Tuesday 28 March – after dusk, moored up at Leighton Buzzard
Once they had moored, Verity turned the tiller around to give more room on the counter. There were several pairs tied up ahead of them, their crews probably all tucking into a meal, because there was no one boiling up clothes on the bank, or children playing. Or perhaps the men would be in the nearby pub and the women with them? Or the women were crocheting as the children slept?
Sleep? Verity thought she could do with some of that, but so could they all. It was a good tiredness she felt, though, one filled with triumph, because they had made up time. It had helped having Tom taking over the tiller later in the afternoon, so that she and Polly could share much of the lock-wheeling, keeping up a better pace.
Behind her, Tom caught the tow-rope thrown by Sylvia, as the momentum carried the butty prow forward. He handed it immediately to Verity who, as arranged, leapt onto the roof and ran down the top planks of the motor, keeping pace with the butty. She secured the short tow on the fore-end stud, and together she and Sylvia lashed the butty tight abreast, while Polly and Tom secured the stern.
Verity and Sylvia ran back along their respective planks, before easing themselves down to their counters. Tom had disappeared into the motor cabin to beat up the eggs for a rosemary omelette, and to cut up the remaining baked potatoes and leeks from lunch.
He had promised them a feast, though Polly and Verity had laughed. He had looked suitably wounded, so they’d all laughed even more, including Sylvia. Beside Verity on the counter, Polly dusted off her hands, her voice drenched in tiredness. ‘Not just a quick learner on a narrowboat, but a cook supreme? Herb omelette, indeed.’ In the dim light Verity saw that freezing droplets festooned her friend’s hat, and her huge bobble looked bedraggled.
‘I didn’t know that, either, but there are so many things I didn’t – and don’t – know about him, or had forgotten,’ Verity murmured, knowing that she had to ask them to let Tom stay for the length of his leave. Polly was probably all right, but what about Sylvia?
Polly put an arm around her and hugged her close. ‘So, you said you wanted to talk to the two of us?’
Sylvia was still standing on the counter of the butty in her three sweaters and nodded, her arms crossed. ‘You did, so do get on with it. I’m freezing.’
Verity looked from one to the other. ‘Yes, Pols, I did want to talk. May we come aboard, Sylvia?’
She felt Polly tense, because she didn’t often call her ‘Pols’. Sylvia snapped, ‘Hurry up, and why are you making such a meal about it?’
But Polly said, ‘You’re leaving the cut, aren’t you?’ Her voice was level and without emotion, but in the gloom her face told a different story.
Verity swung round, one foot already on the butty. ‘Of course not, you daft thing. Come on, I can’t talk astride the gap.’
Sylvia tutted and opened the door to her butty cabin, then disappeared into it. The signs weren’t good, and Verity wondered where Tom could sleep if, or when, Sylvia refused. She followed Sylvia down the steps, with Polly on her heels. The butty cabin was immaculately tidy; on the shelf that the GUCCC had put up for the women on the scheme the books were in alphabetical order, and the brass of the range gleamed. It had previously been Bet’s cabin, and she had reclaimed her horse brasses and the pierced plates. Nothing had replaced them. Verity looked around curiously, because they seldom crossed the threshold. In fact she couldn’t remember the last time.
There were no photographs, no strewn clothes or bookmarked novels scattered on the bed; it was almost like a cell, and it made Verity realise how the motor cabin, with its personal memorabilia and clutter, really must offend Sylvia. No wonder she almost fainted when she had to step over Dog cluttering up the aisle or, even worse, sit with Dog on the side-bed when she came to eat.
Sylvia waited on the double-width cross-bed at the rear of the cabin, with its crocheted curtain hooked back. She gestured them to the side-bed. They sat, but on the edge, neither of them daring to lean against the plumped-up plum-coloured cushions.
Polly nudged Verity. ‘Come on, then. Supper will be ready any minute, and we mustn’t upset the chef. Besides, Saul and Granfer were parked up ahead of us along the cut, and we can introduce Tom to them. When’s he going?’
