Chapter 2

As it turned out, it was Dulcie who collected Rebecca to take her back to the Rectory. The girl’s face was still a rainbow of bruises, and she was obviously moving carefully. Dulcie was there when the doctor reassured Rebecca that her tests were clear. However, he did suggest a retest by the GP in about a month, then after six months. She would be sharing a room with Liina, though Liina usually slept in the children’s room. She was just happy to be in a safe, pleasant situation.

Dulcie had called Rebecca’s parents. It was clear, though, that there would be no understanding from them. All Dulcie could say was ‘if ever you change your minds, call me’.

It took a couple of weeks to settle the details, but Rebecca, suitably uniformed, bruises almost gone, started at The Plume School. Dulcie had had ‘words’ with the Principal, whom she had encountered before in relation to another ‘fostering’. As a result, he was sensibly receptive.

Rebecca, unprompted, accompanied Liina to church, where she was warmly welcomed. It was so different to her previous experience that she didn’t quite know what to make of it, and had several discussions with Dulcie about the ‘adiaphora’ (Martin Luther’s expression for things like candles and vestments which don’t really matter theologically).

As for me? I worked out the last few shifts, which included weekends, and transitioned almost seamlessly (from smart casual or scrubs to denim and a Breton cap) to my role as ‘mate’ on the barges as the season began. Images of the girl, bruised, assorted fluids on her face and in her hair, and different ones (though clearly the same person) from my dream, continued to intrude, though if I still dreamed of her I wasn’t aware of it.

The result was that I didn’t go to church until well after Easter. When I did, I recognised and was greeted by a number of familiar faces. I didn’t notice the pretty girl sitting with Liina, Peter and Sara, in a pew well back in the nave. At the end, I didn’t wait to cram into the Octagon to drink dreadful coffee, but rather left to return to Repertor at the quayside, just pausing to shake hands with Dulcie on the way out. As usual, there was a trickle of interested visitors, some of whom set off toward the Topsail office afterwards; perhaps they would book for a cruise or day-sail.

I’d just boiled the kettle for (another) mug of tea. Tea (sometimes coffee, but usually tea) is an essential part of a longer tour of a Thames barge. Tom Carmichael, one of the skippers, had been and gone to spend time with his wife and family.

“Ahoy!” That was a very distinctive voice. I almost ran up the companionway steps. It’s actually not really possible to really run up them. Dulcie was there, having negotiated the gangway to the deck of the barge with her two children and a young woman. It only took a moment for me to recognise her, her face indelibly etched into my memory. (Then I saw her face... ) I hope I managed to suppress my feelings.

“Dulcie!”

“Hello, Joe. You rushed off after the service. I wanted to introduce you to Rebecca. Rebecca, Joe Hancock. Joe, Rebecca Upthorpe.”

“Hey, Rebecca ... nice to, um, meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you too. Dulcie was telling me a bit about these ships.”

“A little, Joe. You know I’m no expert.”

“Want the ten-pee tour?”

Rebecca looked at Dulcie. “We’ve time, Rebecca,” she said. The girl nodded, so I began.

“These vessels carried cargo all around the east and south coasts, mainly in and out of London. Everything. Coal, grain, hay and straw, manure out of the city to East Anglian farms. Carried gunpowder, bricks, cement ... you name it. There are little forts all around the coast, built with bricks and mortar carried by barges, which were beached at high tide to unload. Let’s go forward. You’ll see the hatch-cover there ... Under there is passenger space now. Once, these barges carried about two hundred tons of freight.”

“Why don’t they any more?” Rebecca interrupted me. “Surely it’d be economical, using the wind for power? Ecological, too.”

“Good point,” I agreed. “Sailing barges were driven out of business in the fifties by motor-barges, which carried more and didn’t depend on the wind, were less affected by tides. Many sailing barges had their rigging removed and engines fitted, because the masts and rigging got in the way of loading and unloading, but the motor-barges carried three, four times the weight. They were designed to work like that, so were more efficient. The last sailing barge ceased trading in the sixties, I think.”

“That’s a pity.”

