by Annie Murray
‘What’re yer going to do, sis?’
It warmed her heart to hear him call her that – already, when she’d been away so long. Made her feel she belonged. This search for Norman Griffin was bringing them together. Once again she thanked God that Tony believed her, was on her side. She couldn’t have faced this alone.
‘I don’t know, Tony. I really don’t. What can I do? It makes me feel bad just thinking about it.’ She wouldn’t say more to him, didn’t want to fill his head with disturbing details.
‘’E wants a good ’iding, ’e does,’ Tony said fiercely.
Maryann almost smiled. A ‘good hiding’ sounded so innocent, like something a child might be threatened with. It was the least of what she had in mind. ‘’E does that, Tony. And I’m going to think about how he’s going to get it an’ all.’
When she got back, Mick was home, eating in silence. Nance winked at her over his head but Maryann could tell the atmosphere between them was very sour. Nance was back to the cowed, weary-looking woman she had been before and Maryann felt Mick’s resentment of her as soon as she walked in. She ate up her own tea quickly and said she was going to bed.
Soon after she’d gone up she heard them start downstairs, arguing, voices getting louder, savage in tone. She undressed, full of tension. It was horrible to hear.
‘Don’t you start carrying on like that!’ she heard Nance shout. ‘I ’ate it when you show yer face through the door these days, yer miserable sod. I don’t know why yer bother coming ’ome the way yer keep on when you’re ’ere!’
‘This is my house and you’ll not talk to me like that. If I’d known what sort of a wife you’d make I’d never’ve married you, so I wouldn’t . . .’
‘Not like the blessed Saint Theresa yer mean!’ Nance shrieked harshly. ‘Well, ’er was never so bloody perfect as yer make out – and you never managed to get ’er a bun in the oven neither, did yer?’
It always came back to that. Maryann screwed up her eyes, hearing Nance’s howl of pain and then a crash as something fell and smashed on the floor. There was more shouting, followed by a roar which almost made Maryann’s heart stop.
‘You bitch! You evil fecking bitch – look what you’ve done!’
She ran down and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, appalled. Suddenly everything was quiet. Mick was standing clutching his left forearm, blood oozing out round his fingers. Nance, mouth open in horror, was still holding the knife she’d used to slice up the pig’s liver.
‘Oh . . . Mick!’ Nance gasped. ‘What’ve I done?’ She seized a cloth and went to him to staunch the wound but he snatched it and backed away from her.
‘Don’t you come near me, you mad bitch!’ he snarled. ‘Look what you’ve done to me! You’re not right up top – you’re not fit to be a wife to anyone.’ Clutching the cloth to his arm he backed out of the door, kicked it shut so the house shook and then they heard his feet going down the path.
Nance looked stunned. Maryann went and took the bloodstained knife from her quivering hand and laid it on the table.
‘He punched me.’ Nance’s mouth was trembling, the tears starting to come. ‘It ’urt so much . . . I daint know what I was doing.’ She laid her hand over her right breast. ‘Punched me just ’ere.’ She sat down and started to cry. Maryann poured her a nip of whiskey and put it down beside her. ‘’E should’ve never punched me there – it ’urt too much. Oh Maryann – what’ve I done?’
‘’E’ll be awright. It’s only a cut.’
But she knew Nance didn’t just mean Mick’s arm. She meant everything.
Maryann scarcely slept that night. She lay awake, awaiting the sound of Mick coming home again. Her thoughts swirled round. She was so upset for Nance, and in the night’s darkness she felt full of doubt about everything and very afraid. She had felt Joel squeeze her hand and had been so hopeful, but he was still so ill. It didn’t mean he was going to get better, did it? Perhaps even now he was slipping away and she’d never see him again . . . She pushed this thought away but it was replaced by all the things Tony had told her about Norman Griffin.
