Tuesday 4 July – the Marigold and Horizon approach Bull’s Bridge, after loading at Limehouse
The girls fell silent as they travelled from Alperton with the boats abreast. They had moored in front of Sid’s pub briefly this morning, for Verity to run and post another letter. It was to thank her mother for unblocking Uncle Freddie’s trust without Verity even asking; not that she had anything she wanted to buy, but it was a gesture of reconciliation and belief.
Verity elbowed the tiller slightly and the pair kept to the centre, and the pat-patter of the engine was so normal, the sun on her straw hat and shoulders comforting. She had told her parents that Maud might be joining them at Bull’s Bridge. She had added all the background to Maud’s story. It was news she felt able to share with them now.
Sylvia joined them on Marigold, so they could run over their plan again. Verity steered, while the other two girls and Dog sat on the cabin roof in the blazing sun, feeling satisfied it all sounded tickety-boo. Polly brandished her Woodbines. Sylvia refused as usual, but Verity dragged out her matches from her trouser pockets, lit both and inhaled. Sylvia smoothed down her bouncing curls and said, ‘I’m glad we bumped into Bet at Limehouse.’
Polly elbowed her so hard that she fell back.
Sylvia corrected herself. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist, but it wasn’t a massive bang, Verity, and Bet didn’t mind too much. Sky was only slightly scratched.’
‘She should have had her tender sorted,’ Verity growled.
They were ten minutes from the lay-by. Verity blew smoke over Sylvia, who fanned it away and continued, ‘Anyway, I’m glad we saw her – is that better?’
The other two nodded. ‘She agreed that we were doing the right thing with Maudie, but just to stay alert in case she wandered off. She thinks the cut will work its magic.’
They had said this to themselves twice already on the trip, but Polly and Sylvia both looked as nervous as Verity felt, and Dog was quiet as though she had picked up the tension. Ahead Verity saw a pair pull away from the lay-by and squinted. ‘Ah, Steerer Ambrose’s coming our way to pick up a load.’ She blew the hunting horn. As she did so, the sirens went in the distance, and the ack-ack, but the doodlebugs were over central London, from the look of their flaring tails.
Steerer Ambrose was hooting his horn as he approached, and he slowed, yelling, ‘’Ow do. Yer visitor ’as arrived with yer ma, Polly. Nice to see ’er again, and yer ma.’ He passed, and his butty on short tow approached. Ma Ambrose shouted, ‘We ’ad a whip-round. Ma Mercy’s given yer ma a long skirt, wide belt and blouse for our Maudie. Never fear, she’ll get better quick, now she’s back. She don’t like blokes, though, and who can blame her? That beggar Leon …’ They were past.
Verity was shaking her head. She said, ‘I would really, really love to know how word gets around so quickly.’
She didn’t expect any answer. Sylvia said, ‘It is the mystery of our age, quite frankly, but it doesn’t matter. The thing is, we won’t be alone – the rest of the boaters will be on hand.’
They were smiling as they reversed into Ambrose’s space between Thomo’s Venus and the Mercys’ Lincoln. Ma Mercy was on the butty, York, and called across, ‘’Ow do.’ That was all, but the jerk of her head said more. They waited. ‘I ’as the clothes, I’ll chook ’em on yer butty counter.’
Verity said, ‘You’re all saints, you know. Thank you.’
Ma Mercy threw the package as Verity moored up and looked along the kerb. Mrs Holmes was walking slowly with Maudie. Dog leapt down next to Verity. ‘Quiet,’ Verity hissed. Dog seemed to know and just sat, though her tail was thwacking against the concrete. Mrs Holmes was carrying a string bag full of vegetables. ‘From the allotment,’ she called.
The pair drew nearer. Maudie was walking strangely sideways, as she had done at the home the day they visited; her head was down, too, as though she was looking for cracks through which she might fall, so tentative were her steps. She wore a headscarf that hid her long hair. Was this to disguise her? Verity wondered, as she waited. But hadn’t anyone told her that Leon was in custody? Ah, Maudie probably didn’t understand.
At last the pair reached them. Polly slipped down onto the kerb and stood beside Verity, before approaching her mother from the side, unwilling to scare Maudie, who stood, still looking at the ground. She was hunched, her hands clenched together in front of her, her feet pigeon-toed, as though every part of her was turned inwards. It was just as she had been in the relatives’ room at the home. It was a large comfortable room furnished with sofas, tables and newspapers.
