. Anyhow – your mother wouldn’t believe a word if you started on about this – you know that, don’t you? You can go to bed now.’ He turned away. ‘I’ve finished with yer.’
She could barely remember getting to bed, struggling to wash first, shaking so much she could scarcely attend to herself. All the water in the sea could not wash Norman Griffin off her. She lay alone in the bed, hugging herself tightly with her arms, sobbing and shaking. She felt frightened and sick and bereaved, as if there was something enormous that she had lost, and she wept for all the losses she could think of: her lovely dad, her nan, her little cat. All those she had loved and would never again be able to hold in her arms.
Fourteen
She slept for a time in fits and starts, crying at first, dozing, dreaming dark, broken dreams, and still feeling, even in sleep, the ache between her legs. Then she jolted awake as she heard Norman Griffin coming up to bed. The light of his candle and his shadow moved past the crack in the door, and for those moments she stopped breathing. Was he coming to her room . . .? Not with Tony here, surely? She gripped the cover close to her throat.
But she heard him go to his and her mother’s room across the tiny landing. She knew from the solitariness of his sounds that Flo was not here, had not come home. There must be something dreadfully wrong with baby Cissie that she’d had to stay out at Uncle Danny’s house so long. But even more worrying was that Sal was not lying beside her, and that had never happened before. Where in heaven could she have got to? She lay there, hearing him moving, fear and anxiety growing in her until she could hardly breathe.
She wasn’t going to be able to sleep. She got out of bed, tiptoed over to pull the door open and listen. She could hear Norman’s loud, stertorous breathing from the front bedroom. Pig, she thought. She pulled on layers of clothes and crept downstairs to the front. The fire was dead in the grate so, as quietly as she could manage, she scraped the ash out, leaving it in a metal pail by the back door, then built up a new fire. She’d always liked putting a fire in the grate, even though it was dirty work. It made the room cosy, and she was a little comforted by the sight of her twists of newspaper as they jumped, flaming into life at the touch of her spill. The flames filled the room with warm, twitching light. She sat on the rug with her knees close to her chest, pulling her baggy cardigan down over them, and watched the fire, sometimes leaning down to blow on it, or adding a few more bits of coal to keep it going properly. Behind her the room was very dark, but the fire in front of her felt like her warm protector.
She tried to shut out any thoughts of Norman Griffin, even though this was the very spot where he’d forced her down on the floor. If she hadn’t been so sore still it wouldn’t seem real now. But she wouldn’t let her mind dwell on it.
Where are you, Sal? she wondered again and again. With each half-hour she grew more worried. The fire was glowing a deeper orange now. After some time there was a tiny rattle of the mechanism from the clock on the mantle before it struck its gentle bong-bong-bong, then it went quiet again and there was only the sound of the fire.
She woke to the sound of Norman Griffin’s feet on the stairs and found herself lying cold and cramped by the grey ash of a dead fire. Her heart pumped violently at the sound of him approaching and she sat up. The clock said half past seven. When Norman appeared he was already dressed.
‘Where is everybody?’
‘Mom must still be at Uncle Danny’s.’ Maryann sat hugging her legs again, shivering.
‘Sal still abed?’
Slowly Maryann shook her head, though with a sense of unreality. Perhaps Sal was in bed after all? Maybe she’d been there all the time, or slipped in after Maryann had fallen asleep?
‘Well, where is she?’
He turned impatiently and went back upstairs, looked in girls’ room, then was back down. ‘Where’s ’er gone?’
‘She never come in,’ Maryann said, looking down at her knees, the loose-knit mesh of her blue cardi stretched over them. She knew then for certain that something had happened.
‘No bloody breakfast on the go neither, I s’pose.’ There was a coarseness to Norman this morning, usually hidden under his oily smoothness when Flo was about. ‘Get the kettle going, wench – at least yer can make a cuppa tea.’
Maryann did as she was ordered, then went up to wake Tony and Billy. She sorted out breakfast for Norman and the boys, blanking out all other thoughts.
‘Tony, you’ll ’ave to go to school with Alec,’ she told him. ‘I’ll have to stop here till our mom gets home.’
‘Oh Maryann!’ Tony complained.
‘Do as your sister tells yer!’ Norman said, with such savagery that Tony cowered.
‘Yo
u’ll be awright,’ Maryann said to him. ‘Only I’ve got to stay – who’s going to mind Billy, else?’
Tony nodded, dumbly.
‘Tell that Sal to get ’erself down the shop when ’er turns up,’ Norman said, putting his hat on by the front door. ‘I’ll ’ave a few things to say to ’er, that I shall.’