I’m free of him, she thought. I need never have anything else to do with him. I should just give all my strength to Joel and go away and never think about any of it again. He probably has a landlady with children – or they were just visiting . . . She tried as hard as she could to persuade herself that this was what was right. It was nothing to do with her. But she could not stop thinking about Sal and herself when Norman was living with them, of the trap of fear and disgust he had built round them. What if he was doing it all again and those two girls were having to live through the same hell that he had put Sal through?
She twisted back and forth in the bed, then lay on her back, hands behind her head looking at the window. There was a full moon and its light was shining through the gap between Nance’s thin curtains.
‘Tell me what to do,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want anything to do with this. Let it all just go away.’ She ached for the morning to come.
She had left the hospital full of happiness yesterday, but going back today she approached it with terrible misgiving. She was weighed down by the grim thoughts brought on by lack of sleep and what had happened the night before. Mick had not come home all night.
‘Oh – ’e’ll’ve gone to ’is mom’s to get fussed over,’ Nance said. She was trying to take it lightly but she was pale and drawn and Maryann could tell she had not slept either.
This didn’t feel like a day for anything good to happen. Her head aching, eyes watering in the sunlight from sleeplessness, she walked to the hospital.
She arrived to find Joel with his eyes open. All her dread drained away, seeing his gaze follow her hungrily towards his bed as if she was the one thing he had been waiting for. There was a little cup on the chair so she sank down on her knees by the bed and for a moment they just gazed at one another in silence. Joel tried to squeeze her hand and she could tell how weak he was.
‘You’re back,’ she said. And burst into tears.
Joel tried to speak but the attempt produced instead a fit of coughing. He reached out for the cup and she passed it to him. He coughed painfully into it, then covered it with his hand. A nurse came and whisked it away and returned it empty a few moments later. Maryann wiped her eyes and got up to perch on the edge of the seat. Joel lay back, panting from the exertion.
‘You poor thing,’ she said.
Joel patted his chest. Maryann leaned over to hear him whisper, ‘I think I’ve got half the cut in there from what’s coming out.’
‘But you’re going to get better. I know you are. Oh Joel – I’ve been that worried about you. You’ve no idea.’
He looked very tenderly at her and she smiled tearfully and buried her head for a moment in the bedding beside him, still holding his hand and drinking in the feeling of being close to him. Then she sat up and examined him again.
‘D’you feel better in yourself?’
He nodded. ‘Seeing you.’
‘I’ve been in here every day. Did you know? Did you know Darius came?’
Joel looked confused. ‘Darius – in here?’
‘No – I don’t s’pose you remember. He stopped off to see you and then ’e went back to chase another load . . .’ She remembered with a pang that perhaps Darius had seen Samuel Barlow again – perhaps had sold the Esther Jane already. She didn’t know if Joel knew anything about it and she didn’t want to have to tell him – not now especially. ‘Anyway – your dad’s on the mend. ’E’s still down at your auntie’s in Oxford but Darius said ’e should be back aboard soon. Darius had a young lad with ’im – Ernie Higgins I think ’is name was.’
She saw Joel nod faintly, and she could tell he was drinking in everything she was telling him. The boat was his life and she could see the hunger for it in his eyes. She leaned forward to catch his words.
‘Want to get back aboard . . . soon.’
‘Oh Joel – I don’t think you’ll be rea
dy for a while yet.’
‘Soon as I can . . .’
‘All right—’ She appeased him. How long would it be before he could even walk, let alone work the cut! But she didn’t want to upset him.
‘Maryann—’ He pulled her closer.
‘What, love?’
He gazed, very seriously, into her eyes. ‘When I get back to ’er – will you be there this time – with me?’
He was coughing again and once more she had to wait for the seizure to pass. It exhausted him, but still he pulled her to him, full of urgency.
‘Please . . . will you and me get wed?’
‘Oh Joel, love—’ She laid her hand against his cheek, stroking it, gently cradling his head. ‘You’re everything to me. Of course we will.’
He closed his eyes for a moment, quite spent, but with a smile of great joy on his face.
