3
Inside a Seashell
Ma was full of it. All that evening she could hardly sit still. ‘Can you believe it, Smoaker? Lady de Clevedon back at the manor after all these years! Is Sir John come home too, I wonder?’ She bustled around the kitchen, carving chunks of bread for the supper table and stirring the thick pea soup on the stove. She stopped now and then to glug from her pot of beer and to top up Smoaker’s pot from the jug on the table. ‘This’ll be the making of us, Smoaker! Soon as word gets round I’ve been asked for special by the Lady herself, they’ll be coming from all over. Reckon we can put our prices up, don’t you think, Smoaker?’
Smoaker Nash never said much about anything as a rule. But he was as excited as Ma was and he patted Ma’s behind and pinched her cheek between his thumb and forefinger, as though she were a chubby baby in napkins.
‘I reckon you might be right, Mrs Gunn,’ he said.
‘She hardly weighed a thing, you know,’ Ma continued. ‘As light as a gull feather. She almost floated by herself. Quite lost her breath when I dipped her, mind. She was only strong enough for the once under.’
Smoaker nodded knowingly. ‘A proper lady. Fancy that, Mrs Gunn. We’ve got ourselves a proper lady.’
Marnie chewed on her bread and tried to feel excited too. But she couldn’t help being disappointed that the beautiful lady in the Bath chair hadn’t been a mermaid after all.
Ma ladled the soup into bowls and Marnie sipped at hers while Ma’s chatter filled up the room. Marnie broke a piece of crust from her bread and held it under the table for Nep. The cat snatched at it, then ran to the corner of the kitchen where it swallowed the bread in two bites. Nep was Smoaker’s cat, through and through. It sat on his lap most evenings and Smoaker would stroke its back, tickle its chin and whisper, ‘Who’s Papa’s baby?’ in its ears. It would never sit on Marnie’s lap. It knew she wasn’t quite right, and like everybody else, the cat didn’t want to come near. The only way Marnie could ever catch its attention was by offering titbits. Usually Ma would have scolded her for wasting her supper on a cat, but she was so taken up with the day’s events that she didn’t notice.
Smoaker belched loudly and mopped up the last of his soup. He was as small as Ma was large, with a huge belly that hung over the belt of his trousers. Tufts of grey hair grew behind his ears, but the rest of his head was bare. The sun and the wind had roasted it reddish-brown, like the thick crackling on a Sunday leg of mutton. Nep jumped on Smoaker’s lap and purred noisily as it licked its paws. Marnie was envious of the cat. She hated that it had a Pa when she didn’t. She wished every day she had a pa to dote on her like Smoaker doted on Nep. She wanted to know what that would feel like.
Ma had told her often enough that Smoaker wasn’t her pa. He was just ‘a dear, dear friend’. Marnie knew he was a dear friend to Ma because sometimes Ma didn’t come to bed at night and Marnie would hear thuds and the squeaking of bedsprings from upstairs in Smoaker’s room. This made Marnie feel left out and empty. It was as though Ma, Smoaker and Nep were the real family and she was just a visitor.
Whenever Marnie asked about her pa, Ma’s face would go all tight, like someone had tied a knot in the back of her head. ‘You don’t have a pa,’ she would say as she tapped the bowl of her pipe. ‘I found you washed up on the shore, I did, curled up soft and pink inside a seashell.’ Marnie knew that wasn’t true, of course. She knew she must have had a pa at one time. She wasn’t daft. She knew that a man had to have shared in the making of her. He was out there somewhere, she was sure of it. She dreamed about him all the time. He was a fisherman with a dark-brown leathery face and yellow hair. He smelt of the sea at low tide; of warm fish and seaweed. If Marnie squeezed her eyes shut tight and held her breath for a moment, she could conjure up a memory of a rough woollen gansey pressed against her cheek and a pair of strong arms holding her. Marnie imagined her pa had gone out in his fishing boat one day and got caught in a storm while chasing a shoal. She never believed the sea would have taken him away from her, though. He had just got lost somewhere and was sailing around the world right now, trying to find his way back to Clevedon. She was certain he would come home one day, and she wanted to be the very first thing he saw when he pulled his boat up on the beach.