The only thing Maudie had said, when she was asked if she’d like to go on the water in a narrowboat, was, ‘Yes.’
‘With these women?’ the doctor had asked.
Maudie had sat, looking at them through her hair, which she had pulled across one side of her face, like a curtain. The girls had wondered then if they should have worn skirts, as Maud didn’t like men. Maud had risen, walked across almost crabwise and picked up Verity’s hands. She had turned them palm upwards and run her fingers over the callouses. She had pushed aside the collar of her blouse and seen the healed blisters and callouses from hauling the boats on the Brum Bum. She checked the others, too.
She had then walked in that same crabwise way back to the sofa and sat down. She had looked at no one as she said, ‘Yes.’
The doctor had said, as they left, ‘She has the same blisters, scars and callouses. She recognises you as … Well, what?’ It was a genuine question.
It was Mrs Holmes who had said, ‘The boaters they are.’ She had tears in her eyes, and stood with them and whispered, ‘I didn’t know how hard you have worked, you see. I really didn’t know.’
Now Sylvia slipped past Polly and led Maudie to the butty, not touching her, but pointing the way, walking slowly at Maud’s pace. Mrs Holmes would travel by taxi to the Cowley lock and wait, in case Maudie preferred to leave the canal there.
Polly said quietly, ‘Thank you, Mum, for helping Saul’s family.’
Her mum hugged her, tighter than she had ever done. ‘You stay safe, and why wouldn’t we help – we’re all family after all. So, all of you, do your best for Maud if she wants to go on after Cowley lock. I’m banking on you, and so is the Hopkins family.’
Verity smiled, as she too was hugged. The two girls watched as Mrs Holmes turned on her sensible court shoes and walked away, the feather in her summer hat bobbing. Polly ran after her mother, spinning round in front of her. ‘I’ll do my best, Mum, just like you’ve done for me, all my life. I do know that, and I want you to know that I know.’
Her mum reached out her hand and touched her face. ‘You’re a good girl, Polly Holmes, a very good girl; you all are.’
On the counter of the Marigold Verity was about to unhitch the mooring strap, but catching sight of the bundle of clothes collected by the women boaters, she called to Polly, who had reached the motor and was on her way to the engine cabin, ‘Be back in a minute.’ She dashed down into the cabin, took money from the darts kitty and then climbed onto the butty counter and called, ‘’Ow do, Ma Mercy.’
Ma emerged from her motor cabin now, her arms covered in soapsuds. ‘’Ow do, lass.’
‘I’ve had a thought. Did Maudie knit, or do crochet?’
Ma Mercy shook off the suds and wiped her arms on her apron. ‘Crochet, I reckon, or as I remembers, anyhow.’
Verity reached out. ‘Have you a hook to spare, and wool?’ She had two shillings in her palm.
Ma looked at the money. ‘Aye, I ’ave, but ’tis a gift, lass. Yer put that away.’ She disappeared into the cabin and emerged again with a hook and wool. She stood there, casting on. ‘There, might trigger ’ow to do it. Seems to me minds get tired when life becomes over-full with nastiness, if yer get me meaning.’
Verity leapt onto Ma Mercy’s counter, as more doodlebugs scorched across the London sky and the ack-ack roared, and hugged the boater, who flapped at her as though she was an irritating bee. ‘Off yer go, get out o’ London, and be safe.’
Sylvia popped her head out of Horizon’s cabin. ‘Are we off? I think Maudie’s getting restless.’
Verity thrust the crochet at Sylvia. ‘Try her with this.’
Sylvia grinned. ‘Clever idea.’ She picked up the bundle of clothing, and disappeared back into the cabin.
They pat-pattered away from Bull’s Bridge, with the butty on a short tow rather than abreast, to give Maudie and Sylvia some quiet time away from the engine noise, and headed to Cowley lock, praying that no doodlebugs buzzed and roared near them. In no time at all Marigold was slowing for the lock and passing through the wide stretch. Beech trees lined the cut, as always, and the rich green leaves shimmered, as birdsong drifted on the wind.
