Canvey Island (7 page)

My father leant down so that he could speak directly into my left ear. His breath smelt of last night's beer. ‘I don't think Vi can hear that. It needs to be a bit louder.' Then he leant back up. ‘If you can manage that.'

Don't be sad for more than a day
, I heard my mother's voice.
Don't let the sun go down on your anger
.

‘Well?'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘And what are you sorry for?'

‘I'm sorry …' I stared down at Vi's shoes. They were black leather with silver buckles. I wondered if my father had cleaned them for her.

When I looked up Vi smiled before glancing away at the
television we'd bought for the Coronation. It was showing an advertisement for a Cross Your Heart bra.

‘It's all right, Len, the boy's said he's sorry.' She opened her arms. ‘Give me a cuddle, son.'

I couldn't work out which was worse: to be hit again, to inhale my aunt's perfume, or to be called son.

I walked towards her, concentrating on her right shoulder, refusing to meet her eyes.

‘Come to me, my darling.'

I noticed that her bosom had begun to crease with tidal marks. Even though I was in her arms, I could still see the slipping surface of her dress as I felt the pat of her hand on my back.

I returned to my room. Before the flood, my two greatest fears had been of darkness and of being left alone; now they were my only consolation.

That eating business was a right bugger's muddle and I didn't want Martin getting weirder as he grew up so I took him out fishing to toughen him up. The boat was an inshore trawler, thirty-two feet in length, and we'd been fishing off Holehaven for a couple of generations, ten miles upriver towards Foulness or downriver in the Mucking. We were after sprats in the winter and sole in the spring, pulling up the nets on a winch made from old car axles, gutting the catch on board and selling half of it to housewives on the wharf before packing the rest off to Billingsgate.

We set off before dawn. I told Martin he would have to help with the nets, gut the fish and keep a watchful eye on the weather. I showed him how to navigate through the buoys, avoiding the sandbanks and the treacherous currents, always aware of our position and the direction of the wind. I asked him to work out our course from the charts and how to navigate by moon and star. He asked all sorts of questions: who had drawn up these charts, how depths could be measured, who placed the buoys and installed the lights?

I kept my hands on the wheel and told him stories: of my own old dad working the smacks, keeping the fish alive and storing them in wooden tanks in the estuary ready for market; of the boat facing a wall of water which I thought she could never mount; of the beauty of cockle banks and phosphorescence at night.

The boat had a fair old history. Dad had even got it to Dunkirk and, despite being attacked by the enemy from the air, he had still
got men out: forty-three of them, and from the inner harbour no less.

I thought Martin would be interested in the war and how the soldiers had been saved but instead he asked if I'd ever taken his mother fishing and what she thought of it all.

He asked about her childhood on Canvey and what the island had been like when we were young. I told him how Lily had grown up on a farm and could remember when it was all fields and water, just as it must have been when the Dutch first came and reclaimed it from the sea. There wasn't even a bridge then, just a ferry at high tide and stepping-stones at low. I said how I'd courted her, bringing her wildflowers I'd gathered from the hedgerows: penny-cress, ragged-robin and shepherd's-purse. I even told Martin how I thought she liked George more than me.

‘Uncle George?'

‘He was a handsome man, old George, but she was too young for him and he couldn't wait. So I knew if I had a bit of patience I could win her over in the end.'

‘Was she beautiful?'

‘Of course. Carnival Queen, she was. Streets all lined with people in Dutch costumes waving and cheering. That was the year before I joined up. Long time ago now …'

‘I wish she was here, Dad …'

‘I don't think she'd like it very much. She never did like this boat, I'll tell you that. I think she was scared of it.'

There wasn't much of a wind, a light north-westerly, but it was getting colder and I was glad Martin had remembered his gloves. Normally his mother had to remind him about them. At least he was getting a bit more responsible now she'd gone.

I winched up the nets and the fish splayed down on to the deck.

‘You can sort and gut them for me, Martin. You know how to do that, don't you?'

‘Can I have bandages?'

‘What?'

‘Some of the women have bandages on their fingers. Then if they cut themselves it doesn't matter.'

‘But you're not a woman, are you, son? If you don't have bandages then you'll learn not to cut yourself.'

Martin pulled the fish away from the netting with his gloves on but took them off for the gutting. ‘It's freezing,' he said.

Cirrus clouds, a cold front approaching. Perhaps I shouldn't have taken him out. He was too young, but I wanted him to see what it meant to go out and earn money for a family. I wanted him to be proud of me and love me as much as he loved his mother even though you can't force these things.

‘Do you think you'll ever marry again, Dad?'

‘And why do you ask?'

‘Will Uncle George ever get better?'

I could see what he was getting at. ‘I'm quite happy as I am,' I said. ‘It's you I should be worried about.'

‘I'm all right, Dad.'

‘You tired?'

‘No,' he said but I knew he didn't mean it. Then he shivered. ‘Why do you do this, Dad?'

‘If I don't fish I get restless,' I said, trying to sound cheerful even though I didn't see why I had to justify myself. My old dad expected respect and he got it, but now it looked like I had to earn it.

‘I have to go out,' I said. ‘Sometimes I don't think I've got any blood. It's all just salt water.'

‘Do you ever jump in and have a swim about?'

‘Well, I don't know about that, Martin,' I said.

‘Can you swim?'

‘Your nan thought public swimming pools were dangerous …'

‘Why?'

‘Polio. She thought you could catch it bad in public places. That's why we never had any library books. Mam was frightened of the germs. Only time she took one out she put it in the oven to bake the infection away.'

‘So …'

‘No, Martin, I can't swim. But at least I get to drown quicker …'

We turned and headed back. I pointed out the curving sea walls of Canvey and their sand-banked breaches, the open throats of the rivers and the creeks with boats waiting to cast off. The first oil tanker of the day steamed past on its way to Coryton.

