Eyes You Could Drown In

Lizzie’s father, Josiah, unties his neckerchief and wipes the sweat from his forehead. She knows he’s trying to ignore the perspiration dripping down his back as he winds the rack and pinion to lift the paddle which will allow water to drain from the lock, bringing them downhill. It should be her brother, Daniel, doing this and Joss should be leading the horse, but Dan has a sore head from a surfeit of ale last night and her da doesn’t trust him to do the job properly. He could ask Lizzie, but she’s as slender as Dan is stocky – although recently, she’s developed curves. 

As she waits patiently with the shaggy grey mare, her mind lingers on the redheaded boy she’d seen in the crowded public house they’d visited the night before. At nineteen, she is ripe for falling in love. The boy had been staring at her across the room, his eyes lingering appreciatively on her. She’d pretended she hadn’t noticed, but something had fizzed inside her: a spark of something she couldn’t quite define.

The boat is at the right level. Lizzie walks the horse down the slope of the towpath to meet her father. He re-hitches the horse, patting the velvety nose and whispering endearments. Lizzie wishes the redheaded boy was here to whisper to her but she’s a little vague as to the actual words. “I’ll take him now,” her father says. “You go and help your mam with the dinner.”

Lizzie helps her mother cut bread and cheese and pile them on tin plates. Kate brings out a stone jar of the chutney she made last autumn and Lizzie spoons it onto the plates. It smells of tomatoes and apples and vinegar. She remembers picking the apples at a farm they’d delivered to but not where the farm was. She hadn’t really been paying attention.

              “Go and wake your brother,” her mother says. “He must have slept off his headache by now.”

              Lizzie knows that her father thinks her mother too soft on Dan. “If he can’t hold his beer, he shouldn’t drink so much” is what he often says.

              Nevertheless, she pushes aside the blanket hanging from the ceiling that divides the cabin into living and sleeping quarters. Dan is in the bottom-bunk – the one he shares with his father. She has fond childhood memories of when she and Dan had the top bunk together before they grew too old to share. They’d spend hours pretending it was a castle and they were locked in the tower. Back then, he was her best friend and she was his; but as the years have gone by, his fondness for her has turned to indifference, and she doubts now whether he’d spring to her rescue if he thought she was in danger.

              “Dinner’s ready,” she says.

              His green eyes meet hers. “Any meat?”

              “Just cheese. Pa asked around last night but he couldn’t get any.”

              They’re both used to their nomadic existence by now: stopping one night here, another night there; picking up whatever food is available. Water gypsies, some people call them, but it’s a name they don’t like.

              Dan sighs and heaves himself out of bed, taking care not to bump his head on the bunk above. “Where are we now? Have you been taking much notice?”

              “I think Pa said Tardebigge.” She’d been too busy daydreaming of love to pay attention to where they were. “We should get to Worcester the day after tomorrow.”

In winter, she hates the long, drawn-out journey time, but in summer, it’s different. She would happily spend weeks travelling to their destination, enjoying the buzzing of dragonflies and the balmy evening air.

They’ve almost reached the next lock when they spot the tinker. He’s following the canal path on foot, his gaudy neckerchief and bright red cap announcing his status as much as the bag of tools slung over his shoulder. Joss doesn’t trust tinkers, but he nods to the dark-haired stranger as they pass. He seems surprised when the man calls out to him, “Any room for a passenger? I can help with the boat, and I’ll mend any pots and pans in need of repair.”

              Liz looks up at the sound of the Irish lilt. This man looks only a little older than Dan. His dark, curly hair tumbles across eyes she could drown in, and she now knows the name of that undefined feeling. It’s desire.

Against his better judgement, Joss agrees to the proposal. There’s a hole burnt into the bottom of one of Kate’s cooking pots, and it won’t do any harm if the fellow looks at the kettle as well. And if Dan drinks too much tonight, the tinker can open the locks the following day. 

              “Many thanks to you all,” the man says, shaking hands with Joss and looking at Liz in a way that makes her blush. “Will I walk a while with the horse for you? You know what they say about tinkers and horses.”

“Horse thieves, the lot of ‘em,” Dan mutters under his breath, but the tinker chooses not to hear. He hefts his bag of tools onto the deck and asks where he should store it.

Kate shows him the cabin and says his things will be out of the way there but that he’ll have to sleep on deck. She’s seen the way he looks at her daughter and the way Lizzie’s eyes seem brighter than usual and her cheeks more flushed.

“Sure, and that’ll be grand,” the irrepressible young man tells her. “I’ll feel like a baby being rocked to sleep by the water.”

He’s full of charm, this one, but Kate doesn’t trust him an inch.