When Marnie went to bed that night, Ma and Smoaker were still up drinking beer, smoking their pipes and celebrating their good fortune. Marnie knew it would be one of those nights when Ma never came to the bed they shared. The bed felt big and lonely. Even Nep wouldn’t come and curl up on her feet. She closed her eyes and listened to the shush of the sea and the rasping noise of shingle being dragged by the waves and flung back on to the beach. She tried to breathe in rhythm with the ebb and flow of the tide.
In, out … in, out … in, out.
She slowly drifted to sleep. She dreamed her feet were cold and wet. She was shivering, her skin was damp, and she could smell the fishy tang of seaweed and the salty air. She stood on the edge of the sea looking out at Pa in his wooden boat. Green paint flaked from the hull in long curls, like peelings of sunburned skin, and waves rocked the boat backwards and forwards as though it was an infant’s cradle. Pa stood underneath the cotton sails, beckoning to her with a raised hand. But as hard as she tried, Marnie couldn’t move. Then she looked down at her feet and her twisted leg, and saw instead a golden fishtail. A wave swept over her and pulled her into the sea and suddenly she was swimming through the water, faster and faster, whipping her tail through the foamy waves. But no matter how fast she swam, Pa never got any nearer. He stayed just out of reach, beckoning her and beckoning her with his outstretched hand.
4
The Rat-Catcher’s Boy
The following morning Marnie went out to the backyard to find Ambrose peering over the wall. ‘What you doing, Marnie?’ he asked, sniffing a slug of snot back up his nose. Marnie ignored him and picked up the metal pail that stood by the back door. The copper over the fire needed topping up and Ma had sent her to fetch water from the pump at the end of the lane.
Marnie didn’t like Ambrose. He was the rat-catcher’s boy from next door. He was always following her about, asking questions and telling her things she didn’t want to know. He was a skinny, bony thing with a mean face and shiny black hair that sat on his head like a flattened crow. Marnie had never seen him without his scabby rat-terrier or without snot hanging from one nostril or another. When he was with the other village children, he would join in with their taunts as they walked behind Marnie, laughing and dragging their legs in imitation of her gait.
‘What you doing?’ he asked again. ‘You should’ve seen the size of the rats me and Pa caught yesterday! As big as the dog they were!’ he shouted after Marnie as she hurried out of the backyard gate. She hoped he wasn’t going to follow her. She just wanted to get her chores finished so she could get to the beach before it got busy. Ambrose never came to the beach. He had a fear of the sea and that was another reason Marnie didn’t like him.
Marnie knew that Ma felt sorry for Ambrose. His pa was as cruel as they come and his ma wasn’t much better. Ambrose could never please either of them. He often had purple bruises across his cheeks or streaks of blood mingled in his snot. Sometimes, when the windows were left open on hot summer nights, Marnie would hear his thin sobs breaking through the night air. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to like him.
Marnie waited her turn at the pump and after she’d filled the pail, she walked back home slowly. Ma was sweeping the kitchen floor and humming to herself as Marnie set the pail down by the fire.
‘That’s a full one, I hope,’ said Ma without turning to look.
‘Yes, Ma,’ said Marnie. She could still feel the sting of Ma’s hand across her face from the days before she had learned to balance herself against her stick in a way that kept the water steady in the pail. Marnie never spilled a drop now and Ma had no excuse to touch her. Marnie grabbed a chunk of bread from the bowl on the table and walked quietly to the door.
�
�Mind you help Smoaker today, my girl!’ Ma shouted after her. ‘It’s going to be a busy one!’
‘Yes, Ma,’ said Marnie quickly, and she picked up her stick and left the cottage, stuffing the bread in her mouth as she went.
It was another glorious day. Marnie could already feel the heat of the sun on her skin and smell the sweetness of baking grass. She hobbled across the lane and sat on top of the embankment above the esplanade. As she slid down the slope on her behind, the long tufts of yellowed grass whipped her bare legs. When she reached the bottom, Marnie used her stick to push herself up to standing and stepped on to the esplanade. She was pleased to see it empty, save for a pair of early strollers heading towards Byron’s Bay. The beach was empty too, and the tide low enough to have exposed the pink sand that lay hidden under the waves at full tide. Marnie stopped to take a deep breath of the warm morning air.
