by Annie Murray
Dot and Maryann exchanged puzzled glances, but they jollied Sylvia along.
‘Oh, you’ll be glad enough when you’re lying in a nice hot bath, thinking about us having a lick and a promise out of the dipper!’
The next morning Maryann set off, with Ada balanced on one hip, to catch the bus to Coventry station with Sylvia and her bundle of clothes. Before they set off, Sylvia hugged Dot and all the children emotionally. On the bus, Maryann saw her looking out at the wreckage of Coventry, a bleak expression on her face.
‘Don’t you want to go home?’ Maryann couldn’t help asking, perplexed by the gloom that seemed to have overcome Sylvia.
‘Umm?’ Sylvia looked round and gave a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Home? Yes – of course I do.’
They parted at the station and once more Maryann saw tears welling in Sylvia’s eyes. She embraced Maryann and Ada tightly and kissed them both. ‘See you soon, darlings.’ Maryann watched her walk away, her blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders as she went off to find her platform. What a stranger she seemed suddenly, from quite another world. After all, what did she really know about Sylvia?
Her own train drew into New Street before midday.
‘Here we go,’ she said to Ada as they climbed down from the carriage. ‘Back in Brum.’ It was the first time in a long while that she’d been into the middle of Birmingham, and walking along New Street from the station she was shocked by the smashed gaps in long-familiar facades of buildings. It took time for her to orientate herself and find the right bus stop.
Janet Lambert had lived in Handsworth during her marriage to Norman Griffin, who by then was calling himself Albert Lambert. She had long since moved to Erdington, for a fresh start.
I suppose she was trying to get away from the memory of him, Maryann thought grimly, sitting on the Erdington bus with Ada in her lap. The little girl was looking round, fascinated by all the new sights and people’s faces. But Maryann felt hemmed in by the city, by its greyness, the lines of low, grime-covered houses and by the shreds of memory which it stirred up for her. Was there no end to this? she thought despairingly. To the pain and damage caused by this man, whose presence seemed to echo like an evil chorus in her life?
The closer she came to seeing Janet, the more the emotions she had been trying to suppress came seething to the surface: the rage and sorrow and horror of reading Amy’s name in the Post. Murdered. Getting off the bus, she felt crazed, as if she might rage and scream in the street, and by the time she reached Janet’s black front door she was shaking with the effort of holding herself together. It was a help having Ada chattering in her arms. It steadied her. And she had to remain strong, she commanded herself. For Janet. It was she who had lost her daughters – both of them.
It always took Janet Lambert some time to reach her door. She had a tubercular hip and walked awkwardly with a stick. At last the door opened. Maryann barely recognized the woman who appeared. She had faded hair which showed only traces of the fiery rust colour it had been the last time they met, and her face, which had once been that of a serene beauty, was now battered by life, marked with the scars of grief. She looked out with a dazed expression.
‘Janet,’ Maryann said gently, ‘it’s Maryann.’
Janet sagged. Prepared to see a stranger outside, her grief surfaced immediately at the sight of a friend. ‘Oh.’ It was almost a whimper. ‘I didn’t know you for a minute … I’m in that much of a…’ For a moment she seemed quite at a loss, then collected herself. ‘Come in, dear.’
Maryann followed Janet’s painful progress into the parlour at the front. As in her last house, it was a tastefully decorated room in greens and browns and she had trimmed her own curtains. Maryann set Ada down and she immediately headed for the fireplace, where there were brightly polished brass fire tools in the grate. The two women could not contain their emotion any longer.
‘I saw it in the paper,’ Maryann said. She went to Janet and the woman crumpled into her arms. ‘Oh my God, poor Amy – our poor little Amy!’
They clung to one another, pouring out their anguish, both of them trembling and weeping.
‘Why? … why?’ Janet kept crying. ‘Oh, my little girl … my baby girl … my lovely Amy.’ Maryann could feel the force of her sobbing, and she too cried, at last, feeling the pain deep inside herself as if it was being wrung out of her. For a long time neither of them could calm down, but at last, a small portion of emotion spent, they drew back from each other.
