Water Gypsies

by Annie Murray

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Sally frowned at them. ‘Aren’t we going to knock on the door?’

  Ezra ran ahead and started banging his fist on the lower part of the door and Maryann went and dragged him back, saying, ‘Sssh! Don’t!’

  ‘One way to find out.’ Dot’s hand was poised over the knocker. ‘Ready?’

  Its brass clatter sounded very loud in the silent street. The houses looked down on them from all round, with their anti-blast tape on the windows. Where was everyone? Maryann wondered. The only life about was the lady next door, who stepped out through her front door carrying a cloth bag and peered at them over the wall.

  All of them jumped, startled, when the door opened and they found themselves faced with a well-built man with fair hair shorn into a very short serviceman’s haircut and a wide, strong face. The man from the photograph.

  ‘Yes?’ His voice was clipped and conveyed no expression, either of disapproval or welcome. Maryann could not meet his eyes and kept her gaze on the sharp creases in his trousers, his well-polished black shoes. She saw that the floor was a pale wood parquet. Dot could do the talking. She wasn’t going to open her mouth with her Brummie accent and have him sneer at her. She felt instinctively that he might be the sneering type.

  ‘Dorothy Higgs-Deveraux,’ Dot announced briskly, though she too appeared uncomfortable as Roy Cress-well looked appraisingly at her generous figure, dressed in her worn black trousers and the brown baggy sweater. The one touch of colour she wore today was a red and green scarf tied as an Alice band to keep her hair back. She pointed at her ‘IW’ badge. ‘I’m a colleague of your wife’s – Inland Waterways – National Service. This is Mrs Maryann Bartholomew, whose boat we’re crewing. Sylvia’s due to join us again tomorrow, of course.’

  ‘I see.’ He stood looking at them, holding the door open with one arm, which protruded hairily from his white, short-sleeved shirt.

  Well, he’s not very pleased to see us, Maryann thought. Though his face betrayed no emotion, she sensed that he was angry.

  ‘Is Sylvia in?’ Dot persevered. ‘We’d like a word with her.’

  ‘Just a moment.’ He swung the door almost closed and they heard him calling, ‘Sylvia. Sylv! Someone to see you.’

  Dot turned and grimaced at Maryann. ‘Not exactly a gushing welcome,’ she whispered.

  Rose was pulling on Maryann’s hand, her face anxious. ‘When’s Sylvia coming out?’

  A moment later the door opened again. Sylvia was wearing a very pretty floral dress with a floating skirt, a white cardigan over the top and leather navy pumps. As ever, she was well made up, with her favourite scarlet lipstick. She looked delicate and feminine. Maryann was quite taken aback. They’d only ever seen Sylvia in her boat clothes and the children looked especially abashed, as if they could barely recognize her. Maryann felt Rose’s hand clutching at her skirt for reassurance.

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’ Sylvia hissed. She sounded horrified and immediately it all felt a terrible mistake that they’d come here. She glanced behind her and pulled the front door closed and squatted down so that her skirt fell in soft swathes over her knees. ‘Oh, Rose, it’s all right – come here, darling!’

  Rose, whose face had crumpled ready for tears, let go of Maryann and went shyly to Sylvia, who immediately cuddled her, despite Rose’s grubby frock. Sylvia greeted all the other children and then stood up, still holding Rose’s hand. She looked back anxiously towards the door again and gestured them to move further away along the path.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Maryann asked. There was a tight fearfulness in Sylvia’s face that she had never seen before.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Sylvia spoke quickly, in short bursts. ‘I’d love to invite you in – only I can’t. The children could have played in the garden if … but not with Roy here, you see. He’s very … particular about everything, you see. You do understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Where’re your children?’ Maryann asked. She was filled with unease at the sight of Sylvia. She looked lovely, fresh and well groomed, and she was the same, sweet-natured Sylvia, yet somehow quite different.

  ‘Oh, Kay and Dickie have gone back to school. I put them on the train yesterday. It was a couple of days early, but I thought it was for the best. I wasn’t expecting Roy home, you see – not now – and he likes to have me to himself. He had a couple of extra days’ leave, you see.’ She gave a valiant smile.

