The Waterway Girls

by Milly Adams

  Joe grinned as they headed for the upcoming bridge. She smiled back. Things between them weren’t perfect but they had reached a level.

  They didn’t have to go as far as the bridge, because Joe recognised a tie-up just before it, which would leave the hole clear for any boats coming through. ‘Can I go, Polly?’ he asked.

  Polly nodded. ‘Why not, you can stretch your legs while you’re doing it.’

  He didn’t understand. She had to explain it was just a saying. She watched as he tore along the towpath into the field. He was up the field like a ferret up a drainpipe while she hung on to Dog’s collar, because the animal was desperate to follow. She saw Joe snatch the bag off the barb on which it was hanging, and look inside. He turned, waved, and headed back as though the bag weighed a ton.

  He half ran along the towpath, waving to Verity who hooted at him, and leapt on to Marigold’s counter, clutching the bag and toppling over into Polly’s arms. As she steadied him, he didn’t pull back as she expected but looked up. ‘’E’s put in some lamb, he ’as, Polly. Lots, and eggs. ’Ope they ’aven’t broke. And me books are there an’ all.’

  She hugged Joe, and though he let her, he didn’t hug her back.

  She said, ‘He was pleased you wanted to read, you see. It’s sort of a reward.’ Dog sat by Polly’s side, sniffing the bag.

  Joe pulled free now, and took off along the gunwale. ‘I’ll take the lamb and eggs and ’ang ’em at the back-end. He’s put ’em in a gauze bag.’ He headed off, and hung the bounty on the outside hook, slinging the tarpaulin bag over his shoulder, and returned the way he had come, jumping on to the counter as Polly hooted to Verity and pulled away. Joe was down on his knees close to Polly poring over the books. One was called Lassie. ‘What’s it about, Polly?’

  ‘A dog called Lassie. We’ll bring Dog into the cabin and work on it this evening with Verity, shall we? Then one day you can write a book of your own, about Dog’s adventures. There are enough of them.’

  He looked up at her and laughed, really laughed, then called, ‘Yer ’ear that, Dog. I’s to write about yer. Me, Polly and Verity will.’

  On 16 December they reported to the office for orders, having telephoned in about their slow progress, and they had also passed messages on through the other steerers to Granfer and Saul, who were on their way back from another run. The office manager said, ‘You girls can take leave, if you like. It’s almost Christmas and you haven’t had a break for a while.’

  They chatted in the yard, huddled round the side of the office, having a cigarette. ‘Mum invited us both but I’ve just replied and said we would be on a run. You weren’t very keen, and neither am I,’ Polly reminded Verity.

  Verity shook her head. ‘Well, I certainly don’t want to go to mine either, so we might as well just deliver another load.’

  Later that day Verity collected the letters and brought them back to the motor cabin – Polly’s mum’s letter was brief. ‘I would appreciate a reply to our invitation. It could be that Reggie will be home on leave, and then that will bring you to your senses.’

  Polly showed it to Verity, who grimaced. ‘You really did reply, didn’t you?’

  ‘They must have crossed. She would have received it by now. I slipped a ten-bob note in, so that she could buy herself and Dad something. I expect she will think it’s our illicit darts-match winnings, and might send it back.’

  Joe, who was writing his exercise while he ate his Spam sandwich, looked up. ‘Well, it were some of your winnings, weren’t it?’

  Verity roared with laughter and ruffled his hair. ‘Wasn’t it, get it right, young man, and yes it was. But she could still buy something nice.’

  Joe grinned as Polly opened a Christmas card from Reggie. ‘Thank you for your letters and yes, I’m glad we’re friends too. I agree, anything else will be too complicated and then we’d lose one another. I’m still safe, I hope you are too? War’s a funny thing, it takes us to places we would never usually be, and changes us. It’s whether we can move on and find ourselves again? Who the hell knows.’

  She showed it to Verity, who said, ‘You can’t have too many friends. He’s a good man, you know, and you’re so lucky you have two good men, and true. It would just be better if you and Saul could meet up a bit more often, rather than waving to one another as you pass. Tell you what, let’s take a couple of days’ leave and then we can wait for him and Granfer, and you can meet up at the pubs if you’re both going the same way at the same time.’

