by Milly Adams
She pulled down on the right boot, but her hands were numb now and slipped. She tried again, but her hands slipped once more. Her chest was bursting. Sandy wasn’t moving, but the hull lurched against her, then away. She reached up and hooked the fingers of one hand over the top of one of the boots, then squeezed the foot between her body and her hand, sinking deeper into the water, pulling, pulling, until finally the boot was off. She reached for the other, but had no breath left. She rose, gulped in air, water that tasted of dirt and blood. Bet was still hanging on, her face as white as frost. Polly was shafting, the sweat running down her face.
Tom yelled, ‘I’m coming. I can’t stand this.’
Verity gulped in air and down she went again, but she couldn’t think, she felt so cold. What should she be doing? She couldn’t remember. Sandy? Her leg. Yes, that’s right. The boots. One leg didn’t have one. She felt along and there the other one was – a boot on a motionless leg. She worked her useless hands up the boot. Work, damn you, she ordered her fingers.
Her left hand helped her right-hand fingers. She hugged the boot to her and used the weight of her body again, then sank as her fingers pulled on the boot. It hadn’t been so cold with Jimmy. Down she went, down; it was such a heavy weight. She sank suddenly, holding the boot. It was off, empty. No, not empty – full of water. She let it go, then kicked her legs. Were they kicking? She couldn’t feel them. Something nudged her. It was the hull. She’d be crushed between the hull, or between the fenders and the wall. She clawed her way up the slimy lockside, kick-kick, her chest hurting. She must breathe. She felt hands in her hair, pulling. She broke the surface.
Bet was heaving Sandy up, and now she saw that the lock-keeper was on the counter, too, pulling with Bet. They got Sandy on board. Her hair, Verity saw, was no longer in a French pleat, but instead was falling like a curtain, and dripping. Still the boat was rising. She heard Polly shrieking, ‘Get Verity out. Quick, quick. We’re shafting, but we’re getting too tired.’
Hands had stopped pulling her hair and had seized her under the arms, and they were already pulling her up and Tom was shouting, ‘Come on, lass. Come on, darling. Up you come.’ He was lying, heaving her upwards and across. She was coming, higher and higher, and now he was rolling onto his side, still heaving. Her body caught on the fender – the water wanted to pull her back down, but Tom wanted her more, she knew that. He wanted her, with him; she knew he did. He pulled, and there was the lock-keeper and she could see them, but couldn’t help them. Nothing would work, nothing would feel. Finally she came up with a whoosh, like a cork out of a bottle, into Tom’s arms.
He fell back, and Verity lay on top. He held her tight. ‘We’ve got to stop doing this. First the towpath and now the counter. And, by the way, I’m holding you to keep you warm; it isn’t because I love you so much I could die, do you hear me? Say you hear me.’
They lay there while someone threw a blanket over them both, saying, ‘You’re an idiot, a daft – and wonderful idiot, Verity.’ Ah, Polly. Ah, Tom and Polly. Everything was all right. She felt sick, her head was hurting inside, and outside there was nothing but Tom shouting. She opened her eyes.
He was looking at the cabin. ‘Tie both legs off. The cold’s reduced the flow of blood, thank God. Use anything to tie her off below the knees. The heat could start any damaged arteries pumping.’
Verity lifted her head and saw they had risen on a level with the lock kerb. She struggled free of Tom, lying on her side, looking at the ambulance and the men. They had a stretcher lying on the icy ground between them, waiting. The lock-keeper was standing by the tiller, his sleeves soaking, and he was shivering. ‘Warm him,’ she whispered.
She watched Tom somehow scramble free of her, replace her blanket and help Sylvia and Polly carry Sandy to the kerb, where the ambulance men took over. Verity tried to shout, ‘The lock-keeper must be in the warm. He must.’ No one heard her, but she couldn’t hear herself, either. Were her lips even moving? Was her heart beating? Were her lungs breathing? ‘Bet – look after Bet.’ Still no one heard her.
But perhaps they had, because the lock-keeper was being helped to the kerb and into the ambulance. She heard him shout, ‘Get yer bleedin’ ’ands off me. All I needs is me coal fire; yer look after the girls, for Gawd’s sake.’ He was out of the ambulance again, like the jack-in-a-box she’d had as a child. He walked off, across the top-gate gallery. Verity watched. He seemed miles away, miles and miles. Someone should take the boats out of the lock to let others through. And where was Bet?