Would Maudie come onto the counter to see and hear? Verity waved to Sylvia, who was steering the butty beneath the branches. Sylvia waved back, alone on the counter. Was Maudie hiding in horror, or sitting at peace? Sylvia gave a thumbs up. Ah, good. Polly was lock-wheeling and would be brought up to date when they were in the lock. As they entered the open lock, she looked behind as the butty fragmented the beech reflections. Was this how Maudie’s brain felt?
Marigold’s prow nudged the sill. Verity unhitched the short tow-rope as Horizon glided in alongside. As Horizon’s stern counter came parallel, she dared to snatch a look. Sylvia was on the tiller, but Maudie was standing on the top step, crocheting, her head back. She appeared to be almost smelling the slimy walls, as Polly closed the gates and opened the paddles.
The pair rose and suddenly Dog jumped from Marigold’s counter onto Horizon’s. Verity bit back her shout, fearing it would alarm Maudie more than Dog herself. Dog lay down on the butty roof. Sylvia looked from Verity to Maudie, her hands open in a question. Verity mouthed, ‘I don’t know.’
They waited as the boats rose. Polly was looking down, concerned, while her mother, who had arrived by taxi, stood with the lock-keeper. It seemed as though everyone was frozen, waiting. Slowly Maudie reached forward and touched Dog, who lay quite still. ‘Please don’t move, Dog,’ whispered Verity, feeling as though she was holding her breath. ‘Please, please stay calm, Dog.’
She snatched a look at Polly, and then at Sylvia, who stood near Maudie, ready to contain her if she leapt back. But instead the touch turned into a stroke. Then she presented her hand to Dog, who licked her. They heard Maudie say, ‘Good girl. Good, good girl.’
She resumed her crochet as the pair of boats continued rising until they were level with the upper cut. As Polly and the lock-keeper opened the top gates, Verity asked Sylvia, quietly, ‘Are you happy to keep going along with Maudie?’
‘Absolutely.’
Polly was waiting to set off on her bike to the next lock, and Verity gave her the thumbs up. Mrs Holmes, on the kerb by the lock-keeper’s office, waved, turned away and headed for the taxi that would take her to Waterloo and home, while Marigold and Horizon travelled on.
As the hours passed, slowly, very slowly Maudie’s shoulders lifted; her head, too, and the headscarf was removed and her hair blew in the breeze. They intended to eat in the Marigold’s cabin when they moored up near Leighton Buzzard, well out of range of the doodlebugs, but Maudie wouldn’t leave the butty. So instead Sylvia carried two plates of pheasant stew to Horizon’s cabin and ate with Maudie. Thomo would be pleased to learn of the clean plates that Sylvia returned, because he had taken the place of Saul as poacher of the cut.
Sylvia sat for a moment with the girls on Marigold’s counter, though Dog wouldn’t leave the butty-cabin roof. Verity rolled a cigarette for Polly, while Sylvia made her report, as Polly called it. ‘Maudie’s still very quiet, but as you saw, she stands on the counter, she accepts Dog, she crochets. She barely speaks, but she lifts her head and only shrinks occasionally. She has the cross-bed, while I have taken the side-bed. Perhaps we should call in at Aylesbury Arm on our return, whether we are to discharge a load there or not? After all, Saul says it gives Maudie peace. Have you written to him, by the way?’
‘Yes, I’ll post it when I can, but I’m not sure about Aylesbury.’ Polly lit the cigarettes. They all fell silent, thinking. She went on, ‘Might it set her off, because that’s where she was found?’
Verity said, ‘If we’re calling in at Buckby to take her to Granfer’s, why don’t we drop in on Fran? She’ll know, or if Bet catches up with us, we’ll ask her.’
They finished their cigarettes, sitting on the roof, and then settled down for the night, without Dog, who insisted on lying on the butty-cabin roof. ‘Keeping guard on the weakest of the pack,’ Polly murmured.
The two girls talked a little about Sylvia and her quiet compassion, and her strength, and realised that today neither of them had worried about their men. And finally they slept.
The next day took them towards Fenny Stratford, heading through the locks and on to Wolverton, Cosgrove and Stoke Bruerne, where Polly posted her letter to Saul and another to her mum. All the way they checked the bridges for children who would gob or shout, or hurl manure, which could upset Maudie and take her backwards. But all was well. The next day Blisworth Tunnel loomed, with its mile of darkness. Verity chewed her finger and Polly fretted. The only one who didn’t was Sylvia, who called across, ‘We must trust.’