  Joe looked at Verity. ‘Ain’t yer got a good man, Verity?’

  Verity looked at the floor, crossing her arms. After a moment she said, with a brittle laugh, ‘One day, young man. One day.’

  Polly squeezed her shoulder. Verity shrugged her off. ‘What do I need with a man,’ she whispered, and there was a warning for Polly in her voice. There always was, if the conversation veered close to Tom.

  The other letter was from Elisabeth Burrows, or so the name on the back of the envelope said. ‘Who’s Elisabeth Burrows, for goodness’ sake,’ Polly mused aloud.

  Verity, who was sitting next to Joe and helping him work out the word ‘Monday’, nudged the boy. ‘Joe, what’s the matter with this Polly, for goodness’ sake. Polly, Elisabeth is Bet, you idiot.’

  Polly tore open the letter and read it quickly. ‘Bet’s asking us for Christmas, telling us to take a break overnight with them, if we have a load to deliver, or even if we haven’t – for Christmas Day and the night. Oh, Verity, let’s.’

  ‘But what about Joe?’

  Joe was looking from one to the other. Polly asked, ‘How about it, Joe, would you like to spend a day and night on the land, like a banker, as that’s what you call us land people?’

  Joe grinned, and finished writing I sat on the bed then fed the cat between the lines that Polly had ruled on the back of the roll of wallpaper she’d found shoved between two metal filing cabinets in the Enquiries office. She had coerced Alf into letting her buy it.

  Joe looked up and sucked his pencil. ‘If’n Uncle Saul is doing a run, I could stay with ’im till yer’s back. I know yer needs me still.’

  Verity muttered, as she sprawled next to him on the cross-bed seat reading the newspaper, ‘Saul’s a day behind us, apparently. The office think we’re going on leave, so we won’t be called for a trip until the Seagull gets here. Tomorrow, when he ties up, we’ll ask Polly to put herself out and toddle down the towpath to find him, shall we?’

  ‘She likes goin’, she does, silly.’

  Polly grinned at them both. So far she and Saul had managed to tie up at the same pub, and even danced or sat holding hands in the pub twice. Mrs Ambrose just smiled when she saw her and said, ‘Enjoy life while you can, me ducks.’

  There was a call from the bank. ‘Polly, I ’ave yer books to give back.’

  Joe jumped up. ‘It be Mrs Porter. I’ll go. Shall I give her yer new drawings and letters, or should Uncle Saul make ’em good?’

  Polly nodded, and pointed to the pile. He leapt up the steps, and Polly followed, joining Mrs Porter on the bank. ‘How’s Jimmy doing?’

  ‘Getting the ’ang o’ it. So’s your Saul.’

  Polly looked at her. ‘Saul?’

  ‘’E’s tryin’ too. ’E knows the cut ain’t goin’ to be worked for ever. ’E knows he’ll ’ave to do summat else, some day. Granfer’s at it an’ all.’

  Joe stuck his hands in his pockets and frowned. ‘’E didn’t want ’er to know. ’Twas to be a surprise.’

  Polly put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Then it will be. Don’t you worry, you know what my memory’s like.’

  Chapter 34

  17 December – Marigold and Horizon head to Buckby

  The office had given them orders at Polly and Verity’s insistence, and on the afternoon of 17 December they’d set off to Limehouse with Joe, pushing on into the darkness, determined to be at Buckby for Christmas. Saul and Granfer had arrived back at the depot sooner than expected and received order
s which allowed them to follow close on their heels. The girls pushed even harder after loading with Spitfire parts. They skirted London, pulling in late at Alperton on the 21st where they found Steerer Ambrose and the family, and the Porters. They spent the evening in the pub, she and Saul sitting close by the fire.

  Polly had said nothing about Saul’s reading and neither had he. They had just been content to be together, while Joe stayed in the kitchen. Granfer, Joe and Verity left a few minutes before Polly and Saul, who pulled their mufflers around their necks as they stepped out into the cold. They kissed and clung together in the darkness of the porch. ‘I’ll be close,’ he had said against her mouth.

  ‘I know,’ she replied against his.