From the boat, Lizzie watches the easy gait of the man with dark curls and laughing eyes. Her heart swells with romantic notions of gypsy fiddlers under starry skies and herself sitting on the steps of a caravan, dandling a baby on her knee. If this man asked her to run away with him, she knows what her answer would be.

When she jumps onto the towpath to take her next turn at leading the horse, the tinker gives her a slow, lazy smile. Self-consciously, she starts fiddling with her hair, twirling a long, dark strand around her forefinger. She can feel his eyes watching her and the heat that suffuses her face has nothing to do with the sun overhead.

“You’ve a lovely pair of green eyes, so you have,” he says easily, matching his steps to hers.

She blushes again at the compliment, too tongue-tied to make a verbal reply.

He walks with her for another mile or so until her father calls him onto the narrow boat to look at her mother’s pots and pans. She knows it’s his way of parting her from Michael – he wants something better for her than a tinker; but she’s already lost her heart to the stranger’s riotous curls and his slow, lazy smiles; and when his hand had stolen around her waist as they walked along, she had let it stay there. He’d wooed her with his words as well, the Irish charm dripping from his lips every time he opened his mouth; and as for those eyes… She’s been drowning since he first looked at her.

When they dock for the night, Josiah’s in two minds about visiting the public house. He thinks of Lizzie and the way he’s seen men’s eyes lingering on her – she’s innocent enough to let her head be turned by male attention. And then he thinks of the Irishman and the feeling of unease that’s been hovering over the narrow boat ever since he stepped on board, and the disquietude threatens to suffocate him. No, better take her with him – better take them all. He doesn’t trust the tinker with his wife or his daughter and certainly not with his boat. He’d put him back on the towpath now were it not for the stories told about gypsy curses.

In the pub, Dan watches his sister, his expression dark. She and the tinker are making a good job of acting like strangers, but he saw the fellow’s hand on his sister’s waist earlier today and the bile still rises in his throat at the thought of it.

Some of the patrons have begun singing – old Midlands music hall songs he’s heard before. After a momentary lull, a lone voice starts singing and the words and the notes give Lizzie goosebumps because the song Michael’s singing is for her, she’s sure of it.

              “Take pity and grant my desire,

              And leave me no longer in woe;

              Oh! love me or else I’ll expire...”

He’s looking in her direction as he sings, his fine tenor voice caressing her heart just as his hand caressed her waist earlier, and she knows she’s in love with him.

Slipping away from her family, she steps outside for a breath of air, not wanting her parents to see how this man’s song is affecting her. She takes a moment or two to still her heart, but she’s drowning in desire.

              She turns at the sound of footsteps behind her. “Did you not like my voice, then?” he asks. “Or was it the song?”

              He is so close to her that she can smell the beer on his breath; almost hear his heart beating in time with her own.

              “The song was beautiful,” she says. “And you have a lovely voice.”

              He steps closer still, his face moving towards hers, and then he’s kissing her, his lips warm and soft against her own, and she thinks she will die from happiness.

It seems only seconds elapse before they hear the sound of others coming outside. He breaks away from her, giving her a rueful look.

The next day, desire hovers between them, as potent as the August heat, but they have no time to be alone together for her mother decides she needs Michael to mend an old flat iron in the cabin and her father tells her to look after the horse. It’s as if her parents know...

Under the pretext of needing a handkerchief, she enters the cabin. He looks up from the heavy piece of metal and the slow, lazy smile returns to his face. “You know I want to kiss you again,” he murmurs. “I can’t stop thinking about your lips.”

That evening, Lizzie pleads a headache when the others are going out. Kate eyes her daughter suspiciously: she remembers what it’s like to be young.

“Stay here with your sister,” she tells Dan. She and Joss will take Michael with them. He can eye up someone else’s daughter tonight.

Dan sulks at first. He knows why his mother wants him to stop on the boat but he’s angry with the tinker and with Lizzie too. He should be out drinking, not playing nursemaid.

              Lizzie lies on her bunk, her eyes closed. He listens for the heavy, even breathing that will tell him she’s asleep. Dare he leave her, just for a while, so he can go in search of a cup of ale? He can be there and back before Lizzie wakes up or his parents come home.

Lizzie waits until she hears the light thud of Dan’s feet as he jumps ashore, then opens her eyes and sits up. She can’t go looking for Michael, but will he find a way to return here for her?

Leaving the cabin, she stands on the deck, counting the stars and remembering the feel of Michael’s lips on hers. A sliver of moon stands in the sky and its pale beams hit the water, breaking into hundreds of tiny ripples. It seems a night made for romantic assignations.

She has been there a while, daydreaming, when she feels the familiar touch of hands stealing around her waist, followed by kisses, slow and steady, on the nape of her neck. Within moments, he’s turned her to face him and his lips are on hers. Blood rushes in her ears; her own heartbeat is deafening. She abandons herself to passion and kisses him back.