Verity drew in a deep breath. ‘Well, that’s what I need to talk to you about.’
Sylvia said, ‘He can catch a train from Leighton Buzzard, I’m sure.’
Verity caught her own warped reflection in the gleaming copper kettle. If she and Polly sat quite still, perhaps Sylvia would buff them up, too.
Polly leaned forward, turning to look at her, her elbows on her knees. ‘Come on, out with it.’
Verity puffed out a breath. ‘I suppose a cigarette is out of the question?’
Sylvia sat bolt upright, shaking her head. ‘You suppose right.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I know what all this is about. You want him to stay on, don’t you?’
Polly grabbed Verity’s knee. ‘Really?’ She shook Verity’s leg. ‘You really have made it up then, sorted it out? We thought as much, didn’t we, Sylvia?’
Verity said, ‘We haven’t made it up completely, but we’re working towards it, and we need a bit of time.’
Sylvia said nothing, just sat looking at Verity. Then she clenched her hands together. ‘Of course I’m pleased for you, but staying for how long?’
Verity swallowed, her shoulders dropping slightly; it wasn’t a flat ‘No’ anyway, but she hadn’t broached the matter of the cabins yet. ‘Until we return to Bull’s Bridge, so about ten days. Tom’s on sick leave, you see; and yes, we realise we’ve both changed, and that we should have challenged my mother and not accepted her word. We think we’ve both grown up – a bit, anyway – and perhaps we even understand some of her reasoning.’
Polly was grinning and hugged Verity. ‘Wonderful, wonderful news. I like him, and you can tell Tom loves you, can’t you, Sylvia?’
‘Where will he sleep?’ Sylvia responded.
Here they were: at that moment. Verity sank back against the cushion, then remembered where she was and shot up, but too late – Sylvia was frowning. Verity ploughed on, ‘Yes, well, there are three of us, and one of him, and Dog.’
Sylvia crossed her arms. ‘We can’t have loose morals, and that’s that. There will be no sharing.’
Polly was sitting quite still, but then she started to shake. A bleat of laughter left her, to be covered by a cough. ‘So sorry, still the vestiges of this cold you gave us. Where should Tom sleep, then?’
There was a heavy silence, broken only by the fall of a lump of coal perched on a pyramid of other lumps. It sank into the firebox bed of red-hot ash.
At last Verity said, ‘Well, Sylvia is quite right, so we’ll have to split up, won’t we? Tom can’t sleep on the counter in this weather, so he and Dog will have to share one of the cabins. Within each cabin there is the cross-bed and the side-bed. The cross-bed will take two, the side-bed one. I’m asking you, Sylvia, on my knees, if we three can share your cabin. I promise we will be neat and tidy.’
Sylvia was aghast. Polly began shaking again. Verity dug her in the ribs, hard.
Sylvia muttered, ‘I can’t possibly have a dog in here; it’s not a kennel.’
‘Good decision, Sylvia,’ Polly almost shouted. ‘Dog can keep Tom company in the Marigold. We will only be a nuisance at night, because we can use our own cabin in the day. Where would you like us: cross-bed together, or one of us in it with you?’
Sylvia’s expression said that she wouldn’t like them anywhere, actually.
Verity said, ‘I can’t thank you enough. Do let us know where we should sleep, to be of least trouble to you.‘
Sylvia actually shuddered. ‘Verity, I don’t actually remember agreeing, but Polly seems to have decided, and it would be churlish to spoil this chance for you. You and Polly will have the cross-bed. Bring your bedding every evening and remove it in the morning; wash in your own cabin. I will take the side-bed.’ She paused to draw breath, then looked at them doubtfully. ‘I think it’s fair for me to ask that there will be no smoking in here?’
It really was a question. Her expression was confused, as though she couldn’t quite work out how they’d arrived at this point.
‘Very fair, we’ll smoke up on the counter if we feel the urge, won’t we, Polly?’ Verity was surprised and grateful, and stood as though to kiss Sylvia, who leaned back. Verity sat down again. ‘Thank you, really.’
