by Annie Murray
It wasn’t long before they heard voices down below, then feet on the stairs. Maryann braced herself for seeing Sal. Flo turned, standing with her back to the window, silhouetted in its meagre light, and sharply shushing Billy who’d got up and started clattering about on the bare boards.
The landlady had told her they were waiting there so Sal was prepared. She flung the door open and stood looking brazenly across at her mother. Maryann gasped. She might have walked past Sal in the street and not recognized her! She’d put her hair up like a grownup lady’s, all piled and pinned round her head, and she was all made up lipstick, the lot. There was something else queer about her face. Maryann saw that Sal had plucked out all her fair eyebrows and painted them in instead, with dark, thin lines. She looked ten years older than she really was.
Flo fixed her with a stare which took in all of Sal’s altered appearance, and her mouth twisted with distaste. At last, in a bitter voice, she said, ‘Well – I hope yer proud of yourself. You look like a proper tart in all that warpaint.’
Sal stayed in the doorway, as if ready to run. ‘I ain’t coming back if that’s what yer ’ere for.’
‘Look, Sal—’ Flo moved towards her, realizing she’d started off on the wrong foot. ‘I only wanted to see yer – see ’ow you are. After all, yer just took off, never a word or a thought for the rest of us. We’ve all been ever so worried about you. Look – if there’s any trouble we’ll get it sorted out, but you can’t just stay ’ere on your own. You’re only young, running off with that no-good Charlie Black . . .’
‘’E’s a darn sight better than some I could mention,’ Sal spat at her. ‘Don’t you come ’ere lecturing me, mother. I ain’t coming home whatever you say. I’ve got a job and I can look after myself.’
‘But Charlie’s left you!’ Flo had been trying to be appeasing, to control her temper, but it all came spilling out again. ‘’E ’ad more sense than to stick around ’ere in this dump. What the ’ell’s got into yer, taking off and going about looking like a trollop! You’ll be in trouble soon, my girl, that you will, if you go about looking like that.’
‘Charlie Black ain’t the only fish in the sea,’ Sal retorted smugly. ‘I don’t notice no shortage around ’ere. And you’re a fine one to lecture me – you’re no more than a slut yourself, taking up with Norman for ’is money.’
Flo whipped her hand out to slap Sal’s face, but she stepped back out of the way.
‘Don’t, Mom!’ Maryann cried. There were tears running down her face. ‘Don’t hurt her! ’Er’ll never come ’ome if yer treat ’er like that.’
‘That’s awright with me!’ Flo blazed back. ‘You can stay ’ere and rot, you ungrateful little bitch. If you can keep yerself then all the better for the rest of us. But don’t come whining round me when yer in the family way and thrown out on the streets! I’ve warned yer, and I wash my hands of you. Come on, Maryann, Billy – leave ’er. She don’t want ’er family.’
‘No—’ Maryann sobbed. ‘I want to stay. You go on home.’
Flo stopped by the door. ‘If that’s what you want.’ She looked hard at Sal. ‘You used to be a good girl – you were the easy one. I don’t know what’s got into yer, that I don’t. I’ve done my best – whatever ’appens now, you can’t blame me for it.’
They heard her clomp noisily away down the stairs with Billy, leaving the sisters alone.
‘Oh Sal,’ Maryann cried. ‘Are you awright? I know why yer don’t want to come ’ome, but . . .’
‘What do you know?’ Sal snapped.
‘About . . . about . . . you know, him, what ’e done to yer.’
‘Don’t talk about him!’ Sal came over and got her by the shoulders. ‘I don’t want to talk about him. I’ve got away from him and I’m making my own life now – and you’ve got to do the same, Maryann. Don’t work for ’im – don’t let ’im near yer. Don’t let ’im get you in that cellar down there . . .’ She sank down suddenly and Maryann thought for a second that she was choking, her chest heaving, but she was crying, gasping. Maryann was about to embrace her when she stood up and began banging her head against the wall, hard, sobbing and crying.
‘Sal! Sal, don’t!’
Maryann pulled her away, trying to take her in her arms. Sal tore away. ‘Don’t touch me!’
