The Narrowboat Girl

by Annie Murray

  ‘Yes please.’ She was desperate to know more about Joel. She had to know how he was, where he was . . .

  ‘Come aboard – that’s if you don’t mind?’ He eyed her pretty frock. ‘It ain’t spick and span like it oughta be.’

  Stepping into the Esther Jane again after all this time was a wonderful feeling and despite her anxiety, Maryann found herself smiling as the memories poured back. She sat by the tiny table, looking round, itching to get to work and clean the place up: the plates and copper kettle and Esther’s brown and white teapot. The crochet work was filthy, the whole cabin dull and dirty compared with how it had been before when either she or Ada had kept it nice. She watched Darius stoking the range and suddenly found herself aching for it to be Joel here beside her so that she could see him again. She remembered her younger self, confused and frightened, lying alone at night in this cosy cabin, this place of refuge as it had been.

  ‘Where have they taken Joel?’ she asked as the kettle was heating.

  ‘I told you – to the ’orspital up Birnigum.’

  ‘Yes, but which one? D’you know?’

  Darius looked round at her, stooped over, scraping old leaves out of the teapot. ‘I never ’ad the chance to see ’im. Our father weren’t well neither and what with chasing the loads I don’t know ’ow Joel is even. ’E’ll not like being on the bank for long. That’s if ’e even . . .’ He trailed off, but she knew he was going to say ‘lives’. ‘Never been right really, ’e ent – not since that war.’

  Every moment she sat there, she was filling more and more with an urgent determination. Joel was sick, maybe dying, and she had to see him. He’d been so good to her and she’d repaid him unkindly. Now it was her chance to do something for him. She didn’t need to ask if there was anyone else in Joel’s life. No one had been mentioned and Joel would only have married someone who could live on the cut, who would be his ‘mate’ aboard the Esther Jane. If there was any such woman in his life, where was she?

  ‘Is ’e all alone there?’ she asked. ‘No one who can visit?’

  Darius shook his head, ashamed. ‘There ain’t no one.’

  ‘Can’t you think which ’ospital it might be? Daint they say when they took him?’

  Darius’s brow wrinkled. ‘I think it might be the one near the chocolate fact’ry.’

  ‘The chocolate factory? Bournville. Would it be the Infirmary at Selly Oak?’

  ‘Might be,’ he said hopelessly. ‘Ain’t no good me knowing when I can’t ’ope to get there, is there?’

  ‘But I could go.’

  Darius stopped in the middle of handing her her cup of tea. ‘You?’

  She reached out and took the cup and the absolute resolve in her face was plain to see. ‘Yes. Me.’

  Thirty-Two

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Letcombe, but I really do ’ave to go – it’s someone in my family.’ How else could she describe Joel? ‘He’s very ill, maybe dying.’

  ‘But when will you be coming back?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m ever so sorry.’

  And she was sorry. Almost heartbroken. Throughout the train journey to Birmingham the tears kept rising up in her eyes. She could go back, Mrs Letcombe said. They’d give her a week or two. But she knew that she wouldn’t be returning, that everything had changed and that she could only look forward. Deep in her heart she had known that one day she would have to go back to Birmingham and face her family and now that day had arrived. And it was Joel who had brought her there. He seemed closer to her now than he had in all the years she had been away. The thought of him, and her worry about him and his weak lungs, was with her all the time. Now she knew she had to see him she was in a desperate hurry to get there. Darius had said he would try and get to Birmingham when the Esther Jane was ready. But she had to get there more quickly. Throughout the journey she wanted to command the train to go faster, faster!

  She looked out as it chugged slowly into Birmingham. It was a hot but overcast day and a grey pall hung over the city: all the smoke from the factory chimneys and no breeze to blow it away. A blackness lay over everything and along the tracks the buildings seemed to be closing in, the workshops and warehouses, with what windows they had poky and filthy, their walls covered in soot and grime. The sight of it shocked her. What a grim, stifling place it looked! She had been away so long, had become used to the space and clean air of the country, the warm-coloured stone of the houses, and felt almost panic-stricken at the thought of being enclosed behind these dark, cramping walls again. But down there, under it all, she told herself, was the cut, slipping through and between and under. Another world, sealed off from the rest of the city, and the thought gave her hope and a way out, a sense of freedom.

