by Annie Murray
Turning onto her side, she looked at Sally’s sleeping face beside her, the pale hair in disarray on the pillow, and smiled at the thought of her yelling at those boys in Flo’s yard. She was glad to know her daughter had more mettle in her than she would seem to have from her angelic looks. Very lightly, Maryann stroked her head.
Tomorrow, Albert Griffin, I’m going to the police, she thought. And then they’ll have you. Settling herself, she blew out the candle and the smell of its waxy smoke was the last thing in the darkness before she slept.
She was in a tunnel. It wasn’t Blisworth Tunnel or Braunston. She knew that. It wasn’t the same: it was much, much longer and there was no reassuring keyhole of light at the end, the tiny beacon to which the front of the boats could be directed. There was a path to one side. As it was completely dark, she could feel rather than see how narrow it was. It was barely more than a ledge and certainly not wide enough to lead a horse. She was making her way along it, moving sideways, her right arm scrabbling forward along the slimy bricks for fingerholds, her left arm stretched out on the other side to help her remain close to the wall and not topple off into the water. She seemed to move so, so slowly, her progress impossible to measure in the dark, and there was no light drawing closer, bringing hope of release. Although the sound of a boat came from somewhere in the distance, she didn’t know whose boat it was or which way it was moving. The echoes in the tunnel mixed directions into confusion. All she could hear were the muffled sounds of the motor and the drip of water, close and loud from the roof of the tunnel. She cried out for the boat to come and help her, to get her out, but it was too far away, its engine throbbing and she couldn’t make herself heard over its noise. She couldn’t make out its headlamp in either direction. As she struggled along agonizingly slowly, she began to hear the other sound: the breathing. She knew it was his breathing and it was becoming louder than anything else in the tunnel, the echo swelling, bloating the sound until it seemed to be all round her. He was there – behind her? In front of her? Seemingly everywhere, not speaking, only breathing, the sound moving closer all the time. Somewhere in the wall she knew there was a door, a niche cut into the tunnel that only he knew the position of. That was where he wanted to take her, to lock her away! Behind the door of the hidden cupboard he kept an upright wooden chair. A chair, the same one he’d had in the cupboard of his undertaker’s business. The chair he tied Sal to … She tried to hurry, nails scrabbling at the wall. Yet she didn’t know where he was coming from, her left or her right, and his breathing was moving closer, its secure, unhurried rhythm gaining on her until she was sure she felt his breath on her neck…
The dream seemed to last for an eternity, as she clung, suspended in darkness, and at last started to fall backwards, throwing herself into the black water, anything to get away from him. She woke with an anguished cry, her body soaked in sweat. For a moment, in her confused state, the rain on the cabin roof seemed oppressive and terrifying. She knew she couldn’t just lie there: the darkness wouldn’t release her from the world of the dream. She groped for the box of matches and lit the candle, sitting up, tightly hugging her knees, weeping and shivering, rocking herself to try and find comfort. She looked round at the familar lines of the cabin, the range, the coalbox and dipper, Ada and Esther sprawled together on the floor, her clothes, bolts of colour at the foot of her bed. It was a long time before she stopped shaking and could begin to see things more normally, though the dream still lurked close to the surface. When would this ever end? she thought, like a howl inside herself.
It was getting on for five in the morning. It would be light soon. She hadn’t heard Dot and Sylvia come back from the pub, she realized. And it was only then she remembered that she had allowed herself to be left alone with the boats at Tyseley! Thank goodness she hadn’t thought of it while they were away! She’d been so tired the night before.
As they were staying, not loading up, today, there was no need to rise early. She bedded down again for more sleep, blowing out the candle, dreading another onset of the dream. Its images crowded in the moment she closed her eyes and for a time she fought with them. At last she slept.
‘Here we are, my love!’
The hatches opened and Sylvia’s face appeared, smiling against the sunlight. Spots the black and white cat tore in past her legs and jumped up onto Maryann’s feet.
‘Goodness – what’s got into him?’ Sylvia climbed in, carrying a cup of tea. ‘He nearly knocked me down the steps. Here – drink it while it’s hot.’
