The Narrowboat Girl (41 page)

There was no point in dilly-dallying. She had to say something.

‘Look, Amy – you must’ve thought it was a bit strange me coming and seeing yer in the park. I mean it’s been nice for me getting to know you a bit – but there’s another reason why I’ve been coming.’

Amy’s hair was hanging half across her face and she didn’t look up but Maryann could tell she was listening.

‘I’ve seen your stepfather – going to his shop and that. I know he calls himself Arthur Lambert, but the truth is, that ain’t his name. Or at least that ain’t always been his name.’ Her heart was beating terribly hard. Was she wrong to do this, was she? She forced herself on. ‘The thing is – I used to know ’im under another name. He was called Norman Griffin and he was my stepfather an’ all – when my sister and me were not much older than you are now. And . . .’

She swallowed, almost unable to go on. Amy cast her a quick glance, then looked down again. Margaret was sitting by the water, absolutely still.

‘The thing is – when ’e was living with us, he daint treat us like . . . like a dad ought’ve done. He was . . . bad. ’E . . .’ She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Oh God help me for saying this to yer!’ She spoke with her gaze fixed on Amy’s face, watching for her reaction to her words. She didn’t want to leave them in any doubt as to what she was admitting to them, but she was trembling as she spoke.

‘He was wicked, the way he was with us. At night he came to our rooms and . . . and made us do things – things children ain’t s’posed to do – and he made us feel dirty and different to everyone else . . .’

She couldn’t go on. Her voice was choked with tears. Looking at Amy she saw that the girl had turned her head and it was tilted so that her hair completely hid her face. She had brought her hand up and pressed it tightly over her lips. The gesture spoke more loudly than any words.

Maryann wiped her eyes, trying to control herself. Very slowly and gently she reached out her hand and pushed the girl’s hair aside.

‘Amy? I was so frightened of speaking out of turn and getting it wrong. Is it . . . is he still the same?’

She released Amy’s hair and watched her. There was a long pause during which Maryann almost despaired of an answer. But then the coppery hair began to quiver and she saw the girl was nodding. A quick, frightened nod.

‘Oh God,’ Maryann gasped. ‘You’re saying yes, ain’t you, Amy?’

This time the nod was more definite.

‘You poor things . . .’ She wanted to reach out and take the child in her arms, but she restrained herself. Half whispering she said, ‘What about . . . Margaret?’

Again the nod, more vigorously this time.

‘Your mom – does she know anything about it?’

This time a shake of the head.

They all sat in silence for a minute. Margaret had still not turned round.

Maryann sat thinking furiously. Her own mother had not believed her. Why should theirs be any different? She had her life to protect, her security. And Norman was so smooth and respectable. Why would the woman listen to a complete stranger?

‘There’s one more thing I want to tell you, Amy. My name’s not Esther Bartholomew like I told you. I daint want to tell you my real name in case you mentioned it at home in front of him. I’m Maryann Nelson – you can call me Maryann. Look, I can’t promise you anything, Amy. I don’t know if I can make it stop – if I was to see your mom. She won’t want to hear it. But d’you want me to try?’

Amy’s head swung round and for the first time she looked into Maryann’s eyes. Her own were full of tears. Never had Maryann seen a more desperate, yearning face.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Make it stop.’

‘Come on then.’ Maryann stood up and Amy did the same. ‘It’s now or never, Amy.’

She looked warily at the younger girl. Amy went to her.

‘Margaret – come on. We’re going ’ome. This lady’s coming with us.’

Margaret slowly, almost mechanically it seemed, got to her feet and turned to come with them. As she did so the blank expression in her young eyes chilled Maryann to the bone.

Maryann brought her hand up to knock at the door. Amy had been about to open it but she said, ‘No – wait. I can’t just go walking into your mom’s house. I’ll knock first.’

She was terrified, her knees like jelly, yet somewhere in her she was also triumphant. No longer did she have to feel wicked, to be told she was imagining things. She was not alone. She and these girls could stand together.

‘She’ll be cross,’ Amy said uncomfortably as Maryann knocked. ‘Takes ’er a while to get to the door.’