  When the train lurched to a standstill her pulse began to race even harder. This was really it now. She was back. People were jostling to get out of the train and she pulled her little case down from the luggage rack.

  ‘Time to face the music,’ she thought. ‘But not before I’ve seen Joel.’

  Changing platforms, she waited for a local train to Selly Oak, and it wasn’t long before she was stepping out of the station. It was dinner time, a bit early to go and visit, so she went along the Bristol Road to find a place to sit and have a cup of tea and a sandwich and try to steady her nerves. She found a workmen’s café and sat listening to the voices round her, remembering how much Diana Musson had laughed when she had first heard her talk at Charnwood. That place which had at first felt so strange and foreign had become a second home to her. It felt very odd to be back in this big, clanging, rackety city. Once again the thought of Charnwood brought tears to her eyes.

  She had said her goodbyes the evening before. It was no hardship to part with Evan, but even the crustier characters like Sid and Wally and Cook had shown surprising affection for her. Cook had flung her arms round her and gone all dewy round the eyes. Parting with Mrs Letcombe had been very emotional even though the housekeeper herself was rather unconcerned, because she was sure Maryann would soon come running back, and kept saying, ‘There there, m’dear, I don’t know what you’re crying about.’ Even saying goodbye to Alice had brought tears to her eyes: though she’d never had very warm feelings towards her, they had spent a lot of time working together.

  To her surprise, though, it had been Roland Musson who had aroused the most emotion in her. When she went up last night to prepare his room during dinner he had come in as she was turning down the bed for him.

  ‘Oh—’ he said, taken aback. ‘I forgot you’d er, be . . . Just popped up to er . . .’ She saw him go to his decanter of whiskey, pour himself a generous couple of fingers and gulp them down. He turned to her, shamefaced, still holding the glass. ‘Ah – that’s better. Mother doesn’t like to see me – you know. Says I drink too much.’

  ‘Er—’ Maryann delayed him, nervously. ‘As you’re ’ere, sir, I’d just like to say, I’ll be leaving the ’ouse first thing in the morning. I don’t know if I’ll be coming back.’

  Roland just stood staring at her.

  Maryann blushed. ‘I’m sorry, sir . . . I know it don’t matter to you one way or another who makes your bed and that, but I just thought it’d be polite to say goodbye.’

  ‘But, Nelson – you’re not really going, are you? You don’t mean it?’

  ‘I ’ave to, sir.’

  ‘This is appalling news. I mean, you can’t! You’re just always here – in fact you’re the one really cheering person about the place. I rely on you, Nelson!’

  She looked at the carpet, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Well – damn it. I can’t just shake your hand, not after all you’ve done for me over the years. Come here, girl.’

  And he wrapped his arms round her in a rather clumsy but, she could tell, heartfelt embrace, and for a moment she allowed her arms to rest round him as well. She felt him kiss the top of her head.

  ‘You’re a damn fine girl, Nelson,’ he said thickly. ‘Damned fine.’

  ‘Th
ank you, sir. And good luck to yer.’

  When he’d left the room she kneeled down for a few minutes by the bed and wept silently with her hands over her face. Sitting thinking of it now, a lump rose in her throat.

  Pulling her thoughts back to the present, she wiped her eyes and stood up to pay for her tea. The café proprietor stared at her curiously but she was too preoccupied to notice. Pressing her hat down she went out into the street. It was threatening to rain and she walked on quickly, carrying her case, towards the hospital.

  When she enquired inside, she was told she was too early and would have to wait another half-hour. So she went out and strolled up and down Raddlebarn Road feeling more and more nervous.