‘Let me make you a cup of tea.’ Janet said dully.
‘No – don’t bother with that,’ Maryann tried to protest.
‘It’s no bother, love. It’ll help.’
And Maryann, too, was relieved to go through the ritual of kettle filling and helping to fetch cups and saucers. Janet had always been ladylike in her ways, and even now, out of habit, she laid the cups out nicely on a tray.
‘The funeral’s next Wednesday,’ she said while they waited for the water. ‘They say they should have finished with her by then.’
While they drank their tea in the neat parlour and Ada pottered about exploring, Maryann sat listening as Janet poured out the events of the past days. She kept hold of the handle of one of her walking sticks in her left hand, as if it steadied her.
Amy had gone to work as usual. She had a job in a dress shop in town and went in on the bus. But that Thursday night she hadn’t come home.
‘I didn’t know what to do.’ Janet’s agitated fingers bent and straightened round the handle of the walking stick. With her other hand she worried at the material of her skirt. ‘I suppose I should have gone to the police straight away, but I thought she’d been held up, or she’d gone out with Geoff, her young man, and forgotten to mention it to me. I wasn’t terribly worried to begin with. And then it got late and, well, I waited and waited … I was frightened to go out. It was very dark and it’s a long walk to the telephone box.’ She sobbed again, then spoke through her tears. ‘I thought it’d be all right. I never dreamt … I should have gone! I was up all night and by the morning – then I was afraid something had happened. Amy was always such a good girl – didn’t stop out of a night, nothing like that. But I was frightened to go and tell anyone because then I’d have to find out there’d been an accident. If I just stayed here, I could go on thinking she was all right. But of course I did go, eventually. I never thought of .. … not that she was dead.’ Her face creased and she began to weep again.
Maryann cried with her, unable to stop. Poor, lovely Amy! She kept seeing her in her mind’s eye as she had the first time she set eyes on the girls that day in Handsworth Park, those two silent children full of pain and fear, always beautifully turned out by Janet in their matching frocks and hair ribbons. And though she had only seen Amy occasionally since then, she knew she had grown into a kind-hearted and beautiful young woman.
‘They found her up near the hospital two days later. Course I’d reported her missing. I had to go and see her, to identify her as my girl, my baby.’ She was silent for a moment, shaking her head. ‘He’d made such a mess of her.’ Arms folded, she began to rock back and forth in the chair in distress. Unable to bear it, Maryann went to her and put her arms round Janet’s shoulders, rocking her gently. She waited until Janet was a little calmer, then went and refilled the teapot and topped up their cups.
Kneeling beside Janet she looked up into her eyes. ‘It was him, wasn’t it?’
‘No!’ Janet reacted immediately. ‘No. What’re you talking about?’
She looked down into her lap, shaking her head. There was a long silence. Once more, she began to rock, unable to contain her agitation.
‘I’ve been trying not to – to think it. To think about him.’ Her gentle face twisted with loathing. ‘It could have been anyone who did it. But then it goes round and round in my head. Why would anyone do that to my lovely Amy? They’d have to be insane. An animal.’ Have you seen him since he left?’
Janet shook her head. ‘He
just vanished. Never came back. That was what we wanted, of course. Amy and I moved – we needed a fresh start, but not too far from Margaret. I did hear the odd thing about him. One of my old neighbours reckoned she’d seen him, said he was a mess to look at. He closed that business down in Handsworth. I suppose he must have gone and set up somewhere else – done something to make a living for himself. But I haven’t set eyes on him.’
‘I’ve seen him.’ Maryann said. She told Janet how he had come looking for her, about the episode with Pastor James, how he’d tricked that foolish man into believing him, about what happened in the back room of the church.
‘God in heaven!’ Janet laid a hand over her heart. ‘I remember that first day I ever saw him, all upstanding and smart. And I was so desperate I just took to him, just like that. Let him into my life, my family. My God!’ It came out as a howl. ‘Look what I’ve done. What I’ve made happen!’