‘Come on, Billy – we’ve gotta go out.’ Maryann impatiently shoved her little brother’s shoes on. ‘Push yer feet in, will you!’
‘Where we going, our Maryann?’
‘You’ll see when we get there.’ She dragged him out and along Anderson Street, then softened. ‘You can come and play with Horace.’
‘Oh!’ Billy moaned. ‘Horace is a babby, I don’t wanna play with ’im!’
‘Well, ’ard luck ’cos yer gonna ’ave to.’
Pulling Billy along so he had to run, Maryann went as fast as she could to Garrett Street. They were about to run down the entry but found it blocked by Blackie Black and his barrow coming the other way, loaded with his tools and metal hoops. He wasn’t looking any too good but he managed a wan smile.
‘Awright, Mr Black?’ Maryann said.
‘Awright,’ he murmured amiably. Maryann turned to watch him, saw how his walk had become a shambling, dragging gait. But he didn’t seem to have noticed anything was amiss, anyroad.
Everyone was out except Cathleen and Horace and the baby Lizzie. The room was in a right state, spilt tea and crumbs all over the table, and on the floor, dirty clothes, a pile of nappies, the lot.
Cathleen was at the table, Lizzie tucked in on her lap, feeding. She pulled her blouse together a little, but not before Maryann had seen the white, mottled skin of her breast. ‘What’re yer doing ’ere, Maryann? No school?’
‘Mom’s at Uncle Danny’s – the babby’s took bad,’ Maryann said. She felt tears come into her eyes. All the fear and worry of the night welled up. ‘And our Sal’s disappeared. She daint come home last night so I come to see if she was ’ere last night, sleeping over?’
Cathleen gave a laugh which dislodged the baby from her breast. ‘Sleeping over – ’ere? Where d’yer think ’er’d sleep – in the coal scuttle? Sorry, Lizzie – ’ere yer go.’ She pushed her nipple back between the baby’s gums.
‘But she was with Charlie last night, wasn’t she?’ Maryann was frustrated by Cathleen’s lack of concern.
‘They went off together in the evening. I never saw ’em – Charlie must’ve come in late last night. I were that tired what with this one up and down, I got me ’ead down when I could, and Blackie were too kalied to notice, or ’e’d’ve been giving out to ’im.’
‘So Charlie was here this morning?’ Maryann struggled to be patient.
‘Well, I s’pose ’e was – I never saw ’im though, come to think of it. ’E must’ve come down and gone off to work, like.’
Clearly Cathleen had no real idea whether either of them had ever come back the night before.
‘They’ll turn up,’ Cathleen said serenely. ‘I s’pect they’re both at work by now. Don’t get mithered.’
Loath as she was to go anywhere near Norman Griffin, Maryann called in at Griffin’s Undertakers. There was no sign of Sal.
‘I’ll tan ’er bloody hide when I find ’er,’ Norman ranted. ‘We’ve got a lot on today.’
Maryann spent the rest of the morning worrying and trying to occupy Billy. She could see why he drove her mom mad with his non-stop chattering.
At last, just as Maryann was thinking she ought to get something for his dinner, she heard the front door open and she rushed through from the back, leaving Billy in the yard. Flo came in, exhaustion showing in every line of her. When she turned from closing the door, Maryann saw that her eyes were red and her face was different, somehow, tighter.
‘How’s little Cissie, Mom?’ she whispered.
Flo shook her head, taking off her hat. ‘She daint make it, Maryann. The doctor came, but she breathed ’er last this morning, poor little mite. I stayed for a bit to be with Margie.’
‘Oh Mom!’ Maryann was so tired and worried that she was not far from tears as it was, and the thought of babby Cissie dying brought them on fast. Poor little thing, what had she ever done to anyone!
Flo sat down, filling up herself. ‘Oh, it’s a terrible thing to see a babby die, Maryann. Thank God I never had any more of yer to worry about.’ Unguardedly she added, ‘I’ve been lucky marrying a man who’s not that way inclined, that I have!’
‘Mom—’ Maryann wiped her eyes, though the tears just wouldn’t seem to stop coming. ‘It’s – I know yer’ve got enough to worry about, but – it’s Sal . . .’
‘What?’ Flo’s tone was sharp. ‘What about ’er?’
‘She never came ’ome last night, she ain’t at work and Mrs Black don’t know where she is neither.’
‘Mrs Black? Why the hell should she know where our Sal is?’
‘Because—’ Maryann stopped. Sal didn’t want anyone to know, that was obvious, or she’d have told them herself.
‘Because what? Come on, get on with it.’
‘Well, Sal’s been knocking about with Charlie Black – and Mrs Black ain’t quite sure ’e came home last night neither.’