Maryann sat up blearily and looked round at the clock. ‘Half-past eight! Ta, Sylv. Where are the twins?’
‘We came and fetched them out a good hour ago. And Ezra. Dot and I thought it’d be good if you got all the sleep under your belt that you could. She’s taken them off to get more bread. Have a good night?’
Maryann nodded a lie. She didn’t want to mention her nightmare. To her discomfort she felt tears come into her eyes at this kindness and managed to mumble, ‘Thanks,’ feeling frustrated that she couldn’t find more words to express her gratitude to them both. When Nance had died she’d thought she’d never have a good friend again, but now she’d been through so many things with these two women that she felt closer to them than she’d ever imagined possible and that was also part of her tearfulness.
‘Cheer up.’ Sylvia looked tired and strained herself, but she smiled sympathetically into Maryann’s face. ‘Look – you must go to the funeral tomorrow. It’s not right to miss your own mother’s funeral, whatever you feel about her. Dot and I were wondering whether we should try and work a day trip today and come back. Only we’ve left it a bit late now … Of course, we could come to the funeral with you – help with the children.’
‘Don’t go,’ Maryann heard herself say. She suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of being left alone here. ‘You have left it a bit late to get going – and I would like you to come.’ She felt her cheeks go red. ‘If you don’t mind. It’s not much of a treat for you.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly. Of course we will.’
‘I’ve got a few things to get done today…’
‘Right – well, let’s all take it easy for once. And I tell you what – I’m going to treat us all to fish and chips tonight, as well!’
‘Mom! Mom – come and look!’ Ezra appeared on the steps, his dark eyes wide.
‘What’s up?’ His voice told her immediately that something was really wrong.
‘Quick—’ He beckoned, and was gone again.
She wasn’t yet dressed, but pulled on her winter coat over her nightdress. It felt too hot in the warm May morning, but she followed Sylvia up out of the Esther Jane, and on the towpath they looked along and saw Ezra with Rose and the twins at the front of the boat, standing silently, their eyes fixed on something.
‘What’s going on?’ Sylvia said.
Joining the children, their eyes followed the others’ to the little mast. Hanging from a short length of rope was Jenny the tortoiseshell cat. The rope was twisted tightly round her neck and her body dangled from it, stiff and bedraggled from the night’s rain. The neck was at an odd angle. There was no movement, no life left in her.
‘Oh, Jennykins!’ Sylvia’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh, that’s horrible! How did that…? Someone must’ve … mustn’t they? Who on earth would have done that?’
Maryann turned away, beginning to tremble. She could feel herself going to pieces. She’d seen enough to know immediately: could not bear to take in the sight any longer. Even while she’d been dreaming of his hot breath on her skin he’d been out here. He liked to inflict pain. He took relish in exactly this kind of cruelty. She had seen it all before, her own childhood kitten Tiger dead at his hand. She remembered leaving her cold, dead body under a pile of leaves on the bank by the cut. And once again he had known their boats were here. This more than anything chilled her blood. How did he know? And what was the message of this? It was all too clear: I’m here. I’m waiting.
; Sylvia was trying to comfort the children, and as she hurried back to the cabin to dress, Dot had just come back with the twins.
‘What’s all the kerfuffle about?’ she asked cheerfully.
But Maryann was already heading past her, back to her cabin.
‘I’ve got things to do,’ she announced. ‘I’m going out. Now.’
Thirty-Four
‘Maryann –’ Sylvia’s voice was terse with tension and anxiety – ‘you really must stop shutting us all out. You know who did that to Jennykins, don’t you?’
They were all gathered in the Theodore that evening and the air smelt tantalizingly of the fish and chips and tangy vinegar that Dot had fetched on Bobby’s bicycle, which he had kindly left for them to use. The children were wolfing down the food.
‘Sorry,’ Maryann said, ‘for taking off and leaving you with it all today. The kids and that. I’m ever so grateful.’