  What was Joel going to think of her turning up all of a sudden? Would he even remember who she was? She felt ashamed when she thought of him, and worried. How ill was he? Was Darius exaggerating when he said he didn’t know if Joel would come through? He must be seriously ill if they’d got him to move away from the cut and his beloved boat, especially at such a worrying time. Maryann’s thoughts spun round and round. She turned at the bottom of the road again. It must be nearly time for them to let her in. Oh God, her heart was beating so hard! She pressed her hand over it. It felt as if all her future depended on the next half-hour. All her feelings, wounded and battered as they had been, were now reaching out to Joel with great longing. How would she find him, and what would his reaction be to seeing her again?

  She approached the door of the ward with great timidity, her stomach clenching uneasily. Hospitals frightened her. They had ever since her dad had been taken away to one and never come home. The nurses in their stiff uniforms, their starchy white veils and starchy manner also intimidated her and there were those smells: bodily stenches, disinfectant.

  An older nurse, with a cross face and muscly arms and legs, walked briskly up to her. ‘Yes? Who is it you’ve come to see?’

  Maryann cleared her throat. ‘A Mr Joel Bartholomew . . . please.’

  ‘Bartholomew? Chest case. Oh no – I don’t think so.’

  ‘P-Pardon?’

  ‘No visitors. Too ill to see anyone. And you’re not a relative, I assume?’

  ‘I’m . . . no, a friend, but . . .’

  ‘Relatives only, I’m afraid.’ The woman started to turn away.

  ‘But they can’t come – any of them!’ Maryann burst into tears in vexation. ‘They all work on the cut and they can’t leave the boat. His dad’s poorly too and his brother’s stuck in Banbury and there ain’t anyone else and I know he’d want to see someone. Please let me – just for a few minutes. I’ve come all the way from Banbury myself today!’

  The woman stood, considering. Maryann was afraid she’d be snooty and spiteful because she knew Joel was off the cut. But she said, reluctantly, ‘Very well. A couple of minutes. But he is very ill. And don’t go cluttering up the ward with that. Leave it with me.’ She took Maryann’s case and walked off with it, saying over her shoulder, ‘He’s just down on the right.’

  She found him halfway down, a physical jolt of shock going through her when she first saw him and took in that it was him. If it had not been for his blaze of hair against the pillow she would not have recognized him. For the big, burly Joel she had known was now much thinner, his cheekbones pushing out the flesh of his face, and they had shaved off his beard. His frame, as he lay prone under the sheet, was shrunken and weak and his eyes were closed. She could see that each breath he took was a painful struggle to him.

  Her instinct was to stand there for a long time staring at him, trying to take in his changed state, but she was afraid the bossy nurse would come back, and she slipped alongside the bed and sat on the chair, trying to shrink down and make herself as invisible as possible. She could feel the man in the bed opposite staring at her.

  Close up, she could see a film of perspiration on Joel’s face and hear the rasp of his lungs. His face wore a frown, as if of pain and concentration. Watching him she felt as if the years since she had last seen him were very short, like a dream which takes only moments yet in which you can experience half a lifetime. She felt as if her heart would melt with sorrow and tenderness. She sat torn between fear of disturbing him and the unbearable thought that she might be ordered to leave before he knew she was there. Slowly, trembling, she reached out her hand and laid it over his.

  ‘Joel?’

  For a moment she thought he had not heard, but then his head moved a fraction and she saw him struggle to open his eyes, as if even the effort to prise his lids apart was enormous. He looked round, eyes unfocused for a moment, then slowly rolled his head, sensing someone next to him. She felt his eyes on her.

  ‘Joel,’ she whispered, leaning towards him, finding there were tears streaming down her face. ‘It’s me – Maryann. I saw Darius and he told me you was here and how poorly you are.’

  There was a moment while he took her in, staring at her as if he couldn’t make sense of her presence and she watched his reaction fearfully. He swallowed, frowned slightly. His hand lifted, then laid over hers.

  ‘You came . . . My little . . . nipper . . .’