  ‘So you don’t want to come back with us today?’ Dot tried to joke. ‘You don’t look dressed for the part, I must say.’

  ‘No – it’ll be a couple of days. I’ll find you – don’t you worry. If it all goes wrong, I’ll get to Sutton and pick you up there. Oh look – ’ she glanced behind her – ‘it’s so sweet of you to come and I’m longing to see you all properly, but I’d better not stay now.’ She began to back down the path. ‘Roy goes back tomorrow. I just need to stay and see him off.’

  ‘It’s all right – you make the most of it.’ Maryann felt herself twist up inside, though she didn’t really know why. Sylvia seemed so anxious and unlike her normal self. ‘We’ll get back and help Bobby with the unloading. You enjoy the rest of your time. Have a bath for us both, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh,’ Sylvia said yearningly, ‘I wish I could ask you in, I really do! It’s a bit difficult to explain.’

  ‘You’re all right – I was only joking,’ Maryann called lightly, shepherding the children in front of her. ‘TTFN!’

  ‘Cheerio, Sylvia!’ Dot called.

  Sylvia waved and, as she pushed the front door open, they caught a glimpse of Roy Cresswell standing in the hall, arms hanging at his sides. Then the door closed.

  As they went out of the gate, the woman from next door was coming towards them along the pavement. Her bag was still empty and Maryann sensed she had been waiting for them. She was in her thirties, hair scraped into a bun, and wearing a faded flowery frock.

  ‘Could I have a word?’ She spoke in a quiet, guarded voice, looking back at Sylvia’s house.

  ‘Of course,’ Dot said.

  ‘You’ll probably think I’m ever such a nosy-parker,’ the woman said, fiddling with the frayed handles of the bag. ‘My name’s Lois, by the way. Lois Parmenter. Are you friends of the lady in that house?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dot said. What’s the trouble?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, that’s the thing. Dear, oh dear, you are going to think I’m an interfering busybody.’ Her eyes darted anxiously back and forth between Dot’s and Maryann’s faces. ‘You see, I’ve been wondering because I haven’t been living here all that long and there hasn’t been anyone in next door for some weeks.’

  Dot explained briefly that Sylvia had been away working with them.

  ‘Oh, I see – well yes. But then they came home and the kiddies were playing outside and that was all perfectly all right. And Mrs – Cresswell, isn’t it? Yes, we exchanged a few words. But then her husband’s been about once or twice, and he’s there now. It’s just that, well, he seems a bit of a queer fish. Oh dear, I do feel funny about asking, but I just wondered if everything’s all right.’

  Maryann immediately sensed that the woman was not just being nosy, that something had caused her to feel real concern.

  ‘We don’t know, really,’ she said. ‘We don’t know him either. But Sylvia’s coming back to work with us tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh – oh good. Well, that’s probably all right then.’ The woman started to back away. ‘Sorry to bother you.’ She retreated inside her gate. ‘Sorry,’ she said again. ‘Goodbye.’

  They retreated down the road, pacifying the disappointed children, who had all hoped to see Sylvia’s nice house and be able to run in her garden.

  ‘Look, I tell you what,’ Maryann said, fishing in her pocket. There was a corner shop at the end of the road. ‘I’ve got this week’s coupons – we’ll go and get you some rocks, eh?’

  The children cheered up immediately at the thought of sweets.

  ‘Take them in, wi
ll you, Dot?’ Maryann handed her the ration coupons. ‘Get them sorted out. I don’t like this. I’m going to go back.’

  ‘What the hell’re you talking about?’ Dot said. ‘Go back? What, knock on the door and ask Roy Cresswell why he’s such a “queer fish”? You can’t do that!’

  ‘I know,’ Maryann snapped. ‘What d’you take me for?’

  ‘Well, what can you possibly do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Maryann couldn’t explain the tight feeling of dread in her chest that Roy Cresswell had given her. ‘I’ve just got to … to see. Hang on for me a few minutes, will you?’

  Full of nerves and afraid she was being stupid, she hurried back along the crescent towards Sylvia’s house. To her relief, Lois Parmenter had gone indoors. An elderly man scuttled along the pavement with a hairy terrier, which seemed to be pulling him along at the full stretch of its lead. The man touched the brim of his hat with two fingers and was propelled off round the corner.