Ah, nearer, much nearer. Bet was wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the butty counter by the tiller, with Merle at her side. Verity heard Polly say, ‘Bet, you need to go too, to be checked over, with Verity. You’re both too cold.’
Verity could see blood was dripping onto the kerb – or was it pumping? – from Sandy’s legs; she couldn’t tell. Someone was hooting, impatient for the lock. Couldn’t they see the ambulance? Polly was up on the kerb now, shouting at the pair waiting to go south, ‘We have injured people. Stop your hooting or I’ll shove your horn where the sun doesn’t shine.’
Verity heard Tom’s laugh, and inside she laughed herself, because Polly was shouting and being rude, so everything was all right. She lay on the counter, under the weight of the blankets, laughing and laughing, but she couldn’t hear her own laugh. Everyone was so far away and she was so tired. But then Tom was hauling her to her feet, Sylvia was on the other side and they helped her to step onto the kerb. ‘Come on, into the ambulance.’
She refused. Tom shook her. ‘Listen to me.’ But what was the point of shaking her, for she was shaking anyway.
She looked at him, and held the blanket tightly, though she couldn’t feel it. ‘I won’t go. I just need to get warm,’ she said, her words falling at his feet in little bits because she was shivering so badly.
Tom called to Polly, who came over to Verity and wrapped her in her arms, rocking her. ‘I think you should go; but if you won’t, you will go with Tom to the cabin and stay there with him, and he will hold you, all night, until you are warmed right through. That’s what the ambulance blokes say. It’s what I say, and it’s what Tom will say – or I will swing for him.’
Verity nodded. When Polly used that voice, everyone agreed. Besides, she couldn’t really think; all she knew was that she wasn’t leaving Marigold, Horizon and her friends. ‘Sandy?’ she asked.
Polly shook her head, ‘I don’t know.’
Sylvia had heard and came across from the ambulance. ‘We’re going to moor up overnight on the other side of the lock, with Bet’s other trainee, Merle, and we will find out about Sandy tomorrow. Then we can make our plans.’
Heavens, thought Verity, as Tom put his arm around her, Sylvia’s as bossy as Polly. Sylvia helped as together they half carried her back down the slope of the lock to their boats, and all the time Sylvia was talking, telling them that Polly was going to take Bet’s pair out of the lock, with Merle, and moor up the other side. ‘As we’ve heard, there’s a pair waiting to come south. The lock will be ready for them, then Polly’ll come back and we’ll take our boats through, because the lock will be ready for us. Tom, you’ll have to steer the butty while I fiddle about with the tow-rope.’
Verity couldn’t keep her eyes open, but it didn’t matter, as someone was leading her; no, she was wrong, some-two were leading her. She laughed, but it just gurgled in her head. The feel of the ground changed and moved beneath her, just a fraction. She was on Marigold. ‘I’m home,’ she said. ‘I will be fine now, but is Sandy? Is Bet?’
‘I can’t understand what she’s saying.’ It was Tom, wonderful Tom. She tried to open her eyes.
Sylvia said, ‘Tom, it doesn’t matter. You are to take Verity into Marigold’s cabin and strip off her clothes. I trust you to close your eyes. Then wrap her in a blanket and she will lie on the cross-bed. You will take off your own wet clothes and wrap yourself in a blanket. Then put your greatcoat or another blanket over both of you. You will h
old Verity and let your body warmth work its magic. I will hang your clothes and Verity’s in the engine room and they’ll be dry very soon, and then I will come and cover you both with as many blankets as we can find. But now I am needed. Either I or Polly will return and make sure the fire is still built up.’ Then she left them to it.
Tom opened the cabin doors, limped down before Verity, then half pulled her, half supported her into the warmth and into his arms. He said into her hair, ‘I am going to do as Matron says and close my eyes, and undress you and help to keep you safe.’
Verity stood there like a child, hearing his words, although they wouldn’t stay and just slipped from her head. She felt her sweaters, trousers and everything else being pulled over her head or feet. A cloth and warm water wiped her down, and a blanket was wrapped around her. Ah, bedtime.
