The Waterway Girls

by Milly Adams

  Bet saw too. ‘Oh joy,’ she said. ‘Let’s hope he stays on board, or in the other bar at the very least. We really don’t want to be in the middle of another to-do.’

  The distant hills looked like dark shadows and the pub would have melded against them, hidden, had they not heard music and laughter as they approached along the path leading from the canal to the building. The summer-time chairs were tilted up on the tables. The three of them had not changed clothes, but they were only slightly damp after sitting in the heat of the cabin. Bet led the way into the pub, via a dark lobby. ‘Shut the door, quickly. Verity, check the blackout curtain.’

  Verity called, ‘Got it, boss.’

  Bet laughed softly. ‘Let’s try and weave our way to the fire Bob usually has going by now.’

  Verity was just behind Polly, and sighed. ‘I know, he’s a lifesaver.’ Bet shoved open the door into the bar, to be met by even more sound, light, cigarette smoke, and the clash of billiard cues on balls. To their right was a dartboard, with two teams playing, grim determination on their faces. Bet nodded towards the chimney. ‘We’ll get a pint and then force our way through the scrum. I expect we’ll steam, but who isn’t?’ She was right. There was a layer of steam coming off most of the clientele.

  They squeezed through the boaters to reach the bar, and Bet hollered, ‘Bob, three pints when you’re ready, or even if you’re not, if you please.’

  ‘Yer tell ’im, eh Bet?’ It was Granfer, holding a pint glass up in the air to avoid being jogged, as he slipped past them. ‘Off to check the lad. He’s out in Mrs Bob’s kitchen, being spoilt.’

  Bet laughed. ‘Oh, I doubt very much that’s all you’re checking, Granfer. I expect there’s something in the oven that Mrs Bob wants you to test.’

  Granfer smiled, winked but said nothing. In the blink of an eye he was gone, though how, Polly wondered, because he hadn’t pushed. People had simply parted to let him through. The same did not happen for them as they held their tankards high and tried to get to the fire. Verity led the way, to no avail, so Polly edged past her, nudging the elbows of the men who blocked their path. As their beer slopped, they turned, and Polly dived into the space this created, shouting, ‘Sorry, so sorry.’ She did the same to the next man, until the message got through and a way magically appeared as they headed to the fire. Once there, they stood, their backs to the roaring logs, steaming along with the rest of them.

  ‘Who taught you that little trick, may I ask?’ Verity said, sipping her beer slowly.

  ‘You may ask,’ Polly said, and nothing more.

  Bet laughed and after a moment Verity joined in. But then she said, ‘I saw your letter, forwarded by your mother. Who does she think is suitable, as was written on the back of the envelope? He’s most suitable and remember he has a future were the exact words, I think.’

  Polly paused mid swallow, almost angry. It surprised her.

  ‘Oh Verity,’ sighed Bet. ‘You might have come from a drawer somewhat higher than either of ours, but you have so much to learn. Basic manners, for a start.’

  Polly sipped the beer; it was warm but weak. She sipped again, and looked up. To the left of them, Saul was talking, lifting his glass of beer to Granfer who had returned. Together, the pair of them roared with laughter. Again, she was surprised at herself, because she liked to see it; and the way Saul’s face lit up, and the sound of it. He looked younger than he had on the lay-by, alive just as Bet did when talking of the cut. Another man flung his arm over Saul’s shoulder. ‘Come an’ give oos a song, Saul boy.’

  Saul shook his head. Oh do, please, Polly thought.

  Near her a man shouted, ‘Yon girl sez please, Saul, so ’ow can yer not, man.’ The man was pointing to her. Polly realised she must have spoken aloud. She looked at the floor, as Verity poked her. ‘Manners, Miss Holmes.’

  Saul just shrugged and pushed through the throng of men, making for the bar. The throng closed in his wake. Polly turned to the fire, feeling the heat from the flames playing on her face, and perhaps drying Will’s filthy sweater.

  Verity moved away and Polly, relieved, sipped her beer. Verity called from the dartboard, ‘Oh, do come, you two. I’ve a darts match for us. Quick, before someone else gets the board.’