Thirty-Nine
The summer was slipping past. The schools closed and the streets, back yards and parks were full of the sounds of children playing.
Maryann had settled into being Nance and Mick’s lodger and for the time being things were better. Mick had stayed away for three days and nights and came home with his arm bandaged and the look of a man who has been severely lectured by his mother. Mrs Mallone the elder, a staunch Catholic, wouldn’t countenance the shame of a broken marriage in her family and had told him so in no uncertain terms. He arrived home at the end of a day’s work and Maryann got out of the way to let him and Nance sort things out. They arrived at a truce.
‘We’ve decided to stop arguing about us ’aving a babby,’ Nance said bravely. ‘We’ll just ’ave to see what ’appens. And ’e said ’e should never’ve hit me the way ’e did and ’e don’t really mind you being ’ere.’
Maryann thought that remained to be seen, but she was relieved as well. She just hoped Mick could put up with her until Joel was better.
Each day Maryann saw an improvement in Joel. He became a little stronger, bit by bit. Although he was still terribly thin his skin started to lose its deathly yellow colour, and he was able to talk more without being crippled by the agonizing cough. They talked a great deal on every visit, catching up with some of the time they had missed over the intervening years.
Sometimes Joel looked longingly at her. ‘I wish we weren’t sat here on full view of everyone – then I could give you a proper kiss.’
Just for a moment Maryann experienced her old surge of dread at the thought of any man touching her, and she had to reason with herself. Not every man was Norman Griffin. And this was Joel – her beloved Joel. She laughed happily. ‘You are getting better, ain’t yer?’
‘Every day. I’ll soon be strong enough to pick you up and carry you out of ’ere.’
She knew he’d give anything to be away from the alien place which the hospital was to him. ‘Not long now,’ she told him. ‘Your chest’ll be clear as a bell soon.’
‘Oh – I don’t think it’ll ever be that!’
But she thought with misgiving about Joel going back to the cut. Was he going to find that his home of a lifetime no longer belonged to him? It didn’t matter so much to her. It would still be the same boat, even if it did have Samuel Barlow’s name painted on the side. And Darius had said there were a lot of advantages to working for someone else. They chased the loads and you got regular pay and insurance. But she still knew Joel would want to fight it.
She hadn’t seen Darius since he’d visited Joel in hospital, although she left messages for him regularly. She wondered what was going on. She was almost as impatient as Joel for this time of waiting to be over so she could get away from Nancy and Mick’s house and she and Joel could be together and plan their wedding.
Wedding! She was overcome with excitement and disbelief every time she thought about it. It felt so right, as if from the first time she had met Joel they had been picked out for each other and he had been just waiting for her to grow up. The two of them could go away. She imagined herself gliding off along the golden water of the cut at sunset, into a new life.
It was early one morning when she went to Handsworth and walked past Norman Griffin’s new premises, reading the sign, ‘Arthur Lambert’. She saw her own reflection, her tight-lipped expression, in the shop’s dark window. The place wasn’t open yet. She knew Norman Griffin horribly well and recalled the time of his methodical comings and goings. Oh, he was always organized, all right. You had to give him that. She waited in a shade-filled doorway on the other side of the road from his house so that he would not have to pass her. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe or trust Tony, only that she had to see him for herself.
He came, as she knew he would, a few minutes before nine o’clock: a black, square-shouldered figure, topped by a Homburg hat and moving at a stately pace along the street towards her. She could barely make out his face and didn’t dare move closer. She clenched her fingers, digging in with her nails. He looked like any other respectable, middle-aged man who was running to fat a little. How could he look so ordinary, so harmless?
He took the keys from his pocket and unlocked the shop, then stepped inside out of sight. Maryann found she was sweating, her pulse racing. Six years had passed. She was a woman now, but the effect he had on her was just the same. She wanted to run away and never set eyes on him again.