‘Marnie! Hey, Marnie! Wait for me!’
She turned at the sound of her name and saw Ambrose scrambling down the embankment after her, with his rat-dog at his heels. Marnie groaned. What did he want? If she hurried to the beach, perhaps he’d go away. He’d never dare come near the water.
Marnie limped as fast as she could to the beach steps, her stick tapping loudly on the ground. She took the steps one at a time, biting her lip in concentration, and hopped down on to the beach. She made her way across the rocks and on to the shingle, then glanced behind to see if Ambrose had gone. He was still there. He’d climbed down the steps too and was standing on the rocks staring all agog at the waves tumbling on to the shoreline.
‘That’s right, rat-boy. You stay where you are!’ shouted Marnie. ‘See how wild it is out there?’ In truth, the waves were little more than gentle curls; just as Marnie liked it. Ambrose wouldn’t come any closer. Marnie was sure of it.
She pulled off her frock and set it down on the shingle with her boots and stick. Then, wearing only her old flannel shift, she walked across the shingle till it turned to thick, wet sand that oozed between her toes. She walked straight to the water’s edge and caught her breath as the first wave broke over her legs. The water was cold enough to make her skin burn. A shudder of pleasure ran through Marnie’s body. She waded in until her shift billowed around her waist and her feet left the ocean floor. It was all perfect; just as it should be. Nothing else mattered now. It was just her and the sea and Pa.
‘Where are you, Pa?’ she shouted into the sea breeze. ‘I’m here again! I’m waiting for you!’
But the horizon was empty.
Suddenly, another sound broke through the noise of breaking waves. Marnie turned her head and saw the rat-boy’s dog paddling furiously beside her, yapping every time a wave broke over its snout.
‘Go away!’ she hissed and splashed it with the back of her hand, making it yap even louder.
‘Here, boy! Here!’ Ambrose’s voice sailed over the water.
Marnie saw him standing on the shoreline, hugging himself with his skinny arms.
‘Get ’im for me, Marnie! Get ’im!’
Marnie clenched her teeth. Why did he have to go and spoil it all? Why couldn’t he just leave her be?
‘Get him yourself!’ she shouted.
‘Please, Marnie! Please! Me pa’ll kill me if he’s lost.’ Ambrose was doing an urgent little dance, hopping from one foot to another. Marnie almost felt sorry for him. He’d get a thrashing for sure if he went home without the rat-terrier. But the dog wasn’t in any danger. It was a swimmer and would find its own way back to shore. Ambrose could worry for a while longer, she decided. Serve him right for being so nasty.
‘What’s the matter, rat-boy?’ she taunted. ‘Scared of a bit of water?’ She turned her back to him and dipped under the waves.
Ambrose’s shouts were silenced as the weight of the ocean fell around her ears. It was delicious to be alone in her own place; to feel her arms pull strongly against the water and to feel the air tight in her chest. She opened her eyes to see the watery world around her blurred in greens and blues; black thickets of seaweed stretching slimy tentacles towards her and the rocks on the seabed crusted with barnacles. When her heart began to pound in her ears and her lungs burned hot, Marnie swam to the surface and swallowed deep gulps of air. She rubbed the salt from her eyes and looked towards the shore. Ambrose had gone. There was no sign of his dog, either. Good, thought Marnie. He’d gone back home to catch some rats, hopefully. Back to the dark, dirty places where he belonged.
The sun was growing hotter by the minute. Marnie felt it warming the back of her head. Light bounced off the top of the waves, and further out, beyond the waves, the surface of the sea shone bright as a newly polished spoon. Marnie wanted to stay there all day. But she knew that soon enough the ladies would start to arrive, bathing machines would crowd the beach and she would have to spend the rest of the day helping Smoaker. She closed her eyes. Just a while longer, she thought. She wished she could stretch time so it never ended.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of barking. She opened her eyes and looked towards the beach. The rat-dog was back. It was running into the sea and back out again. Marnie paddled with her hands and looked around for Ambrose. He couldn’t be far away. He wouldn’t leave his dog. As Marnie watched, it seemed that the dog was trying to pull at something, but every time it got a grip the sea pulled it away again. The dog’s barks were becoming more and more frantic. Curious now, Marnie swam back towards the shore. As her feet touched the sandy bottom she saw the dog was nipping at something large. A clump of seaweed perhaps, or a log or a piece of driftwood? She waded closer. The dog began to bark at her now, urging her to hurry. Marnie took her time. A thought was forming in her head that made her belly flip like a floundering fish. She screwed up her eyes against the sun and scanned the beach, half expecting to see Ambrose running back to fetch his dog. But all she saw were figures on the esplanade and the first of the bathing machines being hitched to horses. She moved closer to whatever was worrying the dog, daring herself to look.