‘Sal – what’s the matter with yer? I know what’s ’e’s done, what e’s like, but why’re yer doing that to yourself?’
Sal stepped back and collapsed limply on to the bed. She stared ahead of her so strangely that Maryann was even more frightened. At last she whispered, ‘Maryann – don’t leave me. I don’t know what else to do.’
Sal broke down and cried and cried, at last allowing Maryann to put her arms round her and hold her tight.
‘I’m losing my mind,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh Maryann, I don’t know what’s happening to me – I keep thinking such terrible things I’m frightened to be ’ere alone. It’s not so bad when I’m out at work, but when I get back ’ere . . .’
‘Can’t yer come home?’ Maryann pleaded. ‘You don’t ’ave to work for Norman no more . . .’
‘No!’ Sal clutched at Maryann’s wrist so hard her fingers were digging in. ‘I’m never going back there. Never! I’m never going anywhere near ’im again – you don’t know what ’e can be like, Maryann. You’ve got to get out too . . .’
‘I will, Sal – I was going to. But I can’t leave you – not like this!’ She could hardly bear to look at Sal. She used to be so pretty and now, with that paint on her eyebrows, she looked cheap and horrible. ‘Why did yer go and do that to yourself?’ she asked.
Sal shrugged, not replying.
‘Oh Sal!’ She put her arms round her sister again and held her close. She wanted to say, let’s go somewhere together, just you and me. Somewhere where they can’t find us and we can start again. But she didn’t want to live in some slum with Sal. She wanted to be out on the cut with Joel, with Bessie plodding alongside. It wrung her heart to see Sal in this state, but it also frightened her. Sal was supposed to be her big sister, but now she was different, not the same Sal. How could she live with her in this state?
‘Look, Sal – I’ll ’ave to get ’ome. But I’ll come and see you tomorrow – and every day I can now I know where you are, awright? And Tony and Billy can come an’ all. And Mom – I’ll talk ’er round . . .’
Sal’s eyes widened. ‘Not him! Oh God, Maryann – what if she tells ’im where I am! What if ’e comes ’ere? What if ’e starts following me about?’
‘’E won’t,’ Maryann tried to assure her. ‘Course ’e won’t. You can tell the landlady not to let ’im in. Anyhow – he thinks he’s got me now.’
Maryann stayed on until it was almost dark and then she made her way home in a turmoil of emotions. This was the afternoon she had been going to leave a message for the Esther Jane when she came back through some time in the next few days. But how could she leave now with Sal like this? She’d felt badly enough about leaving because of Tony and Billy when she thought at least Sal was happy with Charlie. But now she was the oldest one at home: she couldn’t just desert them all.
Twenty-Two
On Sunday she left a written message for Joel, hoping one of the toll workers would read it for him. ‘I can’t come yet because I’ve got to look after my sister but I’ll be back again soon. Love Maryann Nelson.’
She started work for Norman on the Monday, promising herself that if it was too bad she’d go somewhere else. She didn’t want to cause a family row. Flo was in a good mood, and she watched with approval as the two of them set out together.
Maryann walked beside him along Monument Road. He wore his hat and top coat although it was high summer. He had a rolling, stately walk, said good morning to people with a gentlemanly lifting of his hat and was always greeted with respect: a pillar of the community walking out with one of his stepdaughters. The shops were opening up, awnings rattling open over the pavement, cars, carts and bicycles weaving along the busy stree
t at the heart of Ladywood. They passed all the shops with their smells: cooked meat from the butcher’s, strawberries outside the greengrocer’s, bread from the bakery, then the Palais de Danse on the corner. At last they reached Griffin’s, with its shrouded frontage and sober gold lettering, and Norman pulled out his bunch of keys and opened up.
Inside, he pulled up the little blind that covered the glass in the door, turned the sign round, and Griffin’s was open for business.
‘Right then,’ Norman said, hanging up his coat. ‘You sit down at the desk. You’re a quick-witted young thing – you’ll soon pick it up.’
Maryann did as she was told, looking at the ledgers, cards, pens and blotter. She kept eyeing the door of the shop. If only Fred, the lad who made the coffins, would come in so that she wasn’t alone with Norman.
