Free The Narrowboat Girl by Annie Murray Page B

said. ‘ Venezia .’
    ‘Bet our canals are a darn sight muckier,’ one of the boys said and the others laughed.
    ‘Well, perhaps. But they’re very dirty in Venice too, when you consider that everything gets tipped into them.’
    Everyone sniggered and made revolted noises. Venice didn’t really sound like a real place. Real life was contained in these streets of Ladywood, collecting pails of horse muck and jam jars
to sell for pennies. Maryann found herself smiling as she reached the path. Only two years ago that had been. Happy days. At school, and her dad and Nanny and Tiger all still alive. The smile fell
from her lips and her face took on the scowl it wore habitually now. People had commented for a while: teachers, Cathleen Black – ‘well, she don’t look any too ’appy
nowadays’ – even her own mom. Now they’d just got used to it.
    ‘I don’t know what’s come over you two girls,’ Flo complained to them. ‘There’s Sal with a face like a wet Sunday and now you’re even worse. And your
behaviour to Norman, Maryann – I didn’t know where to put myself.’
    She’d come back from the canal that night, leaving Tiger’s body with the cold companionship of the undergrowth and canal rats. They were all back by the time she got in. She had no
idea how long she’d wandered in the cold but it must have been longer than she realized. She expected Flo to scream at her – the usual ‘where’ve you been?’
– but they barely seemed to notice when she walked in. They seemed only just to have got in themselves: Flo cooking, Norman Griffin sitting by the fire, feet up on the fender, his presence
seeming to fill the room. Maryann slipped past and upstairs, where Sal was settling Tony and Billy. Tony was crying and without a word to each other the two sisters sat and tried to comfort
him.
    ‘It’s awright, Tony,’ Maryann told him, starting to cry again herself. ‘Nanna’s going to heaven to see God and Jesus and all the angels – and our dad
an’ all.’
    ‘Bu-b-b- . . . I wanna . . . I wanna see ’er!’ He was so bewildered, upset and tired.
    ‘I’ll see to ’im,’ Maryann whispered, and Sal nodded and got up, sniffing. Maryann could see from her expression that she’d been crying too. The children had all
been very fond of their Nanny Firkin. She’d always been good to them. Maryann expected Sal to go downstairs, but instead she went across and lay on their bed, the springs creaking as she sank
down on it and put her hands over her face.
    ‘And ’e took all Nanna’s cats away, and Walt, and I dunno where ’e took ’em!’
    ‘What’re you saying?’ Maryann turned to Sal.
    Sal raised her stricken face. ‘Norman took them outside and . . .’ She made a wringing movement with her hands. Maryann went cold.
    ‘Not Walt? Not all of them?’
    Sal nodded, glancing anxiously at Tony.
    Choking back her feelings, Maryann managed to sing a lullaby through her tears, stroking Tony’s head until his breathing changed and she could tell he was drifting off to sleep. Sal lay on
the bed, buried her head in her arms and shook with sobs. The smells of cooking floated upstairs: liver, potatoes, cabbage. The boys had had slops and if it had just been the family there
they’d have had the same, but Norman Griffin had to have his meat and two veg whatever the time of night. Maryann got up and went over to Sal, tapping her gently on the shoulder. It was like
after their dad died when they’d cried together up here and Maryann expected her to sit up so they could put their arms round each other. But instead Sal seemed to shrink from her.
    ‘Get off me!’ Her voice came out muffled but the venom in it was unmistakable. ‘Just don’t bloody well touch me.’
    ‘Please yerself,’ Maryann said, feeling more tears well in her eyes. Why was Sal being like this? And today, of all days, when they’d lost their nan? The two of them had always
been different and they’d always fallen