‘Stop it!!’ Maryann’s voice came out loud and sharp. Rage flamed in her at hearing Janet say the thing she still had to fight against perpetually in herself. It’s my fault. All my fault. What happened to Sal, to our mom, to Amy and Margaret – all of it. I’m dirty and shameful and always have been. That’s why he did it. I asked for it. It’s all my fault. Why could she see so clearly that this was not true for someone else when she still, deep down, felt she was not like other people, that she must hide from them? When she still blamed herself?
Leaning down, she looked urgently into Janet’s face. ‘Don’t do that! He’s the one that did all of this – all of it! Nothing’s your fault – only his. As soon as you start thinking it’s your fault he’s got you!’
‘But what should we do? Whatever can we do?’
‘Tell the police about him.’ Even as she said it, Maryann felt a sense of despair. How could the police ever find him, let alone prove it was him who murdered Amy, however sure she was that he and only he could be responsible? He was so sly, so slippery. None of them knew where he was or even by what name he went these days. She could see that Janet was thinking the same.
‘But his face,’ Maryann said. She stood up, her expression hard and determined. ‘No one else has a face like that. We’ve got to tell them.’
*
The grey-haired police officer looked at her wearily over the counter as she walked into the dingy light of the police station, carrying Ada in her arms.
‘Can I help you?’
Maryann put Ada down and the child instinctively stayed close to her.
‘It’s about…’ Maryann felt shaky, and somehow foolish. It was as if none of this was quite real. That murder. The one in the papers – the girl with the red hair, Amy Lambert. I know who killed her.’
She had his attention now. He stood straighter and his eyes widened, but his expression and the way he rubbed his hand over his chin made her see he was wary of her. Did people come in claiming things like that every day, she wondered?
Trying to steady herself, she gripped the counter. There was a gouged wound in the wood under her right index finger.
‘It was a man called Norman Griffin – least, that’s what he used to call himself.’
She poured out her story, gabbling, desperate for him to believe her. He nodded a lot as she spoke and after a time he pulled his notebook from his pocket and wrote something down, frowning as he did so. When she stopped at last, waiting for something – what? – for him to jump into action, he said, ‘Well thank you, Mrs er…?’
‘Bartholomew.’
‘We’ll follow this up.’
‘Well, I should hope so!’ She burst out, her voice loud and shrill now with frustration. ‘He murdered her, I know he did! And what’re you going to do about it?’
She immediately regretted losing herself as she could see the policeman was thinking she was some silly woman, no doubt funny in the head. Backing away from him, towards the door, she cried, ‘You’ll see. You go and find him! I know it was him!’
Outside she leaned against the wall, taking deep, distraught breaths, holding tightly to Ada’s hand. It was a few moments before she managed to begin walking along the street, trying to tell herself she’d done the best she could. Who else was there to turn to but the police? Surely he had to believe what she’d told him! At least they’d be looking for Norman Griffin, wouldn’t they? He would get what he more than deserved at last.
Standing at the tram stop, her mind raced on. What if they couldn’t find him? What if – the thought sent a spasm of fear through her – what if he went after Janet next? As the tram swayed into view, the thought chilled through her. Was he coming back after all of them now? Was that it?
Twenty-Seven
A shadow fell on Dot as she knelt in the spring sunshine the next morning, splicing a rope in the empty hold of the Theodore. She looked up and saw a young man with dark eyes, a swarthy face and thick dark hair falling over his forehead. He had with him a rusty bicycle, poised with its front wheel at the edge of the cut.
‘How do? So you’re one of the new ’uns are you?’
Dot stared back. Something about the way the young man was looking at her, the frank appraisal and twinkle of amusement in his eyes made her feel immediately prickly and self-conscious. She clambered to her feet, feeling plump and ungainly.
‘I suppose I am, if you insist on putting it like that.’
He laughed, not seeming to take offence, laid the bike down with a clatter, climbed in over the gunwales and held out his hand.
‘I’m Bobby. I’ll be crewing with you for a bit.’