‘But where’ve you been?’ Sylvia burst out. ‘We’ve been beside ourselves wondering what’s going on. You do know who did it, don’t you?’
Maryann saw all the children’s eyes swivel towards her. ‘Oh, some nasty man I expect. I don’t s’pose he’ll ever do it again.’ She gave Dot and Sylvia a look which said, later. She could only pick at the fish and chips with difficulty, even though they were a treat. She felt sick and full of inner turmoil.
‘You can come and have a drink with us later,’ Sylvia said.
‘No!’ Maryann almost shouted. ‘I mean – no, sorry. I don’t want to leave the kids on their own. Not tonight.’
It had been agonizing enough leaving them in the day. She had spent hours moving round the city.
‘I’ve got to go out again,’ she’d told Sylvia in the morning. ‘I wish I could take everyone with me, but I can’t. Just keep them close – don’t let them out of your sight, please.’
‘I won’t,’ Sylvia said. ‘I promise.’ She was obviously deeply unnerved by what had happened. ‘Maryann – where’re you going?’
‘Tell you later.’
First she went to the police.
‘This is the man you’re looking for,’ she announced, handing over the card. She grasped folds of her skirt, pleating them with her fingers to hold herself steady, to stop her screaming and making an exhibition of herself.
‘I see.’ It was the same policeman she’d seen the last time. He thought she was bonkers, she was certain.
‘I grew up with him.’ She was almost begging, trying not to weep. Believe me, for God’s sake, someone please believe me. ‘I know it was him. He’s cruel and violent and…’ She couldn’t go on, couldn’t speak, could only squeeze on the folds of her cotton skirt until she thought the bones in her hands would crack.
‘We’ll look into it,’ the policeman said calmly. Why was he so calm? she thought, infuriated.
‘He’s got a scarred face. A terrible, hideous face…’ Oh, this sounded ridiculous, like something she’d made up. For a split second she doubted herself. Had Norman Griffin simply been the stuff of her nightmares? Then she thought of her sister, of what he had reduced her to. ‘He’s dangerous,’ she gulped. ‘You mustn’t let him get away. He killed Amy Lambert – I know he did.’
Afterwards she went to see Janet, Amy’s mother, to tell her the news, to try and bring her some comfort, even though she felt so agitated herself. Janet seemed to have turned into an old woman just in the past weeks. With Amy’s funeral now over she was calmer, but the pain of loss was written in every line of her face. When Maryann told her she was sure she had found Norman Griffin’s new premises, Janet stared back at her fearfully.
‘I just wish –’ her already watery blue eyes filled with tears – ‘I wish he’d just disappear … that it was all over … I just want my Amy back.’ She sobbed brokenly and Maryann tried to give comfort, knowing that really there was none.
Late in the afternoon she walked through Highgate. The address on the card was Cheapside, almost at the bottom of the hill. Maryann walked down the long slope of Cheapside, factories on either side all the way down, the clang and clatter, the drone of machines, the shouts above the noise, coming at her from everywhere. Her eyes darted from side to side. She felt as if everyone must be staring at her, at her clothes, her dirty boots, as if her every thread shouted ‘boatwoman’, and here she was, born in Ladywood, but feeling like a foreigner in her own town! What really frightened her was that she might meet him, that he would appear from somewhere, out of a factory or one of the side alleys, with his box-like body, those wide, square shoulders, hat pulled down to hide his face. That she would have to look into his eyes again.
She saw the sign from a short distance away: Albert Griffin, Toolmakers & Machinists. For a moment she doubted herself. Could he really have anything to do with this place? It was certainly a new line of business for him. He’d been an undertaker for years – would he go into toolmaking instead?
The factory had quite a narrow frontage, but the buildings reached back some way from the street. For a moment she stopped, almost paralysed with nerves, as if the factory had an invisible electric fence round it that she did not dare to pass.
For goodness sake, she urged herself, I’m only walking past down the road. It’ll look even odder if I stop. Her hands were so sweaty she had to wipe them on her skirt.