‘I’ll come and show you what you need to know.’ Norman walked round behind the desk and her skin felt suddenly as if it had been scrubbed with sandpaper. He leaned over at one side of her and his smell of sweat and smoke seemed to envelope her. She found herself breathing through her mouth so as not to smell him.
‘This is a quiet time of year compared with the winter, but then of course you’re going to have people coming to their natural end any time of year,’ he said whimsically. ‘When someone comes in, the golden rule is you treat ’em with courtesy and respect. Our job is to be invisible. If you do it well they don’t remember much about you, but set a foot wrong and you’re out of business. No laughing or joking in the presence of the bereaved, ever . . .’
Maryann nodded, listening as Norman outlined procedures concerning dates for interments, churches, death cards, hearses and coffins. All the while she was on edge because she thought he might touch her like he did when they were alone at home, pawing at her breasts or trying to pull her against him. But he made no attempt at this. This was work. Gradually she began to relax. And after a few minutes Fred arrived, crashing in through the front and saying ‘Mornin’, Mr Griffin!’ in his clogged, adenoidal voice. At last, she wasn’t alone!
Later, Norman went out and Maryann was left sitting expectantly in the chair which Sal had occupied all those months. Norman had told her she was responsible for keeping the shop clean but it already looked immaculate and the desk was tidy. She was soon bored. She could hear Fred sawing away at some wood in the cellar.
‘Don’t let ’im get yer down in that cellar . . .’ Sal’s words came to her. What had she meant? Was that where Norman had always forced his vileness on her? Or was it more than that?
Maryann tiptoed to the top of the stairs and looked down. She could scarcely see the bottom of the staircase, it was so gloomy down there and the sight of the place brought her up in goose pimples. That was where they took the dead bodies. Surely he hadn’t been down there with Sal when there were dead bodies . . . It was too horrible to imagine. Looking down there, she thought, I can’t stand being here. She’d have to bring Flo’s and Norman’s anger down on her head and say she wouldn’t work for him . . .
She climbed down, jumping as the treads creaked, but Fred was making such a noise he couldn’t have heard her, and she wasn’t bothered about him. Maybe, she thought suddenly, if she could make friends with Fred, it wouldn’t be so bad working here. She could get him to stay on until she went home each day, so she wasn’t left alone with Norman . . . Sal had described Fred as being ‘as thick as horse shite’ but Maryann was hoping she’d been exaggerating.
Peering round the door, she saw into the poorly lit cellar. The door to the chapel of rest was closed. In the far corner she saw the cupboard, almost like a smaller room built into the cellar, with brick walls, about six foot by four, extending halfway along the far wall. The long bench on which Fred was working was at the front end under the grating.
Fred was a pale boy of eighteen, with a gaunt face and prominent lips, his eyes set far apart, and thin brown hair.
‘Hello!’ Maryann called out.
He looked up, bewildered, and stopped sawing so abruptly that the quiet was startling.
‘I’m Maryann. Sal’s sister.’
‘Oh . . . ar – I saw yer. Upstairs.’
He stared at her. Maryann, with a sinking heart, began to see that Sal’s assessment of Fred might have erred on the side of generosity. He stood watching her as she explored the cellar, walking over first to see what he was doing. He had sawdust all over his boots. She liked the smell of the bruised wood. She went to the cupboard and tried the door, which was locked.
‘What’s in ’ere?’
‘That’s Mr Griffin’s cupboard.’ He didn’t leave the workbench, just turned to watch her.
‘Yes. So what’s inside?’
He shrugged. ‘I dunno. Chemicals and suchlike for that em . . . emb . . .’
‘Embalming?’
‘Ar – that’s it. ’E don’t let anyone go in.’
‘’Ve you been in there?’ Maryann grinned conspiratorially.
‘No!’ Fred looked alarmed. ‘I don’t want the sack – I’d never go in there! No call to.’
‘It’s awright, don’t get all worked up. I was only asking.’
She tried the door once more. Sal knew what was in there. There was something down here that had frightened her badly. Something that had seemed to make her lose her will.
‘I’ll leave at half past five when Fred goes, shall I?’