Dot shook his hand, stiffly. ‘How d’you do? I’m Dorothy – Dot. And I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘Ah – it’s the bits you ent heard that are the best!’ he laughed.
Dot glowered at him. Why did young men with good looks and easy charm like Bobby make her feel so grumpy? As if her skin was being rubbed over with sandpaper. It was made even worse by the fact that he was a boater born and bred. She knew what they tended to make of trainees like herself. Here she was, just beginning to feel she fitted in, and she was going to have to prove herself all over again. And to make it worse, she knew he’d see her as posh and clownishly plump.
She was saved from further chat by hearing shouts along the bank. ‘It’s Bobby – he’s back!’
The Bartholomew children were charging wildly towards them, raggle-taggle brigade that they were, in their motley collection of clothes. Rose had on an old frock of Sally’s that was almost down to her ankles and she had to hold it up to run along. All of them were grubby from top to toe. It was a losing battle for Maryann, trying to keep them clean. Bobby laughed at the sight. Maryann was at the back, being pulled along by the twins, one tugging on each hand, and smiling at the sight of Bobby. Dot suddenly saw for a second a sweet young woman beneath the careworn wife, mother and boat skipper whose face was always lined with tiredness and worry.
Bobby leapt back onto the bank and the older children ran at him, all talking at once.
‘Bobby’s got a bike!’
‘Whose is it? Is it yours?’
‘Where d’you get it?’
‘Can we have a ride?’
‘Hello, Bobby – got here at last! All right, are you?’ Maryann called out over the children’s din. She felt like flinging her arms round him, she was so pleased to see him, but she knew he would just be embarrassed. Her inner heaviness lightened a fraction. Bobby was like part of the family. Having him here for a while gave a feel of things returning to normal. She was puzzled, though, to see Dot looking aloof and rather bad-tempered. Back to how she used to be, Maryann thought. What’s got into her?
‘A feller gave me that, down London,’ Bobby said, nodding at the bike. ‘Thought it’d speed us up a bit.’
Maryann nodded. She and Joel had never used a bike, though the trainees had expressed their surprise at not finding one on the boat when they arrived.
‘I s’pose so,’ she said doubtfully.
Once they’d swapped their news, Maryan
n said, ‘I’ll get the kettle on for a brew and we’d better get cracking.’ Bobby had said he could stay with them for as long as was needed, and certainly until Sylvia was due back at the end of the school holidays. They started on rearranging the boats. It was to be boys in one, girls in the other. Maryann would be in the Esther Jane with Dot, Sal, Rose and the twins, and Bobby would have Joley and Ezra bunked up with him in the Theodore. Dot silently carried her belongings onto the Esther Jane. The children were all very excited, both with Bobby being back and by the changes, and ran back and forth shouting shrilly to each other, begging Bobby for rides on the bike.
‘It’s going to be more crowded in here than you’re used to,’ Maryann apologized to Dot as she carried her belongings in.
‘That’s all right,’ Dot said and smiled. Maryann was reassured. She wanted to ask if there was something wrong but didn’t quite dare. Dot had only just begun getting over Steven’s death, hadn’t she? That was surely what was wrong. Overwhelmed by her own worries, she sometimes forgot.
Dot was quiet all afternoon, but for most of it Maryann was too lost in her own thoughts to notice very much. As well as sorting out and cleaning both boats and keeping an eye on the twins, her thoughts swam round and round all that had happened when she visited Janet, the horror of Amy’s death and the visit to the police station. Her nerves were so jangled she jumped at the slightest sound. Bobby stuck his head through the hatches of the Esther Jane while she was polishing the stove, lost in thought, and she shrieked, laying a hand over her pounding heart.
‘Flippin’ eck Bobby! You nearly made me jump out of my skin!’
‘I’ve finished taking my things in. All settled. Good little cabin you got there.’
‘You only just noticed?’ Maryann forced a grin onto her face.
‘Now I’ve worked a few others I can see how nice you’ve got it. You should be proud.’