Tom led her to the cross-bed. ‘Lie down,’ he murmured. She did. ‘Move across,’ he said quietly. She did, but couldn’t feel the bed, couldn’t feel anything because she was so cold, and her breathing was difficult and she just couldn’t open her eyes, however much she tried. But she kept forgetting to try. She heard him, so close, whispering into her hair, ‘I am here, lying with you, holding you, giving my warmth to you, as sailors do. Did you know that they do that when one of them falls in?’
Sailors, she thought. Will, Polly’s twin, had sailed in his dinghy and then sailed on a troop ship to war, to Africa, North Africa, and been killed in his tank. They wore his sweaters and she, Verity, was scared how Polly would feel, if Saul ever left for the war, too. You shouldn’t lose two people; it was too harsh. Tom could die, too. Saul could. Sandy could. Polly had sailed on the cut to be near, in a way, to Will. Lovely Polly, her friend, her very best friend. And Sylvia, who could be her best friend, too. Verity forced her lips to move. ‘Yes, I think I knew that about sailors,’ she said, her lips feeling strange and stiff.
Tom replied, ‘I don’t quite understand you, but I am going to keep talking to you. You must answer, on and off, throughout the night. You must stay with me, do you understand me?’ She understood, but was too tired to reply. She felt him shaking her. ‘Nod if you understand, dearest Verity.’
Instead she forced her lips to work. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I understand, but let me sleep.’
‘Clever girl, that was better, and you can sleep, for a little while,’ he agreed. ‘But remember that you are wrapped in a blanket, and I am going to rub-a-dub you. It will help warm you and keep your body working. Say you understand. Come on, open your eyes and say you understand.’
‘Yes, I do,’ she said, and felt as though she was jolting. She felt something else, heard something else. Pat-patter, pat-patter. She smiled. ‘Marigold. We won’t be late. We’re carrying aluminium. We can’t be late. I’m cold, we won’t be late. But Sandy?’
She felt Tom’s arms around her, holding her tightly. He said into her hair, ‘No, my darling girl, we won’t be late, we will deliver your cargo. Trust us, we will deliver it. Won’t we, Sylvia?’
Verity heard Sylvia say, ‘We will catch up, don’t you worry. Now I’ve put two more blankets on you both, over your greatcoat, and another is on the side-bed, with my coat and Polly’s, if extra are needed. Dog will stay here, and Tom can call her onto the bed. It’s another body – unhygienic though the thought is. I’ve got your clothes and, when we turn off the engine, I will then bring them from the engine room to here, where the range will finish drying them. Polly or I will make a cup of tea soon, with lots of honey from Bet’s hives; and you, Tom, will sit Verity up and make her drink. Warm her up from the inside. This is what we will take turns to do all through the night, until we are happy that she is all right.’
Verity heard the words, then said, ‘But you are not happy, Sylvia. We know, but we can’t reach you.’
There was silence. Tom smoothed her hair. ‘Hush,’ he said. ‘Just breathe, and I will rub-a-dub you again.’
For such a long time he lay with her, and Verity could hear him, feel him; and Dog was on her feet, but she was still so cold. Tom made her talk, made her drink, then Sylvia made them both drink, and then Polly did too, and slowly Verity thawed. And at last they let her sleep, with Tom’s arms still around her. She woke into the darkness and he was still there, still holding her, and Dog was still lying on her feet. Tom said, ‘I never want to let you go. I want to stay with you forever and a day, so will you marry me?’
She played the words in her mind. Had she heard them or just thought them? She didn’t know. She turned, opened her eyes, lifted herself on her elbow, warm now, but still shivering. Dog yelped in her sleep and rolled on her back, her paws in the air. The oil light was casting its golden light, the fire in the firebox had been replenished. Who had done that? She must have asked.
‘First Sylvia, and then Polly,’ Tom murmured, tiredness drawing his face into deep lines. ‘I couldn’t leave you for a moment, for we had to keep you warm. We all had to do that. Sylvia will replenish the firebox again soon. She brought in our clothes. They steamed, but are dry now.’ He pulled her down. ‘Sleep again.’
She stared into his eyes. ‘I have no money, except my pay.’
He shook his head and grinned. ‘That’s not true.’
She felt disappointment drag at her. Tom wanted marriage, but thought she had money. She said, feeling cold again, ‘It is true.’
He continued to grin. ‘I saw you win at darts. You have the kitty.’
She rested her forehead on his, smiling. ‘I had forgotten how rich I am.’