“Yes, it is. But profit – the bottom line – is everything these days. At least a few vessels still sail carrying passengers. I just love ‘em.” I moved on to the bow. “This is a staysail barge,” I pointed to the rust-red sausage of sail cloth dangling from the fore-stay. “Some barges have a bowsprit, which can be raised to make more space in harbour, then lowered when sailing to carry another sail.” I pointed at the next feature. “Anchor windlass. Hard work. Behind you can see the anchor chain, what we call ‘flaked down’ so it’ll run out easily when we need it. There,” I pointed again, “fo’c’sle hatch. That’s where the mate and sometimes a Third Hand live. Want to go down and look?” The little boy, Peter, didn’t wait for more permission, and clambered down the ladder, followed by Rebecca. The girl, Sara, though, clung to her mother.

Peter and Rebecca appeared again. “That can’t be comfortable,” she commented.

“It’s not bad.” I shrugged, and moved on, explaining as simply and briefly as I could the rigging, sails, lee-boards. They had another slightly longer look in the Master’s cabin, then accepted an offer of tea. The accommodation in the old cargo-hold is actually quite comfortable. I had the stove going in the saloon, and it didn’t take long to boil the kettle on the propane hob. “Of course,” as I handed out mugs of tea, “when these boats were trading, they didn’t have electric light, it was all paraffin lamps.”

We couldn’t sit around too long before the kids finished their juice and biscuits. Dulcie shook my hand with a smile and a ‘Thank you, Joe.”

Rebecca also shook my hand, though without a smile, but held it (I thought) longer than really necessary. “That was interesting. Thank you.”

And they departed. I went about my business on deck. A few people stopped to read the board and look at the barges, but didn’t cross over for a tour. Eventually, I fetched a book and sat on the hatch-cover to read it.

“Well, what did you think, Rebecca?”

“About?”

“The barges? The walk? Joe?”

“I enjoyed the walk, the barges were interesting...”

They were making their way back to the Rectory. As they left Mill Road, Dulcie said, quietly, “Joe is the one who found you and called an ambulance. He was quite worried about you.” She glanced at Rebecca, who had slumped, head down, and didn’t immediately respond.

Some distance further on, the girl said, “He knows what happened to me?”

“It was very obvious, and Joe’s a nurse. That’s why I came to see you.”

“Does everyone know?”

“Oh, no. I expect some in the congregation will have their suspicions, just because you’re living with me. But no-one will think less of you ... especially Joe.”

“If he’s a nurse, why is he working on the barges?”

“The barges don’t sail in the winter, just from about Easter until about October. Joe works for an agency during the off season.”

“Oh.”

They carried on back to the Rectory, where Sara had her afternoon nap and Dulcie, Rebecca, Peter and Liina played ‘snap’ until tea-time, an early tea so Dulcie could return to the church for Evensong.

Unusually, I went to church for Evensong. As I said before, I was an occasional attender at the morning service. I had, in fact, been confirmed as a teenager; my mother was one of those ‘pillars of the church’ women. Dad was less – much less – enthusiastic. When I left home I had no particular urge to continue attending church, just from time to time. Actually, one of the reasons I went to Saint Mary’s was Dulcie, who has a presence. Speaks very well, and ‘walks the walk’ as well. But why go to the evening service, when I’d been in the morning? Dunno.

It was ... enjoyable. Good singing, words not exactly timeless, but I had a sense of history stretching back hundreds of years. Dulcie’s sermon interesting, if not immediately relevant. At the end, Rebecca came over and sat in the pew next to me.

“Dulcie said you found me.”

“I did. Purely coincidental, that I was late home, passing at just that moment.”

“Dulcie said it wasn’t a coincidence, that God put you there at just the right moment.”

“That, I wouldn’t know.”

“She said you worried about me.”

“I did. Of course I did.” I saw her face... serious, pensive. She made my heart ache.

I haven’t described her, have I? That’s because her face, heart-shaped and sweet, is what my head, or my heart? Fixed on. Let me think. Fair hair, long and straight. I couldn’t see that when I found her the first time, it was dark and matted. Medium height, about five-five or so, Medium figure – I mean, all the right curves in the right places. Not big, you know, up top, but certainly nicely shaped. But saying all that, whenever I saw her, it was her face I saw, that I focussed on.

Rebecca speaks;