The first thing Marnie saw was Ambrose’s hair, spread out like black feathers in the shallows. He was lying in the water, his legs pointing towards the horizon. His head was being bobbed about by the waves and he was staring right into the sun. Seawater had filled his britches and shirt, so he looked all blown-up and fat. The rat-dog was pulling at Ambrose’s shirt, playing tug-o-war with the sea. Marnie prodded Ambrose with her foot, but he wouldn’t stop staring.
Despite the heat from the sun, Marnie shivered. She’d only ever seen one drowned person before. When she was nine, she and Ma had found a woman washed ashore at Byron’s Bay. She’d still had on her bonnet and mantle, but part of her face had been eaten by fishes. Ma had said the woman must have got tired of living and had walked into the sea on purpose.
Now, in the blink of an eye, Ambrose had drowned too.
Ma had always told Marnie the ocean couldn’t be trusted. That even on the calmest of days it could send up a strong wave that could drag a person or fishing boat down to its depths. Marnie had never believed her. The ocean was the one thing Marnie did trust. She knew its colours and its moods. She knew when it was feeling gentle and she knew when it was angry. She knew when she was welcome and she knew when to stay away. But always, it made her feel better about herself.
But Ambrose hadn’t trusted the ocean; he’d been frightened of it. And now look what had happened to him. Marnie looked down at Ambrose’s pinched and mean face. It served him right, she thought. He should have stayed away.
Marnie left the rat-dog pulling at Ambrose’s shirt and limped along the beach to fetch Smoaker.
5
A Tart and Some Gingerbread
Marnie was amazed at all the fuss that was made of Ambrose after he’d drowned. Like he’d suddenly become someone important. His ma had wailed for hours and his pa had slit the rat-dog’s throat and thrown the body on the beach for the gulls to pick at.
Marnie watched as the village women trooped along Ratcatcher’s Row with pan
s of stew, loaves of bread and packets of bacon. Miss Cranston brought along a pretty-looking tart and a basket of spicy-smelling gingerbread. What a waste, thought Marnie. She was quite sure that Ambrose had never eaten gingerbread in his life.
Ambrose was laid out on the rat-catcher’s kitchen table now, in a white nightgown with his hands folded neatly across his chest. Marnie had been made to go and look, ‘to pay your respects’, Ma had said.
Ambrose’s hair had been brushed all tidy and his eyes were closed tight. It was the first time Marnie had ever seen him without snot hanging out of his nose. Ma made her step up close to Ambrose. ‘Say a little prayer for him, Marnie,’ she said. But Marnie could think of nothing to say. She didn’t want to be there, pretending to be sorry. She didn’t like it in the rat-catcher’s cottage. The curtains had been drawn and candles were burning on the mantelpiece. It was hot and stuffy and smelled faintly of fish guts rotting in the sun. Marnie couldn’t breathe properly.
More people crowded into the room. It seemed to Marnie that the whole village was in there. Some of the women muttered prayers under their breath. The men took their caps off and twisted them round in their hands. Marnie moved away from Ambrose to make room for them and stood at the back of the room, waiting for Ma. They had paid their respects; surely they could go now?
Marnie thought the village women were still praying as they filed past her to make their way outside. She heard them mumbling. But when she looked up at their faces she saw they were glaring at her, like a gaggle of angry geese.
‘Always in the water, that one.’
‘Cursed child.’
‘Not right, it isn’t.’
‘What do you expect from a bastard?’
‘Marked by the Devil, she is.’
‘Strange one.’
The Madness Page 2