He was laughing softly. ‘You are. You have your girls. You have Dog and the cut. You have me, if you’ll have me, although I haven’t got even a kitty. Verity, we can make our own way when this war is over. Don’t decide now, think about it.’
She tried to, but instead she slept.
When dawn broke, Tom dressed, slid back the hatch, crabbed his way up the steps, opened the doors onto the counter and topped up the kettle from the water can. It was warmer, more like the coming of spring at last, with barely any sign of frost or ice. He returned to the cabin, shutting the doors and slide hatch, and set the kettle on the range. Verity was still sleeping. Should he wake her? Perhaps for tea in a moment? He heard movement on the counter, then a light knock.
It was Polly. ‘May I come in?’ She opened the doors, slid back the hatch and dodged down the steps, shutting the doors behind her, but leaving the hatch half open. ‘Let’s have some air in for a moment. How’s she doing?’
‘Pretty good, I think. Her temperature is stable. She’s just tired. What news of everyone else? Then I need a pee.’
Polly sat on the side-bed. ‘Bet’s back – coughing, but back.’
There was another knock. ‘May I enter?’ It was Sylvia.
Polly called, ‘Come on, Tom’s brewing, but crossing his legs, too.’
As Sylvia came down the steps, Verity stirred and sat up, her blanket wrapped round her. ‘Is it party time?’
Her voice was hoarse, and Tom said, ‘For heaven’s sake, keep warm.’
‘We’re about to be a man short, because Bet and Merle will need help,’ Polly said, accepting a mug from Tom.
There was a pause. Sylvia said with a sigh, ‘It had better be me. I’m still the new girl on Marigold, so I might pick up some tips anyway.’
Tom was sitting next to Polly, as Verity shook her head. ‘What are you talking about, Sylvia? We’re a team – we’ll take it in turns, doing a day at a time. What do you think, Polly?’ She said the words, but knew she had no strength, not quite yet. But soon she would.
Polly was sipping her tea. ‘Absolutely. I’ll take today, Sylvia tomorrow and Verity the next day, if she’s up to it, which I doubt. That should bring us to Tyseley Wharf. All agreed?’
Tom had distributed tea to everyone, including himself. The tea leaves were left over from yesterday. Polly pulled a face. ‘Tom, we start with fresh ones each morning. This is disgusting.’
‘Quite,’ said Verity.
Sylvia agr
eed. Dog yelped as though in agreement, wagged her tail and slept again, at the bottom of the cross-bed.
Tom muttered, ‘What am I, a mind-reader? Who’s to take Verity’s place today? While you think about it, I’m going to see a man about a dog and will be back shortly.’ He crabbed his way up the steps and limped to the bank.
Polly frowned, deep in thought. ‘Well, how about us going along abreast, which means we can just about manage with someone on Marigold’s tiller, steering for both. Then we can keep Verity in the cabin for a while longer while one of us lock-wheels for us, and also for Bet’s boat.’
Tom reappeared and climbed back down the steps, grabbing his tea and sitting on the edge of the cross-bed. ‘What have I missed?’
Polly said, ‘We’ve just been sorting out your duties. Of course there’s no pay, Tom Brown, and you need to be good at obeying orders, but we think you can steer the boats if we lash ’em abreast, with Verity’s guiding eye on you.’ Tom laughed. She continued, ‘Is that all right with everyone?’
They all nodded. But who would dare not to? thought Tom.
‘Verity might feel up to brewing the odd mug of tea – proper tea.’ Polly arched an eyebrow at Tom. ‘And even sorting out some food, but let’s see how it goes.’
Verity eased herself to the edge of the cross-bed, wrapped in the blanket, leaning on Tom. ‘I’ll dress – I’d prefer it. And let’s get going or we’ll lose even more time. I’ll also make another pot of tea; a proper one, as the Mistress ordered.’
Tom looked from her to the other two, shaking his head, musing that he had thought his army mates tough, but he hadn’t reckoned on these waterway girls. He carried his weak tea out onto the counter. ‘It’s hot and wet, and I’m not fussy,’ he laughed.
‘Shut the door – were you born in a barn?’ they yelled in unison.
From the counter he looked along at Bet’s pair of boats and saw Bet busying herself on her motor counter and pointing towards the north, as Merle nodded, and Tom knew that there was no way the cargoes were going to be held up.