  Maryann felt very foolish. The house was quiet, just as when they had left. Supposing Sylvia saw her out of the window? What on earth would she say to her? She opened the front gate very quietly and closed it behind her, gritting her teeth. Her heart was banging wildly. What the hell did she think she was doing? She should just turn back now and go: stop being so downright ridiculous. But she felt driven on, partly through curiosity, but also by a sense of recognition. That fear she had seen in Sylvia’s face, the instinct that she was hiding something, that there was a dimension to her life that she could never admit to anyone. These were things Maryann knew herself as if they travelled in her blood. She recognized them when she saw them in someone else. And she doubted if Sylvia would ever tell them. She would just suffer on in respectable silence.

  There was no sound at the front of the house and all the windows were closed. The front windows were swathed in net curtains. The houses were built in twos, semidetached. Maryann eyed the little path running round to the back garden. She pushed past a hydrangea bush and stepped into the shadow of the house, its wall to one side, a fence on the other.

  This is daft, she thought, heart pounding. I’ll just have a peep at the garden and then I’ll go. What am I going to see doing this?

  She heard something then, though. Faintly, from somewhere at the back, she could hear a man’s voice. Sliding along the side of the building, Maryann saw there was a window open further along and she moved until she was standing close to it. It must be the kitchen’s side window, she realized: she could hear water running, then the clatter of cutlery being put into a drawer. There was a long silence, though Maryann could hear movements from inside, and her curiosity got the better of her. She leaned round and peered through the window, quickly moving back again so that no one should see her. But in that moment she saw that Sylvia was on the other side of the room at the sink, with her back to her, and she just caught a glimpse of Roy Cresswell sitting at the table, bent over something.

  Maryann leaned round again. Roy Cresswell had one hand on the table and was holding a cigarette, above which the smoke hovered in an upward swirl. With the other he was holding a box, or biscuit tin, and shaking it, examining the contents. Maryann squinted. She couldn’t make out what was in the tin, but there was a shape on the table beside him, and she realized he must be building a model ship out of matches, or small slivers of wood. She could see three masts sticking up from the main hull.

  Sylvia was wringing a cloth out at the sink. She hung it over the tap, dried her hands and placed the towel over the back of the chair with slow, deliberate neatness. As Sylvia turned, undoing her apron, Maryann shrank back until she was still just able to peer round the window-frame. Sylvia tugged at the apron strings and there was sharp anger in her movements. For a moment she stood with it crumpled in her hand, then flung it decisively down onto the table.

  ‘D’you know, Roy –’

  He looked up, evidently startled by her tone.

  ‘I really don’t care what you think. You’re going tomorrow, anyway, so what possible difference can it make to you? I’m going back and that’s that. And it doesn’t matter a fig to me any more what you think about it. Think what you like.’

  And she strode out of Maryann’s line of vision and left the kitchen.

  Roy Cresswell sat for a moment staring ahead of him with the same blank expression. Maryann saw his jaw tighten. With a sudden movement, which made her jump, he brought his fist down on top of the matchstick model, smashing through it. He picked up the tin and hurled it with great force across the kitchen. Matches flew out and spilled all over the floor.

  Thirty-One

  They were up early the next morning. Dot handed Maryann a cup of tea in through the hatches, and she and Bobby stayed outside on the towpath, hands cupped round the hot mugs, shivering in the early morning chill although the sun was already beginning to break through. Around them they could hear the clanking of cranes beginning to work, the splash of water as men pumped out the holds of their boats and the distant, mournful sound of a ship’s siren. Soon the tannoy would start crackling and blaring over the wharves, calling crews to be assigned their loads.

  They’d talked it over and over the night before – Roy Cresswell and the burst of temper Maryann had seen through the window.

  ‘I just don’t like the look of him at all,’ Maryann said on the way home, while the children were quietened by mouthfuls of sweets. ‘The way he threw that box across the room – and the way his face was. There’s something about him makes my flesh creep.’

  ‘He certainly struck me as odd,’ Dot said, ‘but in the end you didn’t really see anything much, and you can’t just go barging in on other people’s marriages, can you? Sylvia’ll be back with us in a day or two, anyway.’

