Water Gypsies (34 page)

‘Well, I think you’re being very brave,’ Sylvia said, handing Maryann her tea.

Maryann smiled absently. She didn’t feel grief or sorrow at this moment. In her mind all evening, as she sat with Dot and Sylvia and they told her how the unloading had gone and that they’d managed to stove both boats in her absence to get rid of the bugs, was the thought of the card pushed into the pocket of her cardigan with its blue lettering.

Longing to be alone, she told them she wanted an early night.

‘We were thinking of popping out for a bit – see if we can find a pub that’s not too soul-destroying,’ Dot said.

‘But we won’t if you’d rather we didn’t,’ Sylvia said hastily.

‘No – that’s all right. You go,’ Maryann said.

Even when she was by herself on the
Esther Jane
later on, the children bedded down for the night, she still didn’t give any thought to the fact that she and the children were alone. Her head was too full of other things. She took out the card and propped it against the alarm clock near her head. She lay on her stomach in bed, staring at it in the candlelight. The words seemed to ripple and flicker as the flame moved gently.
Albert Griffin, Albert Griffin…

‘Should’ve been a bit cleverer than that, shouldn’t you?’ she whispered. ‘Calling yourself Griffin again.’

Thinking of him, of all he’d done, she felt herself clench up inside with anger and her own sense of defilement. And Flo had, at some time, seen him again, perhaps had him visit her house … However much she told herself she had no feeling left for her mother, that she didn’t care what she’d done, now she knew pain and outrage flooded through her until she could scarcely breathe. Once more she made herself force the thoughts aside. If she let them take her over, they would destroy her. She had protected herself from him so far as well as she could – she wasn’t going to let it happen now.

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.