‘In what?’ Verity called.
‘In whom,’ Sylvia corrected her.
Polly and Verity stood either side of the tiller as they entered the gloom, with the butty on tow. ‘Whom, eh?’ Verity said.
Polly replied, ‘Ah, yes, but one swallow does not a summer make. Sylvia never said she’d stopped believing in God, just that she didn’t know how far to take it, or I think that’s what she meant.’
They laid up after Blisworth, and again Dog slept on the roof; and again Sylvia took two plates of supper to her butty. In the morning the report was that Maudie had slept better and had prepared a cup of tea for them both, seeming to know where things should be kept. She had also taken it upon herself to light the oil lamp yesterday evening.
They climbed through the locks leading to Norton Junction, and instead of heading through the Braunston Tunnel and ultimately to Tyseley Wharf, they moored at the Buckby frontage. By now it was evening, and the glorious day had turned into a gloriously long evening. They explained to Maud that they had to give Dog a walk and would like her to come.
They set off, all five of them heading past Spring Cottage, where Fran was working near the hives. They called to her that they were walking Dog and might knock on the door later. She had obviously heard the news and waved her trowel. ‘It’s a nice walk, if you keep straight on. There’s a lovely vegetable garden that edges the road. You might find some people working it.’
They carried on, presuming this meant that Granfer and Auntie Lettie would be visible in their side-garden, and they blessed the speed of messages along the cut.
They passed cottages with their windows wide open, and children playing in the lanes. Maudie stopped to watch them, a puzzled look on her face. One boy in short trousers playing cricket called to a woman digging up potatoes in her front garden, ‘Can I have another half hour, Ma? I’ll get up for school, I promise.’
Maudie looked from the boy to his mother. Was she remembering Joe? The three girls stood with her. Maudie walked on with Dog at her side, her face blank. They saw Granfer in the distance, with Auntie Lettie. Dog rushed up, barking and wagging her tail. She rested her front paws on the rickety white picket fence, while Granfer and Lettie petted her.
Granfer called to the girls as they headed towards them, ‘Nice to see yer. Out fer a stroll, are yer? Marigold running nice, is she?’ He continued to pat the dog. Maudie took no notice of him and did not change her pace.
Sylvia answered as they drew closer, ‘Yes, she’s running well. We have Maudie to help. Did Seagull used to run well, Granfer, and Swansong, for you and Saul?’
Maudie kept walking until she was past Granfer and Lettie. Sylvia stopped, stroking Dog, while they all watched Maudie, disappointment in the air. Sylvia called to her, ‘Come and say hello to Lettie, if you want to. Then it’s time we returned to the boat, Maudie.’
Maudie turned and walked back, and everyone started talking about the garden. She stopped by Sylvia and looked at Granfer intently, and then at Lettie, then down at Dog and waited. Verity sighed and patted Granfer, as Maudie nodded and walked on, with Sylvia hurrying to catch her up, Dog at her heels.
Granfer said, ‘She didn’t flinch, and she looked, and I is a man. At t’home when I went to identify ’er she’d not look, just shrank and scuttled away. There be a reason; it be that darned Leon, and he ain’t comin’ back, so in time, lasses, in time …’ He petered to a stop and Lettie slipped her arm through his.
‘There now, young Artie.’
Verity and Polly looked at one another. It was so strange to hear that Granfer had a first name.
He said, ‘She’ll get better, our Maudie will, and I tells yer why. Cos she’s already better than she were. She walks upright, not like that damn crab thing she did. She’s unfolding into the light. I thanks yer from the bottom of me ’eart, yer lasses.’
Polly asked, ‘Should we take her down the Aylesbury Arm on our way back, because it was her favourite?’
‘Do what yer waters say, that’s the thing,’ Lettie said.
As they followed Sylvia, Polly slipped her arm through Verity’s. ‘Let’s get Maudie straight back. Fran won’t mind, and we don’t want to overload Maud; and as for the Arm, we’ll do as Lettie says.’
Verity smiled. ‘Ah, see what our water says, when we reach it on our return trip, eh?’
‘That’s the one.’