  ‘Darling Roy,’ Maryann mused. ‘She’s ever so loyal to him.’

  ‘Or the lady doth protest too much.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I’d guess she’s been covering up for him a bit. She’s certainly succeeded up until now, I’ll give her that. But she is nervy, isn’t she? Maybe that husband of hers accounts for it.’

  They busied themselves with the morning chores, Maryann sorting out the children and shooing them outside, then starting on breakfast, and Dot and Bobby readying the boats for loading. Maryann had just begun on the food when she heard a cry of excitement from Rose, who was jumping excitedly on the counter.

  ‘Look – Sylvia’s coming!’

  ‘No –’ Maryann called up to her. ‘Not today, bab. She’ll be along soon, though. Couple of days.’

  But Rose was off along the path and then Dot poked her head into the Esther Jane, looking bemused.

  ‘Sylvia’s already here, it seems.’

  Maryann climbed out, shading her eyes in the morning glare. Sylvia’s neat figure was moving towards them along the path, carrying her bundle of belongings. As soon as she was close enough she threw it down on the path. She looked pale and exhausted. After a second Maryann realized this was almost the first time she had seen Sylvia without her make-up. It made her feel uneasy.

  ‘Hello, stranger!’ Dot exclaimed. ‘What’re you doing here?’

  ‘You’re early!’ Maryann said. ‘How the heck did you get here by this time?’

  Sylvia gave a tight smile.‘Oh, Roy decided he ought to get back to his squadron a day early. So I thought, rather than miss you, I’d high-tail it over here as soon as I could. I woke very early, so I walked some of the way until the buses started running. Anyway, here I am. Sorry about yesterday, by the way.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Dot said. ‘Did your husband get off all right?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Sylvia said brightly, leaning down slowly to pick up her things. As she bent over she gave a little grunt, as if it was a huge effort. Maryann saw Dot glance at her.

  ‘Here, let me take that.’ Dot swooped down for the bundle. ‘I expect you’re worn out already – you must have been up well before the lark! Oh, this is Bobby by the way.’

  ‘I
’ll get you some tea,’ Bobby said.

  ‘Thanks awfully.’ Sylvia straightened up, and they all pretended not to see the tears in her eyes, which she quickly brushed away. ‘I could certainly do with it. And, Bobby, I’m sorry if this inconveniences you dreadfully. Are you going to be able to get another trip?’

  ‘Oh, I s’pect so,’ he said easily. ‘Don’t you worry.’

  ‘Thanks awfully.’ Sylvia’s eyes filled again. ‘You’re so kind, Bobby.’

  She held out her arms to Rose, who was waiting expectantly.

  ‘Are you coming with us now, Sylvia?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Sylvia said. Suddenly she held the little girl close and the tears she had been holding back spilled down her face. She put Rose down. ‘It’s all right, darling,’ Sylvia reassured her, wiping her eyes again, but still unable to stem her tears. ‘It’s so lovely to see you, but I do miss my Kay and Dickie as well. Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to do this!’

  ‘You’re all right,’ Maryann comforted her. Why don’t you just go and settle in? I’ll get us some breakfast.’

  ‘Why’s Sylvia crying?’ Sally asked as Dot helped Sylvia take her things to the Theodore. With Bobby gone, Dot would be able to move back in there herself.

  ‘Oh – I think it’s just saying goodbye to her children and her house,’ Maryann said. But she felt uneasy. Seeing Sylvia’s house yesterday and her husband, she had suddenly begun to view her in a new light. She had so much wanted to believe in a perfect marriage and family, a perfect life, but it wasn’t like that. Somehow she felt cheated and worried for Sylvia. But she couldn’t just ask, could she? Not about things that were private like that. She knew she didn’t like it when people asked her questions.

  Bobby was taking the last of his things from the cabin of the Theodore when she carried food over to them. Maryann felt a rush of fondness for him.

  ‘Here, get that down you before you go.’ She handed him a couple of sausages with hunks of bread. ‘Thanks, Bobby – you’ve been marvellous. And we’ll be back to normal soon – Joel back and that.’