There was nothing to see. The doors were shut and no one came in or out. She hurried past and turned, relieved, back onto Bradford Street, where the trams went rattling past and things felt safer again.
But I know it’s him, she told herself, hurrying away. Her heart was still pounding. Why else would Mom have had that card in her house?
She thought again of Jenny the cat, hanging by the neck from that scrap of rope. A chill went through her which grew into panic. All she wanted was to get home.
She wouldn’t go back to the Theodore with Dot and Sylvia once the children were in bed. The three of them stood outside, coats on against the chilly evening.
‘Maryann, we’re your friends. At least, we want to be, don’t we, Dot?’
Maryann stood with her arms folded, closed in on herself as the others tried to get her to talk.
‘You’ve seen us both through a lot. You’ve been a real brick – and so kind.’ Sylvia stepped closer, as if to embrace her, but Maryann stepped back. She didn’t want to be touched.
‘It’d make you feel better,’ Dot said gruffly. ‘To talk, I mean. Goodness knows, I’m bad enough at opening up. But after Steven died – well, you did a lot for me.’
But that’s different! Maryann wailed in her head. You loved your brother and he died. That’s natural. It’s clean – not like this, not like him and all he’s done! How can I tell you? Things like this don’t happen to people like you – you’re different. Or I’m different: that’s what it is.
She stared out at the water beyond, at the broken light reflected in the ripples. There was a smell of frying onions coming from another boat. Inside her the worst thought of all swelled, unspoken. If I told you, you’d never believe me. You’d think I was a liar and you’d find me disgusting.
‘What is it, Maryann?’ Sylvia said softly. ‘Can’t you trust us? I saw your face this morning and you were really frightened, I could tell.’
‘You’re even frightened in your sleep.’ Dot spoke with such sympathy suddenly that Maryann felt an unbearable tightening in her throat. A pool of unshed tears seemed to press behind her eyes.
‘You know who killed little Jenny, don’t you?’ Sylvia persisted.
Maryann turned to them. She had to tell them something. It was such an odd, horrible thing to have happened.
‘I think it was a man called Norman Griffin. He was my stepfather.’
There was a silence. She saw Sylvia and Dot glance at each other.
‘But why?’ Dot said. ‘He must be quite mad.’
‘He’s not very nice, no,’ she said flatly. All energy went out of her suddenly. The tears subsided. She couldn’t say more, couldn’t begin on it. Aft
er the funeral they’d get away from here again and she could feel safe, keep away from Birmingham, leave it up to the police to catch him. She could put it all away again.
‘I just don’t want him anywhere near my family, that’s all. It makes me a bit jumpy sometimes. That’s why I asked you to keep an eye on them, Sylv. Anyroad – it’s been a long day. I’m going to bed now.’
She could feel them watching her as she opened the hatches of the Esther Jane
‘’Night,’night,’ she said.
She knew they were perfectly aware that she wasn’t telling them all of the truth. They’re not stupid, she thought, climbing over the twins to her bed. But I can’t – I just can’t. What would they think of me?
Lying in bed, she felt wide awake. It was a relief because she dreaded the dreams. She lay in the dark for ages, listening for any sound outside.
Thirty-Five
They woke early the next morning and a light mist hung over the water, the sky colourless and hazy. It seemed to Maryann that she hadn’t slept at all, but she did not feel tired. She was in too wound up a state for that. Even before her morning cup of tea – once more made by Sylvia – she was full of agitated energy.
The night before they had decided that, instead of leaving the boats and resorting to buses and trams, they would take the Esther Jane across town to where they could walk to the cemetery. Maryann had sent a message to Tony to say that they were not going to join the modest funeral procession across from Ladywood. Dot got the engine going, while Maryann and Sylvia finished getting everyone dressed.
‘Neither Dot nor I have anything really suitable to wear for a funeral!’ Sylvia said, slipping a frock over Ada’s head. Her wiry little arms thrust up through the sleeves.
‘Can’t say I have either,’ Maryann said. ‘Never mind. We’ll just have to make the best of it. There’ll be hardly anyone there except Tony and Billy.’