They heard her moving painfully along the hall. When the door opened Maryann suddenly found herself looking into the face of the auburn-haired woman. There were lines across her forehead and at the corners of her mouth which indicated that she suffered pain. She had pale skin, lightly freckled, wide eyes of a deep blue and a gentle, patient expression. Maryann was reassured. Her face was not the tight, bitter mask her mother had taken on through her hardships.

‘Oh—’ the woman said, eyeing her daughters. ‘Is summat the matter? I hope they haven’t done anything wrong?’

‘No—’ Maryann smiled nervously. ‘Nothing like that. Only – I’ve met your daughters over in the park a few times recently and we’ve got a bit friendly like. There’s a reason why I was looking out for them . . . D’you think I could come in and talk to you for a minute or two? There’s summat I’d like to say to you.’ She glanced at Amy and Margaret but their faces were blank once more.

‘Well – awright then,’ the woman said doubtfully. ‘I ’ope it won’t take long though. I’ve got the dinner on.’

She led them into the nearest room, which was the front parlour. Maryann was not in a state to take in much detail except that the room was very clean and neatly arrayed, with polished brasses by the grate and moss green curtains.

‘Sit down, won’t you?’ the woman said, easing herself into a chair. They were positioned either side of the fire and there was a rag rug between them in bright colours. Maryann could smell lavender. Nervously she took off her straw hat and sat holding it on her lap.

‘Why don’t you run along, girls?’ Janet Richards said.

‘Oh – no, please,’ Maryann said quickly. ‘They need to stay.’

‘But I thought you said – I mean they’re not in trouble . . .?’ She frowned anxiously.

‘No – at least, not the way you mean. Oh dear, this is so . . .’ She clasped her hands under her hat to try and stop them shaking. ‘I don’t know where to start.’

Janet was beginning to look as if she doubted her own wisdom in letting this stranger into the house, so Maryann plunged in and began talking quickly, explaining, trying not to put things too harshly nor to skirt round the truth. The girls stood close by.

‘See – as soon as I saw him again I knew it was him,’ she explained. ‘’E weren’t called Arthur Lambert when ’e lived with our mom – Norman Griffin was his name. But it was him, and when I saw your daughters, the way they were, I just knew. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve suffered it yourself. No one’d believe me when I was their age. My mother turned against me – she still won’t see me. And today I asked Amy whether ’e was . . . well, doing the same to her and Margaret and when she said ’e was I just couldn’t let it rest. I know this’ll be a shock to you and you must think I’m terrible to interfere, but I had to come and say something rather than let them go through the same . . .’ She ran out of steam at last.

The woman’s expression was frozen. Shock, fear, disbelief all competed and for a time she couldn’t speak.

‘Amy—’ she gasped eventually. ‘Amy? What’s she saying – who is she? And what’ve you been telling her?’

‘Oh, don’t be angry with them!’ Maryann implored her. She all but got down on her knees in front of the woman to plead with her. The girls stood listening, hanging their heads. She wanted them to speak up and plead with their mother, but she knew they couldn’t do it. ‘They shouldn’t get in any trouble for telling me. They’ve been through enough – it’s him you want to ask questions of. He’s the one who takes over people’s families, wrecks their lives. I know ’e looks like a gentleman and ’e’s polite and well dressed and everything but underneath ’e’s summat else – there’s a side to ’im only a few of us have seen.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits, the look of sweetness quite gone from her face. She struggled to her feet, raising her walking stick as if she was going to hit Maryann, who hastily stood up as well.

‘Who
are
you?’ she hissed. ‘What d’you think you’re about, coming into my house and coming out with this
filth
in front of my two young girls? What’ve you been saying to them – poisoning their minds and filling them with these dirty lies. What do you want? You must be wrong in the head. Why didn’t you say this woman’d been hanging around yer, Amy? What’s she been saying to yer? Did she tell yer to come and make up stories about your father?’

Maryann’s hand went to her throat as she watched Amy. For a second, which seemed eternal, the girl stood motionless. Then she raised her head a little and her face was burning red. Eyes still looking at the floor, she said, ‘She daint make me, Mom. It’s true. It’s what ’e does – to Margaret and me. ’E does . . .’ Her mother was shaking her head in horror. ‘’E
does
, Mom – upstairs, at bedtime.’

They all froze then, because there came the sound of the front door opening and a man’s heavy tread entering the house. The front door was closed, loudly, and his footsteps moved through to the back.