Polly smiled at Sylvia. ‘You must come to the pub this evening, because we’ll be introducing Tom to everyone, and it wouldn’t be the same without you. Bet and her trainees are moored here too, so she’ll be there.’
Verity said, ‘Yes, do, but you can meet Tom properly over his evening delectation, heaven help us.’
By nine they were fed and watered, and they set out into the freezing mist for the pub, which was just along from the mooring spot. Tom and Verity walked behind Polly and Sylvia. Tom whispered, ‘I should buy them a drink, for all the cabin upheaval.’
‘Great idea.’ Verity still felt astonished to be breathing the same air as him, and to have spent hour after hour with him, as equals – he not a chauffeur, and she not Her Ladyship.
Tom slipped his arm around her. ‘I can’t believe I’m here with you, sweet Verity. I thought this was gone forever, and now I feel I can begin to live again.’
In step, they walked along the road, just for a few hundred yards, and then into the pub, and the noise, and a mixture of cigarette, pipe and wood smoke.
Saul was at the bar, but his ‘Polly’ antenna was working well and he spun round, the love streaming from him. He came across immediately, shook Sylvia’s hand and kissed Polly on the lips. ‘I ’as the drinks ordered. The table’s free; Bet’s trainees ’as the one behind, and Granfer is telling ’em whoppers. Yer must be Tom. Yer got ’ere then, finally?’
Tom nodded. ‘I did, and I’m going to be asked this a lot tonight, aren’t I? But it’s no more than I deserve.’ He shook Saul’s hand. ‘I’ll buy the drinks – least I can do, after fouling up. I owe Sylvia, Verity and Polly anyway, for budging up in the butty cabin, leaving Dog and me to spread ourselves in the motor.’
Saul grimaced. ‘Ah, so yer’ve been recruited, ’ave yer? They’ll work yer t’bone. I’ll help yer carry.’
The two headed to the bar without a backward glance. Polly and Verity looked at one another, shrugged and linked arms with Sylvia, heading for the free table by the fireside. Bet, Granfer and the trainees joined them, moving their table to line up with Marigold’s and adding a couple of chairs for Tom and Saul.
Verity sat by the fire. Sparks burst and flames licked around the logs, which were more like great tree trunks. For so long Tom hadn’t been here, for so long life had been empty. She watched him at the bar: the way he moved, the turn of his head, his khaki trousers, one leg cut perpendicularly to above his knee, so that it flapped on either side of his plastered leg when he walked. She heard his laugh as Steerer Mercy, who had caught them up, teased him about the telephone boxes along the route of the canal. Then he – her Tom, her man – was coming; limping, bringing the tankards of mild, and a sweet sherry for Sylvia.
It was this she would remember when he had gone away to war. It was tonight she would hang on to, if anything happened to him: his smile, his easy acceptance of the boaters who were calling out, ‘Ring-ring.’ And from Thomo, ‘Press Button A.’ She’d remember Tom’s laugh, which she’d all but forgotten in the anguish of his loss, ringing out loud and true. She drank in the look he gave her as he reached them and handed out the drinks, first to Bet and her two trainees, Merle and Sandy; the little bow he gave to Sylvia, and the thanks he gave for making room for his girl and Polly in her cabin; the sigh as he sat down next to her and gripped her hand. ‘I thank God I’m here with you.’
She studied him. ‘God? You were the most godless of individuals.’
‘Ah, but I’ve seen things that I hope you will never see, and witnessed courage beyond belief. It changes us, one way or another.’
She sipped her mild and saw that Sylvia was leaning forward, watching Tom as though she was running his words round inside her head. Verity lifted her glass to Sylvia. ‘Thank you, Sylvia, for letting us share.’
Sylvia looked at her as though she was preoccupied with other things. After a moment she murmured, ‘Verity, we’re a team, like you say, so it’s what we do – share – just as we share one another’s colds.’ They all laughed at her joke, and Sylvia blushed, surprised. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’ve been funny. It feels nice.’