  Polly didn’t want to leave the heat but Bet was forging a path for them through to the darts area, so she tagged along, feeling like the butty following the motor, but Bet was barging through at such a pace that she was reminded of Leon rocking all the boats in the lay-by on her first day. Where was he? Not in here, anyway. She was pleased, because the aggression in the man’s voice had been enough to turn anyone’s stomach. She pictured Saul’s struggle in the water again, his care for Joe in spite of the blood pouring from––

  ‘Do come, Miss Polly Holmes,’ called Verity. ‘You’re holding up play.’

  They played against the steerers of Maiden, Letchworth and London Pride and it was Verity’s final throw that won the match for them. The men weren’t happy, but neither were they cross; instead they asked for another match.

  This time Bet bought pints for both teams, using the kitty money, which was a great idea, Polly thought, because who knew when they might need help on the cut, especially if they beat the steerers again.

  Verity missed with the final throw, though only just. Polly leaned across and whispered, ‘Good manners, or a bad throw?’

  ‘You can ask,’ Verity whispered back, nudging her.

  Polly grinned, for it had been her answer, earlier.

  Bet put an arm around them both. ‘Now, my little pair of Cinderellas, time we made our way back, but I need to pick up my winnings from Bob first.’

  Verity shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it. You bet on us losing that match?’

  ‘I bet on your common sense and good behaviour, Verity Clement.’ Polly and Verity stared at her, then at one another but Bet was pushing them towards the door. ‘Make some cocoa when you get back.’

  Polly called, ‘Oh no, we’ll wait for you, or you’ll have another drink and the kitty will be all over the place and Verity will be upset …’

  Bet paused, looking shocked, and for a moment Polly wondered if she had gone too far, but then, against the wall of sound and smoke, Verity sighed, ‘All right, all right, point taken. Can we let the damned kitty saga rest now?’

  ‘Oh, please do,’ Polly groaned. Bet looked from one to the other, and her booming laugh reached them.

  With the kitty issue now over, Verity and she left together, abandoning Bet, at her insistence, who claimed that everyone needed a break from the kindergarten from time to time. Mindful of the blackout they made sure the bar door was shut behind them before leaving. The moon was still bright, the air quite dry, and the puddles on the path leading through the garden mainly gone. Probably, Polly thought, people sat here in the summer watching the boats on the cut, envying the boaters their idle, perfect life as they glided along. She sighed. Verity stared at her. ‘For heaven’s sake, what was that?’

  Polly muttered, ‘I was thinking of the people sitting here in the sun.’

  Verity snapped, ‘Not that, idiot. Listen.’

  They stood still. An owl hooted, and then again. ‘It’s an owl,’ Polly said.

  ‘Shut up, and listen,’ Verity hissed.

  Polly heard it then. A groan, a thud, then another coming from round the side of the pub. ‘That’s the kitchen side,’ breathed Verity. They rushed to the corner, and there in the moonlight were figures fighting. Verity held Polly back. There was a movement to their left. Granfer was holding Joe to him, burying the boy’s head in his jerkin.

  Saul? Polly stared into the gloom at the heaving bodies that tumbled out into the moonlight, then back into the shadows again. Yes, Saul. But who else? There were four. Two against two, or three against one? She saw one man in the midst of three. She could hear Will’s voice – three against one wasn’t fair. She pulled free from Verity. ‘Go and get help,’ she urged her.

  Granfer called, ‘Leav
e ’em be, girls. ’Tis family – no one’s business but our’n. On yer way now.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ she asked but even as she did, she heard Leon’s voice and saw that he was kicking Saul, who was curled on the ground as the other two men laid into him too, one carrying something which looked like a pickaxe handle. Leon landed another kick. ‘No one takes m’boy, sailor, yer ’ear me. You’re not ’aving ’im for yer runnerabout, cos I needs him. You got that.’

  ‘Leave ’im be, Da,’ yelled Joe, trying to wrench free from Granfer.

  Verity pulled at Polly. ‘Come away, it’s not our business, you heard Granfer.’

  ‘I thought you’d gone for help. It’s three against one.’

  Leon brought back his leg and landed another kick. She heard Saul groan, but then he called as he grabbed Leon’s leg, forcing the man to lose his balance, ‘Get Joe away, Granfer. Keep ’im safe.’

  Leon roared at the man with the pickaxe handle, ‘Hit ’im with it, don’t just stand there. Kill the bugger.’