But those little girls . . . She had to know, somehow, whether they were suffering as she and Sal had suffered. If they weren’t, then she could feel free to leave, never to go anywhere near Norman Griffin ever again. With slow, reluctant steps she set off towards the address Tony had given her, feeling very nervous and foolish. What on earth did she think she was going to do? A strange woman turning up, trying to talk to two girls who’d never seen her before, who’d be bound to tell their mom and then she’d tell Norman . . . They wouldn’t know who she was, but he almost certainly would.
I’ve got to find a way, she thought grimly. I just have to. When she reached the street of small terraced houses, she discovered with relief that almost opposite the address Tony had given her, number twenty-two Beechwood Road, was a side road leading into the next street and it was deep in shadow this morning, while the sun was shining brightly on the opposite side. At least she could walk less conspicuously up and down.
A half-hour passed. Some people moved up and down the pavement. A couple of women looked curiously at her as they passed. Another half-hour. A clock struck ten in the distance. Maryann was beginning to feel very bored and worried that people were watching her.
I’ll come back tomorrow, she was thinking, when she saw the door open and someone coming out! She stood in the shade and watched. First she saw one girl appear with long auburn hair and carrying a shopping basket. Maryann guessed her age to be about twelve. She was followed by another, smaller girl, very similar looking though her hair was curlier and not as long as her older sister’s. They were dressed in buttery yellow frocks, like a pair of pretty dolls. They obviously weren’t living in the depths of poverty. But then they wouldn’t be, would they? Maryann thought bitterly.
Then she saw their mother appear on the step, her own auburn hair coiled up at the back and a pleasant, though tense-looking face. She was leaning forwards, supporting herself on two sticks, and it was clear she had great difficulty in negotiating her way down. She handed one stick to the younger child and was helped down the front step by her older daughter. Taking up with both sticks again she waited while the older girl shut the front door, and then they began to make their way along the road. Maryann realized that there was going to be no danger of losing them. In fact, it was going to be hard to follow and not be seen because she was having to walk so slowly. The woman was apparently able-bodied in every other respect than in her right leg, which left her body at the hip at such an awkward angle that her walking on it was greatly hampered and twisted her from side to side as she did so.
She followed the grindingly slow progress of this family as they made their way round the shops fetching their groceries. Maryann
saw that the girls were quite used to this routine and helped carry everything, or sometimes went into shops for their mother who called instructions to them if the entrance was particularly awkward for her. They seemed close and amiable together. She learned that the older girl was called Amy.
When they finally reached home, Maryann waited, and at last saw the two of them emerge from the house alone and set off towards Handsworth Park. Amy was carrying a hoop and they were skipping along quite fast. With a pang she saw herself and Sal, before, when their real dad was alive and they’d gone off to play like that with Tony in tow, scurrying off to the rezzer on hot summer afternoons. Maryann had to hurry now to keep up with them.
Once they reached the park they started throwing the hoop. There were other children playing in the park and Maryann relaxed, feeling she could stroll round them, keeping an eye on them. They kept busy with their hoop amid the yells and laughter of the other children. Maryann watched them carefully and in a very short time noticed something that made them stand out from the other children around them. They played with great intensity and never once did she see them laugh or even smile. They seemed only to notice each other, as if they were sealed in, away from everyone outside. Maryann knew that feeling. She saw the younger one surreptitiously touch herself, just for a second, between her legs, wincing. It was a gesture that probably no one else would have noticed. But Maryann began to know then, really know. She had to be absolutely sure though.
Moving round, she positioned herself in the path of the hoop that the older one was holding behind her head ready to lob overarm. It bounced and skittered across the grass. The younger girl ran but Maryann got there first, catching it as it spun past her.
‘Oh – caught it for yer!’ She smiled as the girl ran urgently towards her. ‘Here you are, love.’ She held it out but when the girl took it, Maryann held on so she couldn’t just run off.
The girl tugged at it, frowning furiously when Maryann didn’t immediately let go.