Maryann was watching the clock, both out of boredom and anxiety. Norman had come back at dinner time and Maryann told him she’d had one woman in who needed to bury her mother. Maryann had felt sorry for her, had taken down her details and thought she’d handled it all right. The woman had been calm and unemotional. Norman had been in all afternoon as various people came and went, and all the time he had on his sombre, upright citizen face. But when she asked him about leaving he turned, scowling. ‘You’ll leave when I tell you and not before. Now get this floor swept – there’s dust and bits all over it.’
Maryann obeyed, sweeping the brown linoleum of the dirt Norman seemed to imagine he could see there. She worked slowly, still glancing continually at the clock. Whatever happened she was going as soon as she could. She had to get over and see Sal. And she could sense a change in Norman as time wore on. He was at the desk, thumbing through the ledgers, not looking up at her, but all the time she could hear his breathing. As she swept beneath the chair the pace of his breaths increased a fraction. She had heard it before, when he made her put her hand in his pocket, and when he touched her. It was the barometer of his excitement. Her own heart beat faster with dread and she was all nerves. Any second she expected him to reach out and grab her. She couldn’t do this. Not stay and work here. Until now she had held on to herself, kept her mind aloof from it: although he’d done things to her that sickened and disgusted her, she still had her spirit. But she could not endure more of it. It wasn’t going to work. She knew that much more of it and she would lose herself, like Sal, and wither away inside. As she turned, pushing the few bits of dust and fluff away with her broom, Norman’s hand fastened on her thigh, pushing her skirt between her legs and she jumped, letting out a little scream and moving quickly away.
He stood up, cleared his throat and crossed the room to the stairs.
‘Time Fred was off.’ She saw his wide shoulders disappear through the door, heard him going downstairs.
Oh Lord, Maryann thought, why did I come here? Why hadn’t she just stood up to them and said she wouldn’t work for him? She looked wildly round the room. It was five and twenty minutes past five. She left the broom against the wall, grabbed her hat and cardigan and ran to the door, cursing the loud, tinkling bell, and fled out on to the street.
He arrived home soon after her, not taking the trouble to conceal his fury.
‘What d’yer think yer doing running off before I tell yer to go? Eh?’
He became aware that Flo was watching from the kitchen door. She could see a sheen of sweat on his pale, freckly face. ‘Don’t you ever do that again,’ he sna
rled. ‘D’you hear?’
Maryann kept her gaze turned down to the floor so he should not see the defiance in her eyes.
‘No, Mr Griffin. I certainly won’t.’
She hurried over to Hockley that evening, but the landlady said Sal wasn’t in.
‘Can I wait for a bit?’ Maryann asked. ‘I don’t s’pose she’ll be much longer.’
‘I shouldn’t bet on it.’ The woman was even less friendly than last time and sounded very disapproving. ‘To tell yer the truth I’m thinking of looking for a new lodger. That feller who came with ’er weren’t ’er ’usband at all, was ’e?’
Maryann didn’t answer. She felt an ugly blush creep up her cheeks.
‘Thought not,’ the landlady said, sounding self-satisfied. She stood back, folding her arms. ‘Go on up then.’
Maryann sat in Sal’s dismal room, picking at the loose threads in her frock and reduced to twiddling her thumbs, until it was almost dark outside. She got up from time to time and stood on tiptoes to look out of the window, though she could not see the street properly from up here. Gradually the night came on, lamps were lit outside, and still her sister didn’t come. Maryann grew more and more anxious. Where had Sal got to? Her landlady would never put up with her if she carried on like this.
Eventually she had to give up and go home, and by the time she got there Flo had already gone to bed. Maryann realized her mistake as soon as she walked in through the front door and found herself looking into Norman’s eyes as he sat waiting by the fire.
‘I’m going to bed,’ she said, hurrying across the room.
‘Oh no – not yet.’
He sprang out of his chair and grabbed her just as she reached the door to the stairs. He clamped his hand over her mouth.
‘Thought you’d avoid me today, then, did yer? I’m not ’aving that.’ He ran his hands over her chest. His eyes were terrible; cold, full of hatred. ‘You’re turning into quite a young lady nowadays, aren’t yer, eh? And I’m going to make the most of it while yer still a child. Yer no good to me once yer’ve got yer monthly . . .’