  The man raised the weapon and whacked it down as Saul released Leon’s leg and rolled to the right. The pickaxe handle hit the ground. The man cursed. Granfer dragged Joe towards the garden. Leon snatched the pickaxe handle from his mate, and lifted it. ‘Hold ’im,’ he ordered. The two men grappled with Saul and held him still. Polly saw the stools stacked ready for the summer against the shed where Granfer had been standing and ran across, pulling the top one free. Verity screeched, ‘Don’t, Polly.’

  Polly yelled, ‘Do as you’re told and go for help.’

  Leon turned at her shout, but Polly was charging at him, holding the stool by the legs, bringing it up, and before he could grasp what was happening she swept it across his side, jarring right up to her teeth. Leon staggered, roaring, ‘What?’

  She swung it up again. Will had said, if attacked, fight back straight away or you’d lose the initiative. She brought the stool across Leon again, then there was a flurry beside her and Granfer was there, also with a stool in his hands, and they prodded two of the men back as though they were lion tamers while Leon clutched his arm, and sagged down on to one knee.

  The other two ran, while Granfer went to Saul. Polly stood over Leon and said, ‘Stay down – if you move I’ll hit you again. I promise I will.’

  Her fury was drowning her, sweeping her to the chaos of Will’s tank as it was blasted to smithereens, but now Bet was beside her. ‘Leave it, Pol. Leave it. Time to go. Come along now.’

  Will had called her Pol. Her thoughts were drowned by the sound of others pounding along the path, someone shouting, ‘What t’hell’s ’appening?’

  She still brandished the stool. ‘Stay down,’ she whispered, but Bet was taking the stool, as some of the steerers from the pub arrived. One rushed to Leon, grabbing him. ‘Speed by the lay-by, would yer?’

  Now Bet and Verity were pulling Polly away. ‘Come on, we’re not needed.’ Together they stumbled back towards the boat, Bet’s arm around Polly, whose fury was dying into nothingness.

  Bet said, ‘Best to let Granfer and the others sort it now.’

  They heard curses and then the sound of a man staggering well over to the left. ‘That’s Leon,’ Verity whispered. ‘I’m not sure he saw who hit him in the dark, but he heard you. Why on earth did you interfere? Of course he wouldn’t kill Saul. It was just a scrap. You should have come with me to get help. What will he do to us now?’

  Polly stared at her, exhausted, as they made their way along the towpath. ‘Someone had to interfere, there was a child involved, and those three would have killed Saul, and it wasn’t damn well fair.’ The fury was back. ‘It isn’t fair,’ she shouted. Then repeated it in a whisper.

  ‘Oh, don’t be absurd,’ Verity shouted. ‘Whoever said anything was going to be fair.’

  They were passing the boats moored along the tie-up. Some women sitting on the counter, knitting in the moonlight, looked round sharply. Bet hushed Verity and said, ‘My father killed my mother when he didn’t care for the steak pie she had cooked. Insanity, of course, after falling from his hunter, or brain damage, or some such thing from the first war, but somehow one is never free, having seen such a thing. He’s in an asylum. I should visit him, but I don’t. I also think Leon would have killed Saul, Verity. He ordered those men of his to hold Saul down while he brandished the pickaxe, and there was death in his voice. He’s dangerous. We know that, and we must keep clear of him – you especially, Polly, from now on.’

  Polly nodded, frightened now, and trembling.

  Verity went ahead to the Marigold, and by the time Polly and Bet arrived the cocoa was ready. The three of them sat outside on the counter, smoking. Polly’s hand still trembled, but here they wouldn’t talk for fear of disturbing the other boaters, and that was better for her. They continued to sip their cocoa and smoke in silence. Finally Bet disappeared to the butty cabin, and returned with brandy. She whispered, ‘Medicinal purposes only.’

  She topped up their cocoa with a shaking hand. They smoked yet another cigarette. Polly looked up at the stars, which seemed so close she could almost touch them. So, she wanted to say to the man at the depot, I think I’m coming alive again, but I’d better not go round bashing up too many people or Mum won’t like it. She began to laugh but then stopped abruptly. The other two took no notice, merely drained their mugs. Verity muttered, ‘Never a dull moment with you around, Polly Holmes, but time for bed.’