Flo stared at her as if none of the sense of this was getting through to her brain. ‘You mean they might’ve took off together?’
‘I dunno,’ Maryann said miserably.
Flo sank down on the chair behind her. ‘They can’t’ve done. What would Sal want to do that for? She’s comfortable enough ’ere. Got no worries. Anyone checked where Charlie works?’
Maryann shook her head.
‘Go on. See if ’e’s there.’
It was quite a walk to the place where Charlie had his current employment, a dark workshop in a side street where they turned out copper rods and wire. Charlie Black? No, he hadn’t been in. And if he missed another day there were plenty of others who could do his job.
By the time Maryann got home Flo was asleep and she slept for the rest of the afternoon. The evening wore on and there was no sign of Sal. Norman came home in a bad humour because he had been without his general dogsbody all day. After tea, Flo ordered Maryann upstairs, took her into their room at the back and closed the door.
‘Now look – what’s going on?’
‘I told yer – Sal’s gone. Charlie Black weren’t at work today. I think Sal’s sweet on ’im. They must’ve gone off together. And she . . .’
‘She what?’ Flo hissed.
‘She – I’m ever so worried about ’er. She ain’t right in ’erself and . . . and . . .’
‘Ain’t right – what’re you on about?’
‘’E touches us. Mr Griffin. Where ’e oughtn’t – and ’e – ’e’s a dirty man, Mom . . .’
Flo had been soft and emotional over babby Cissie: they’d almost felt close in those few moments. Surely her mom would take her word on this? Maryann started sobbing all over again.
‘What are you saying to me, yer foul-mouthed little bitch?’ Flo sprang at her and slapped her face so hard that Maryann cried out at the pain. ‘How dare you say such a filthy thing! I’ve a good mind to put carbolic on your tongue for that. Where d’you get such disgusting ideas from?’
‘From ’im!’ Maryann sobbed. ‘Where else would I know ’em from?’
She received a matching slap, this time on the other cheek. Flo swelled with self-righteous fury. ‘How dare you? Norman’s a good, clean-living man. Almost a gentleman, that ’e is, and I ain’t having that talk in my house from my own daughter!’
Holding her burning cheek, Maryann went up close to her mother, speaking right into her face.
‘You don’t see what’s in front of your nose, Mom, do yer? You think more of that disgusting man than you ever do of yer children ’cause ’e buys you dresses and keeps you comfortable. But ’e ain’t what you think. ’E’s evil, but it don’t suit yer to see it, does it?’
Flo stood before her, speechless, and Maryann fell sobbing, distra
ught, on to her bed.
Fifteen
Days passed, and still Sal didn’t come home. Charlie Black didn’t make an appearance either, and it was obvious they really had done a bunk together. Maryann couldn’t stop thinking about them: where had they gone, and was Sal all right? Sometimes she was angry with Sal for leaving her alone. Mostly though, she was just worried.
Norman was all concern.
‘I just don’t know what can’ve come over the girl, Flo,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’m only sorry she’s causing yer all this worry. That’s young ’uns for you – selfish, never give a thought for anyone else. Don’t you get upset, my dear – the pair of ’em’ll be back with their tails between their legs sooner or later.’
‘You ’adn’t ’ad words with ’er had you, Norman?’ Flo asked cautiously. ‘Not done anything to upset ’er?’
‘Oh no!’ He laughed. ‘Not our Sal. That Maryann’s the minx I’m most likely to ’ave words with, as yer know. But not Sal – a good girl that one. I’ve been very pleased with ’er.’
Flo was appeased by the fatherly tone in which he spoke. He was right – Maryann was a minx, running off here, there and everywhere, making up terrible stories, like about Norman killing that kitten – and now, all that filthy language she’d come out with. She needed watching, taking in hand, that she did.
Flo went reluctantly to Cathleen Black, picking her way grandly across the yard and smoothing her hair as if she was too superior ever to have set foot in such a place before. Cathleen, who was holding the baby, looked very worried.
‘Sal’s been coming ’ere ever such a lot of course,’ she said, laying Lizzie down on a blanket on the chair. She felt her own poor drabness beside Flo’s relative glamour. The woman was wearing lipstick and powder. ‘Look – won’t yer ’ave a seat and a cuppa with me now yer ’ere?’
‘No ta,’ Flo said, wrinkling her nose at the frowstiness of the house. ‘I’ll not be stopping long.’ Heaven only knew what you might sit on if you accepted a chair in this house, and as for drinking from one of their cracked, grimy cups, oh dear no! She wanted to be angry with Cathleen, to lay blame on her and her son, but she felt at a great disadvantage as a mother who had known nothing of her daughter’s whereabouts for what had apparently been quite a long time. It made her look very bad.