After a while, he takes her hand and leads her to the cabin. Pushing aside the blanket-curtain, he pulls her towards the wide bottom-bunk. “Let’s make ourselves more comfortable,” he says.

He lowers his weight on top of her, his hand stroking her face, his voice whispering endearments. His kisses are more potent than the sweet brown ale she supped last night; more intoxicating than the strong, dark Burton that’s her father’s favourite tipple. But as his hand begins to slide its way beneath her skirts, she tries to fend him off.

“You know you want to…”

The laughter’s gone out of his eyes. He wants her, and it seems he won’t take no for an answer.

She struggles but his hands are pinning her down. She stiffens with shock; still he continues. She’s drowning once more, but this time, it’s fear that overwhelms her and not desire. She needs to stop him, but she is as powerless as a narrow boat without a horse.

              Tears are running down her cheeks now. Her voice escapes in frightened gasps, begging him to stop.

Suddenly, the cabin door bangs and the blanket is pushed aside once more as Dan bursts in on them. “Get off my sister!” he bellows.

Startled, Michael looks up. Hastily rebuttoning his breeches and springing to his feet, he edges away from Dan and the murderous look in his eye.

“I want you off this barge now!”

Michael turns as if to leave then suddenly lunges for Dan, catching him off guard. The two men fall to the floor, grappling like wrestlers at a county fair. Lizzie sits upright, watching them with horror. This is all her fault.

Her brother and her would-be lover writhe and roll so that first Michael is uppermost and then Dan. She needs to stop this, but what can she do? She runs past them, pulling aside the blanket, and nearly trips over Michael’s bag of tools lying next to her mother’s mended flat iron.

Gazing back, she sees a glint of steel. The tinker has a knife. Wanting only to protect her brother, she seizes the huge, heavy flat iron and swings it at Michael. It catches the side of his head and he slumps to the floor. Blood trickles from a gash; his eyes are lifeless.

Lizzie stares at her handiwork in horror. What has she done?

Dan scrambles to his feet. “He was only a tinker,” he says harshly. “He won’t be missed.”

Blood rushes in her ears once more. She has murdered a man. Guilt overwhelms her, threatening to drown her.

“We can’t leave him there.” Dan’s eyes do not meet hers. “We’ll have to dump his body – push it over the side.”

Tears fill her eyes. The body when she touches it is still warm and soft. She tries not to think of his arm round her waist, of his lips gently kissing hers. Bile rises in her throat and she jerks away from the corpse. “I can’t touch it again,” she says.

“You have to.” Dan’s boyhood softness is gone: it’s a man who stands before her, taking charge, making decisions. “We should put something heavy in his coat pockets to weight him down,” he says next. “So he sinks.”

In the tinker’s tool bag they find bits of lead and Dan claims they’ve been stolen from a church roof somewhere. “He was the sort of man to take whatever he wanted.”

She knows his words are a veiled reference to her own stupidity and to what nearly happened to her.

They’re filling the dead man’s pockets when their parents return. At the sight of the corpse, Kate lets out a half-scream, only to be shushed by Joss. “For God’s sake, woman! Do you want the whole countryside to come running?”

              “It was an accident,” Dan says quickly. “He was trying to take Lizzie – to make her…” His voice tails off.

              Lizzie feels her cheeks burning once more. She knows she has brought this on herself.

              “I didn’t mean to kill him.” The words seem to be coming from somewhere far away. “But he was attacking Dan and I was scared and–“

“You did what you had to do.” Her father’s face is as hard as her brother’s. “He’s not an innocent man. He tried to force you.”

But she thinks she detects disgust in his expression.

Before they tip him over the side, her mother picks up the flat iron. “This’ll help,” she says. “I can’t look at it anymore – I’ll always be reminded. Besides, it’s evidence.” She points at the stain on the heavy piece of metal. “At least he won’t have family looking for him,” she says after a pause.

              She’s right: no one will mourn the loss of a tinker.

              Taking a limb each, they half-lift, half-drag him to the side of the boat then watch him topple into the water.

Lizzie can’t sleep afterwards. Her mind still relives his whispered endearments, his slow, lazy smiles. She closes her eyes and feels his lips on hers; tastes the jolt of desire his kisses awakened.

Somewhere, it had all gone wrong. She thinks of her father and her brother and the disgust on their faces. It wasn’t just the tinker they were angry with.

What would have happened if her brother hadn’t come back when he did? If she hadn’t felt frightened but had let Michael have his way?

If ifs and ands were pots and pans

There’d be no need for tinkers.

The rhyme rattles round in her head. Ifs and ands won’t save her now. The man she’d imagined running away with lies under the water, and every time they sail from Birmingham to Worcester or back again, she’ll be reminded of his dark, curly hair and eyes she could have drowned in.