  They pulled apart, then kissed again. Joe called, ‘Come on, Uncle Saul, it’s late.’ They laughed; Saul kissed the top of her head.

  Once Joe had been tucked into the side-bed, Verity and Polly dragged on their mufflers again, and their macs and hats, to huddle on Marigold’s counter, leaning up against the cabin, smoking. Verity said, ‘I’m so pleased to see you happy, Polly.’ She exhaled, looking up at the stars.

  Polly waited, wishing for a similar happiness for her friend. She said, feeling she should – and must – mention Tom, no matter how Verity pushed her away, ‘And what about you? How do you feel about Tom now?’

  Verity spun round. ‘Out of bounds, darling.’

  ‘No, it can’t go on like this. You loved him, he hurt you and I suppose I want you to heal and be as happy as I am, and find someone else.’

  Verity inhaled, exhaled, then leaned against Polly, and sighed. ‘Darling Polly, that would be so divine.’ Her voice was brittle with the effort to brush it aside as Polly had half expected, but she wasn’t going to play Verity’s game any more, and stayed silent.

  Finally, Verity stood straight, staring at her cigarette, holding it up. ‘The thing is, dearest Polly, I don’t think I ever will. He was everything to me, and still is, and I just can’t really believe that he would … Well, any of it. I would have trusted him with my life, not just my love. I feel somehow that these two are the same. How can I have life without his love? And I thank God I have you, and our dear little boats, and that runabout, young Joe.’

  Polly hugged her friend. ‘Oh, Verity, of course you can have a life and love.’

  Verity laughed slightly. ‘Tell me how?’

  ‘Time. He’s only one among many,’ Polly muttered helplessly, wondering why on earth she’d felt she must interfere and knowing how weak she sounded.

  ‘Ah, that’s where you are wrong, my little Polly. He was quite heads above every man I have ever met.’

  They headed up towards Birmingham, the Swansong and Seagull following close; Steerer Ambrose and the Porters were also in convoy. Christmas was special, different; the cut friends kept together. This year, as they travelled north, it was the same. They worked the locks hard and long to head through Berkhamsted, Tring, Leighton Buzzard and Fenny Stratford over the next two days. Their lay-overs were relaxed and at last Polly was with Saul for each evening. While there was still a vestige of light, they walked Dog along the towpath then joined their friends in front of the pub fire. Later Polly and Verity returned to the Marigold with Joe, to read and write, while Saul and Granfer walked back to their moorings, perhaps to do the same.

  On from Fenny Stratford on Christmas Eve, passing Wolverton, Cosgrove and Stoke Bruerne and through the Blisworth Tunnel.

  ‘Not far now,’ Verity shouted to Polly, having run along the top planks of Horizon to the fore-end. ‘Just the last few steps up the staircase to Norton Junction, and then the Buckby turn-off. I’m so excited, I could dance.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ begged Polly on Marigold’s counter, laughing, but feeling exactly the same.

  On they pushed, on and on, and even when dusk was far behind them, they lock-wheeled through the flight leading up to the Buckby turn-off.

  As they turned off at last Polly gazed up at the sky. The moon and stars were threatening to be worthy of a child born in a manger. It was past ten o’clock as they eased along the cut leading to Leicester, but there was sufficient moonlight to see the frost on the trees and ground glistening, and to hear the ice cracking along the edges of the cut as the boats rippled the water. The excitement in Polly and Verity was rising until Joe laughed, and yanked Polly’s hat further down to completely cover her ears, and eyes. She pulled it up by the bobble, and told him she’d knit him one with just as big a bobble if he didn’t behave.

  ‘I’d like a red ’at, Polly, but no bobble. Red was Ma’s colour.’ His speech was changing as his reading improved; not a lot, but it was more distinct. She wasn’t sure it was a good thing, but he was hungry to learn. She looked behind. Seagull and Swansong were there, in the distance.

  They were all to moor up at the Buckby frontage and they kept going as the cold deepened, their hands numb, their feet too. Verity hooted from Horizon. Polly hooted back. Yes, they were almost there. Within ten minutes she edged the motor in to the side, and Verity did the same. They moored up and Polly asked Joe to wait for her in the cabin, just for a moment. Puzzled, he did. Polly knew he’d be straight into one of his books. She beckoned to Verity, who was running along the towpath towards them. She leapt on board, a parcel in her arms.