  This made her all the more emotional. ‘Oh Joel,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s so lovely to see you. I’m so sorry, Joel – I’ve wanted to say to you for ever so long that I’m sorry for running off the way I did when yer’d been so good to me. I was in a state. So many terrible things’d happened and I daint know what I was doing and I know you daint mean anything bad. You were the one person I could always go to and I can’t stand to see yer looking so poorly like this.’ She took his hand and kissed it again and again. She could hear his breathing becoming more agitated and she looked anxiously into his face. There were tears running down into his hair and she wiped them gently away with her fingers, knowing how unmanly it must seem to him to weep. He was trying to speak and she leaned close, barely able to hear his whisper.

  ‘I did wrong—’ He had to rest between the words to gather enough breath. ‘You was . . . only a young ’un . . .’ He closed his eyes as if condemning himself. ‘My fault.’ The final words cost him a huge effort. ‘You seemed older . . . I felt for you. It weren’t . . . just lust . . . Truly . . .’

  ‘You were lovely, Joel – you were. I know that now and I’m sorry. Only I was young and I was in a mess . . . I’ve grown up a bit since then. I’ve thought about you – when I let myself. And I missed you ever such a lot.’

  He gave a nod which seemed to encompass and elaborate everything she’d said, and he clutched her hand.

  ‘I’ll be here now – till you get better.’

  Joel laid his spare hand over his chest, gasping for breath. ‘I knew they’d get . . . me . . . in the end . . .’

  She knew he meant his damaged lungs and a chill went through her.

  ‘Don’t say that, Joel! You’re in your thirties – that’s not old! You just feel it because yer sick at the moment. You can get better – you can! I’m going to come and see yer every day. Please don’t give up – say you won’t give up, you’ll try for me, won’t you!’

  Slowly he brought his other hand across and cradled her hand in both of his.

  ‘Oh Joel—’ She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, barely knowing what she was saying. ‘I love you so much.’ She was laughing and crying together, but quietened herself to hear the words he whispered, still clasping her hand.

  ‘My little . . . love, you . . . came back.’

  Thirty-Three

  When the tram reached Ladywood, Maryann stepped down a couple of stops early so that she could walk along Monument Road and try to get used to being back. Glancing down Waterworks Road she looked for Perrott’s Folly, the old brick tower which loomed over the houses, and she passed some of the old familiar shops, St John’s Church, the Dispensary, all looking the same as when she left and it gave her a strange feeling. She prepared herself for the fact that while buildings change little in six years, people do, and that she might even walk past one of her own brothers withou
t recognizing him.

  Turning down Anderson Street she was filled with a dread so strong it forced her to stop and stand nervously near the corner, trying to find the courage to go on. Again, the place looked much the same. School was out and there were kids playing on the pavement, skimming marbles along the blue bricks as they always had. She might have run along the road with Norman Griffin’s keys in her hand only weeks ago. For a moment she could smell the choking smoke from the fire in her nostrils. She was going to have to see him again. However much she knew she was now a grown woman, that she could leave at any time, that he had no power to do anything to her, she could only feel herself as a child in relation to him. A powerless child who he could use for his own cruel, disgusting appetites as he had used her sister and then destroyed her. The old anger in her rose up again until she was trembling with it.

  Oh I can’t, she thought. I can’t go back there. I ain’t got the strength. She put her case down and stood facing the wall of a house, composing herself, clenching her teeth, trying to get her shaking under control. I will not, she told herself, let him do this to me. I won’t. Furiously she snatched up the case and marched along the road. But she still couldn’t go straight to the house and walk in. She had to know how things stood.

  The Martins’ huckster’s shop still looked just the same, the windows plastered in labels: Oxo, Cadbury’s, Woodbines, the same little ‘ting’ of the bell as she pushed the door open. The smells hit her: soap, camphor, rubber, cough candy. For a second she saw Tony in her mind’s eye as she remembered him, standing on tiptoe to peer over the counter.

  ‘Penn’orth of rocks yer got there, bab?’ Mrs Martin would say.

  Maryann imagined Tony’s wide-eyed nod.

  Mrs Martin, her hair now white instead of metal grey, came through from the back, wiping her hands on her apron.

  ‘Can I ’elp yer?’

  ‘’Er – Mrs Martin, it’s me – Maryann Nelson.’