I broke the surface of the river. I coughed. The roast pork and river water shifted in my stomach. I wanted to open my eyes and move my arms and legs, but the river had made me heavy. Water swilled in and out of my ears. I could hear the heavy, dull thud of my heart, then came the sound of watermen calling for trade and the rush of the tide. I stopped moving. I hadn’t thought that Heaven would sound like Southwark.
“Eve?” Was that Mama’s voice?
Then a man. “Pass her up!”
Strong hands on my waist lifted me and other hands grabbed my wrists and heaved. The wind bit through my wet clothes and my face and arms prickled with the chill. My knees knocked something hard and the pain made me open my eyes. The world was a blur. They laid me across cold, wet wood and I curled myself into a ball.
“She’s alive!”
That wasn’t Mama. I wanted her. I didn’t care if we were in Heaven or still on Earth, but I wanted Mama now.
“Help me.” That was Mama.
My floppy neck wouldn’t let me turn to see her. My heavy arms wouldn’t let me help her. I heard a scrambling and the boat rolled to the side. I tumbled off the bench and into a pool of water at the bottom of the boat.
“Mama?” My voice was too weak to come out of my mouth.
“Eve? Mpendwa, I’m here.”
A stub of candle glowed on the dresser. I breathed in its meaty tallow smell. I was in bed, Mama’s and my bed. I recognized the dip of the mattress. Even if Mama and I started off at opposite edges of the bed, we always ended up cuddled together in the middle. I stretched out my foot. My toe touched the small rip in the linen that I dared not poke in case I made it bigger. Gradually my eyes became used to the light. A small fire glowed in the hearth. We didn’t often have fires. It was cheaper to warm ourselves downstairs and then race back to our room, bringing the warmth with us. I caught the thick, sweet smell of drying clothes.
There was a shadow sitting by the dresser, a Mama-shaped shadow. I’d always know that shape. Mama raised her arm and wiped her eyes. I heard her sniff and make a tiny sound like a sob. I wanted to shrug off the blanket, roll off the bed and go to comfort her, but my legs felt like they were still under the water, my eyes too. My eyelids drooped and when I woke up it was light.
My clothes were draped over the bedstead. I touched them. They were dry and smelt of wood smoke. I managed to sit up, though the inside of my head was still watery and when I breathed in, it felt like I was being poked with pins. I lay back down and stared at the brown water marks spreading down the walls from the eaves. I licked my dry lips. I tasted salt. Someone had fought the river for me. That someone was Mama.
I must have fallen asleep again because this time when I opened my eyes, Mama was sitting on the bed looking at me. She smiled.
“How are you?”
My stomach churned every time I moved and my mouth tasted like I’d eaten a dead rat. I was alive, though. She stroked my cheek.
“Perhaps this will help?” She handed me my poppet. Its clothes were streaked with dirt and it had lost its hair and bonnet. “You dropped it in the boat before you went over.”
I took it. “I told you it was lucky,” I said.
Mama smiled. “Hopefully, more luck will be coming our way. Get dressed, Eve. We have to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“Just get dressed, my darling.”
My clothes were stiff from the river’s mud even though Mama had tried to beat it out. She sprinkled a little of the scent she’d found in one of the rooms a few weeks ago over them. She made me wash my face in the bowl on the dresser, then washed her own.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
She turned to me. Water dripped off her hands and chin and for a moment I shivered, thinking of her throwing herself into the river after me.
“To see a man who would like to say sorry.”
“Mama?”
“Get dressed, Eve.”
The streets were busy and last night’s rain had left the cobbles covered in slops. We headed towards Long Southwark and away from the river. I was happy with that. Just hearing the splash of it against the bridge and the watermen’s calls was making my stomach churn again. We stopped outside the Tabard Inn. He was waiting for us there. Who else could it have been? Of course, the man. The man. The man who had made me fall in.
He was older than Mama, much older. Maybe as old as Mistress Horstead’s mother, who Mama said must be at least sixty. He was wearing dark leather breeches, woollen stockings and short leather boots that looked like they’d travelled more than even Mama. His shirt was white and stained, with a leather jerkin over the top. His grey curly hair was topped with a dark cap. The face underneath looked like someone had grabbed its skin and crumpled it together with an extra hard pinch for its nose. It was as red as sunset. The man’s hands hung by his side and I noticed that half the little finger on his right hand was missing.
He nodded at Mama and she nodded back. He looked down at me.
“I’m glad you’re recovered,” he said.
He was glad? He should be glad! It was his fault that I’d nearly died