  As Verity washed in the light of the cabin’s hurricane lamp, Polly took Winnie-the-Pooh down from the shelf, tracing Will’s message with her finger. She knew it by heart and it was her most precious possession. He had given it to her for their tenth birthday. There, in his rounded writing, were the words ‘We will right all wrongs, make unfair things fair, because we are invincible. Forever, and ever.’

  It was the motto of their gang, which Will led, but Verity was right: life wasn’t fair. Fair was for children, for a boy with hair the same colour as hers, with brown eyes like hers, a boy whose socks always fell down around his ankles, his plimsolls as battered as hers, plimsolls which smelt like hers after they had put whitener on them, leaving them overnight to dry.

  She turned down the lamp once Verity was in bed, latching the already closed cabin doors: it was safer that way. She shoved the slide open for fresh air as it was not a cold or wet night. Clutching the book to her, she slept.

  Chapter 13

  30 October – later that evening, Saul and Granfer

  In the Seagull’s cabin Saul stripped, then dipped his hands in the bowl of clean water he had poured from the water can, because the water from the cut wasn’t at all the thing for open wounds. He sluiced his face. The cut over his eye stung, his lip too, and he’d a lump the size of a swan’s egg on the back of his head; not that he’d seen one of them for many a long day.

  Eyes closed, he reached for the clean rag torn from one of Granfer’s shirt-tails, patted his face dry, then sluiced off the rest of his body. He twisted and saw that Leon’s boot had gashed the skin over his ribs. He could see the bone. Granfer’d have to stitch the bugger.

  He dragged on clean trousers, for his legs weren’t cut, sat on the side-bed and waited for his granfer to settle the boy in the butty cabin for tonight. Best that way cos Saul reckoned to tossing and turning a bit, with the pain, and that’d keep the lad awake. Granfer’d chain them doors shut an’ all. The hurricane lamp flickered. The kettle whistled. He leaned forward and splashed the boiling water over the needle and knife he had made ready, then laid them on the plate with the catgut.

  It was one of his ma’s pierced-edge plates, the one they used for cutting and stitching. Seemed to bring them luck, for never had cuts turned nasty, yet. Inside, he felt as if he were shaking, because this tumble had been different; death had been in Leon’s eyes but no way was that bugger having back the boy. Never. Somehow they had to keep Joe safe, keep him under their eye. It were all right while they was on the cut because they could steer on past Leon if he were coming
down when they were going up, or keep behind him if they were going the same way. It were at the lay-by and so on they had to be careful. Then the boy needed to be close by, till him was grown. Where the hell were Maudie? Had his sister seen the look in them eyes? Had a pick-handle come down on her? What had the lad seen?

  He heard Granfer on the counter of the motor and was glad because it stopped his thoughts going away from sense, but he heard Joe’s footsteps too. Stitching weren’t a thing for a lad to see, but better he were here, Saul supposed, if he weren’t wanting to go to sleep. Safer.

  Granfer knocked. Saul called, ‘Bit late fer manners this evenin’, don’t yer think? There’s work to be done.’

  He and Granfer laughed. It weren’t funny but it lifted the whole bloody mess up off the floor. Saul said, as Granfer pushed Joe before him into the cabin, ‘You bring that book t’colour, our Joe? I want to see how your castles is comin’. I got paint, so next lay-by I’ll get yer a pan or plate to paint.’

  Joe’s eyes lit up, and Saul gestured to the cross-bed. ‘Sit yersel’ down, and pull down t’cupboard door, and put yer colours on that table.’

  As Joe passed him, he snatched a look at his uncle, but Saul kept his elbow against the cut on his ribs because there was no need for the boy to see things close up. Later, he’d have to learn to sew cuts, but not with his dad so close and downright vicious and his mam Lord knew where. Yes, she’d be out there somewhere. Course she would.

  Granfer poured the water over the catgut, then threaded the needle. He looked towards the lad, saying, ‘Come on now, our Joe, ’ead down. ’Tis late but I reckon that’s when you’ll ’ave the time to paint when yer busy on the cut, so best give it a try.’

  Joe looked from Saul to Granfer, then lowered his head, picked up his coloured pencils, and began. Saul marvelled at the way he could draw straight lines, just like that. The lad were better than he’d been. He kept his eyes on that as Granfer began to sew. He did a running stitch, the one Grandma had taught him, then later he’d pull the whole line out if it hadn’t softened and disappeared as the cut healed.