‘Janet!’ They heard a moment later, ‘Janet?’

She looked round at her daughters and at Maryann with utter contempt. Maryann, feeling her legs give way, sank down on to the chair.

‘He’s come home for his dinner.’ Janet’s mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Now we’ll see, won’t we? Arthur!’ she called. ‘We’re in the front.’

The door opened and Maryann found herself face to face with Norman Griffin.

Forty-Two

He looked so wide, filling the doorframe, standing there in his black coat. There was a long silence. In a corner of her mind, Maryann could hear the clock ticking and a horse’s hooves passing in the street. His glance swept round the room, rested on her for a fleeting moment during which her pulse seemed to stop, then passed over to his family.

He had shown not a flicker of recognition. Have I changed that much? Maryann thought. Looking at him she was stunned once more by his familiarity, as if even now when he was fatter and his hair thinned she could remember every pore of the skin on his face, every quiver of expression. Her body, seeming in his presence to remember even more, his loathsome touch, felt turned to water. If she had not already been sitting down she would have collapsed.

‘My dear? What’s going on?’

Janet Lambert was standing, leaning on her stick, the girls near to her. ‘Oh Arthur,’ she said and then burst into tears. He was beside her immediately.

‘Whatever’s the matter, love? What’s been going on? Who’s your visitor?’ His words dripped concern like syrup.

‘She came in with the girls – she’s been saying the most terrible things, Arthur . . . And now Amy’s saying them too – the same lies . . . I can’t even bring myself to tell you . . .’

He turned, looked at Amy and Margaret, then Maryann felt his eyes boring into her.

‘What’s going on in my ’ouse? Who’re you?’

She thought her anger might choke her. She managed to stand up, clutching folds of her skirt in her hands to steady herself. ‘You know perfectly well who I am, Mr Griffin,’ she spat at him. ‘I’m Maryann Nelson. Remember – your stepdaughter? And under the law you’re still married to my mother, Mrs Florence Griffin.’

She heard Janet Lambert gasp. ‘Arthur no! She must have the wrong person. What’s she saying?’

Norman Griffin gave a bewildered shrug that could have won him a part in a troop of actors. ‘I’ve no idea, my dear – where on earth did you pick ’er up from? Has she got loose from the asylum or summat?’ He even managed a chuckle. ‘Never heard anything like it. Why did you let her in?’

‘You know who I am!’ Maryann shouted at him. She could feel herself becoming hysterical. There was such a pressure rising inside her that she felt as if she might explode.

‘D’you think I’d ever forget the man who did things to me that shouldn’t be done to an animal, you vile, filthy pig?’ She faced Janet Lambert. ‘He’s the one who came to our room night after night and interfered with us so’s we prayed every day that night would never come. D’you think anyone’d ever forget that? And now’ – she turned on Janet Lambert – ‘you’ve got two daughters praying the same thing. Because from the day you let that
animal
into the house they lost their childhood. They were never safe again. Tell her Amy—’ She stepped over to the girl and held her shoulder. Speaking softly she said, ‘You know what you told me – say it to your mom. Tell her the truth or he’ll just go on and on and you’ll never get away from it.’

Amy’s shoulders were shaking. She put her hands over her face. Her mother watched, appalled, her eyes stretched wide. Maryann squeezed her shoulder.

‘Come on then, Amy.’ Norman’s voice was soft, mocking. ‘Let’s hear it then. All the terrible things I do to yer – buying you nice frocks and taking you both to the pictures. Tell us all about that. Oh – and we’re going to the zoo next weekend, aren’t we – better get that off yer chest as well.’

‘Amy?’ her mom said quietly. ‘Have you got anything to say or was it just this woman talked you into it – got you to make up a story?’

As Amy sobbed, Margaret remained in stony silence. Her gaze never left the floor.

Norman turned to the girls’ mother. ‘I don’t know who this woman is or what she wants, but the last thing I’d ever want is for you to think badly of me or have any suspicions about me. Is there anything else you want to ask her before I put her out of our house?’

Janet looked round desperately at all four of them: her daughters, silent except for Amy’s weeping, at Norman who was looking at her in wide-eyed appeal, and at Maryann who was staring pleadingly at Amy, her own face wet with tears. She stepped towards Maryann, a hateful expression in her eyes.