We docked by the landing jetty at Holehaven and unloaded our catch into crates of ice. Some of the women were waiting with the
fish merchants, their wicker baskets at the ready. I remembered helping my own dad between the wars, putting the boxes in a barrow and pushing it right across the island to the station at Benfleet. Martin used the same barrow to earn a bit of extra money taking holidaymakers' luggage from the bus stop down to the camp at Thorney Bay – sixpence a bag, he charged.

‘If I don't watch out you'll soon be earning more than me,' I said.

Once we'd tidied up the boat we went to the pub for a pint. Martin had hot Vimto and a full English to get some warmth into him. I asked him if he could imagine being a fisherman himself and taking over from me, keep his dad going in his old age.

‘Is that why you brought me?'

‘I only asked because I wanted to see what you thought you were going to do with your life.'

‘I'm going to stop water,' he said.

‘And how are you going to do that, son?'

‘I don't know. But I will. I'm going to stop it all.'

Just when I thought I was getting through to him he came out with a remark like that. God knows what he meant.

It got to the stage where the pressure of looking after my husband became so difficult that it was almost impossible to carry on and so Len and I found a home that could take better care of him. We both knew that George would be happier with proper nursing and we could always take him out for day trips to give him a bit of company when he needed it.

The woman at the home was a bit off when we came to sort it out but I told her it was going to be best for all of us and once I'd paid a cash deposit she didn't take it further. I visited twice a week and George and I sat in the garden when the weather was clement. He liked it out there because it could be a bit depressing indoors. The window in his room was that bit too high so he couldn't quite see out of it but as it looked out on the back it didn't really matter.

Meanwhile Len and I got on with our lives. Neither of us was getting any younger and so I told him that it was only right that he should take care of me. There was hardly going to be anyone else at this stage of the game.

‘I'll look after you anytime, old girl …' he said.

‘Less of the old, dear,' I said.

He laughed but the joke was wearing a bit thin because it had been a while since men had stopped speaking when I walked down the street. I had to make a bit more of an effort with my appearance. It was getting to be hard work just to look decent.

Lily had the right idea, of course, having a child as soon as she
could and then dying before she lost her looks. Sometimes I worried I was going to turn into one of those childless women I'd always dreaded, putting on a brave face, making the best of things with the past behind me, looking after an invalid husband and everyone giving me pitying looks. That's another reason why George had to go. I couldn't take the embarrassment.

When Len and I were out and people thought I was Martin's mother, I could almost believe that we were a family and that I'd done it after all. I could see strangers watching us and thinking,
They're all right
. Sometimes I thought it would be easier if George was gone, and then Len and me could be together, but it was terrible to think in that way. Imagine wishing your husband dead.

But whenever I tried to look smart and went out for a dance with Len we got these catty looks. At first I thought it was jealousy because not many couples could match our triple chassé round a corner in the quickstep, but it soon became apparent that it wasn't that at all. It was because people thought we were enjoying ourselves that bit too much.

Well, if they were going to talk, I thought I might as well give them something to talk about. Len and I had never got round to any of that saucy business in the past – well, not properly, because Martin was always snooping around – so we'd had all of the gossip and none of the pleasure.

So eventually I decided enough was enough. I told Len to smarten up and come round for an intimate birthday dinner at my house. It would make a change from the two of us going out for a meal in a restaurant and we could take things at our own pace. I would make sure that everything was right and then, at the end of the evening, we would be ready for each other.

The day before the meal I went to London and made a treat of it, shopping, meeting a friend for lunch and having my hair done (restyled, swept back, a hint of titian in the colouring; I wasn't going to be one of those women who dye their hair so black it looks purple). I went to Dickens & Jones and bought a new brassière, a girdle, suspenders and a couple of pairs of stockings in case I laddered one of them. I wanted underwear that looked good
underneath but which could still give pleasure when the clothes came off.

The colour scheme, I decided, was going to be silver and pink. I bought a rose chiffon blouse and found the shoes and the lipstick to match. Then there was a grey pleated cashmere skirt with a zip down the side that would be easy enough for Len to locate should he so desire.

On the day itself I made sure that as much of the food as possible could be prepared in advance. I didn't want to have to change at the last minute or spend time cooking while leaving Len alone in the living room. We were going to have salmon with new potatoes and green beans, followed by summer pudding, keeping the pink theme going. I didn't want a heavy dessert like a pie or a trifle because I wanted Len to have some appetite left at the end of the meal.

I put on some music to relax as I laid out the pink candles and the silver napkins. Len was a bit late which suited me because when he arrived everything was ready. He was wearing a navy-blue blazer and had done his hair so that he smelt nice and clean, of hair oil and cologne, and I knew I'd been right to make such an effort. He was impressed with the preparations and soon we settled down and laughed and felt at home.

When we had finished the meal I asked Len to move over to the settee and he looked a bit surprised, saying that he was quite happy staying at the table.

‘Come on, Len,' I said, ‘let's make ourselves comfortable.' I took off my shoes and sat down next to him.

‘Isn't this the time to open my present?'

I thought of joking, pretending there wasn't one. ‘It's here,' I said. Even the wrapping paper was silver.

‘Looks a bit thin,' he said. ‘I wonder what it is.'

‘You'll have to open it.' My voice had gone high, and there was a slight laugh that I didn't know I had.

‘What's this then?' Len asked, tearing open the paper.

‘What do you think?'

‘These are empty packets of women's underwear. Suspenders and things. What would I want with all that? Are you having a laugh?'

‘Haven't you guessed?' I said.

‘What do you mean?'

He looked a bit scared.