  Together, in the cabin, they gave Joe his present, calling it a Christmas Eve gift, nicely wrapped in newspaper. Verity grinned. ‘The best we could do, but see, it has ribbon.’

  Joe was staring at the parcel, and then at them.

  ‘Go on, open it, it won’t bite,’ Polly said, sitting beside him on the side-bed.

  When he saw the painting set, and the notebook with ‘Joe’s Stories’ written on the jacket, and the ink, and the fountain pen, he fell silent. ‘I ain’t got nothing for yer,’ he muttered.

  ‘You have given us your time, so we are obliged, and all children can have gifts at Christmas.’

  He looked from Polly to Verity. He stood, and spat on his hand, and offered it. Solemnly they both shook it and Polly grinned as Verity surreptitiously wiped her hand on the back of her thigh.

  There was another hoot, and Polly made her way to the towpath, Dog too. It was Seagull and Swansong. Saul came to the Marigold, and handed over a hessian sack. ‘Pheasant?’ Polly asked, while Verity packed a few things on the butty to take to Bet and Fran’s.

  ‘It is,’ Saul said, speaking carefully as he was prone to do now, catching the ‘h’. ‘For Bet. I ’as another for you which I’ll keep cool on the motor roof. Happy Christmas, our Polly.’

  ‘Happy Christmas to you, our Saul.’

  They stood close together, smiling at one another. He removed his hat, tightened his kerchief, bobbed his head, and kissed her lips. ‘I miss you,’ he murmured against her mouth.

  ‘I miss you,’ she said. His arms came around her and held her close, and she was complete. Joe leapt on to the towpath. ‘Look, Uncle Saul, for me stories, and me painting.’

  Verity yelled from the butty cabin, ‘Time for something to eat, and bed. We’re off to Bet’s early in the morning.’

  Saul broke away. ‘I’ll look after you always, Polly.’ He ducked off the motor, trotting easily back to the Seagull. She looked after him, watched as he sprang in one easy leap on to Seagull’s counter. He waved, she smiled and he disappeared into the cabin.

  Steerer Ambrose was pulling up behind, as were the Porters on Hillcrest and their butty, Leicester.

  In a way, Polly wished she was staying.

  ‘Come on,’ Verity called from the motor counter the next morning. Polly was tired, but it was a good tired, because as they had looked at their Spam sandwiches once Saul had returned to the Seagull, they’d heard a knock. Granfer had brought pheasant stew in a special china bowl, and vegetables in another. Both were steaming, and he and Saul crammed in, and all five of them ate though only the adults drank the beer Saul had brought. Along at Hillcrest, the Ambroses and Porters were doing the same.

  Polly smi
led to herself now. It had been the most perfect Christmas Eve for her and even for Verity, who said she hadn’t relaxed so much for a long while. Granfer and Saul had taken Joe back with them, and as he left the cabin Joe had taken her hand, and squeezed it.

  When everyone had gone she had thought of her mum and dad who would not understand her happiness, but never would they hurt her as Verity’s mother had hurt her. She had thought of Will, and though the sadness had been there, she knew that she had absorbed his loss. She had thought of Verity and hoped that somehow she would find love. Finally she thought of Reggie, and hoped her friend would live, stay safe, and that his trembling would stop.

  Verity called again, ‘Fran’s here. With our carriage, which awaits.’ She was laughing fit to burst.

  Polly picked up Saul’s hessian bag containing the pheasant for Bet, and her own kitbag, and in another bag were the bottles Sid the Alperton publican had sold her, plus a free beer from him for Bet. Polly patted the range, and addressed the cabin. ‘You behave yourself. Our friends will look after you.’ She left with Dog because she had been invited too, and they locked the doors on both boats, just in case, meaning Leon might somehow find them.

  She joined Verity on the towpath and before they headed off towards Fran who sat on a large tricycle, they looked both ways out of habit. There was not a sight of Leon. It seemed, or so someone had said, that he’d been ordered to the Oxford Canal to take over from a steerer who had been crushed in a lock. Would he come back?

  How they hoped not.