‘Then, we won’t see each other much more. Not like before. Not if you mean to keep your word,’ George says, frowning.
‘In a way I do, in a way it doesn’t matter any more …’
‘What do you mean? Come – come and sit down. You look sun struck!’ He tows her gently to the shade of the cabin, and they sit on the steps. ‘What do you mean, it matters not?’
‘George,’ Cat says. She looks at him, loves him; puts her hand on the rough skin of his jaw. ‘I can’t stay there any longer. Even though I can unlock my door at night now … I am still a prisoner. I will not tolerate the vicar turning his head away, as though I am some kind of filth! I will not tolerate being told where I must be, and how I must be, every sleeping and waking moment of my life! Even the vicar’s wife … though she thinks to help, still she would have me be a thoughtless drudge. She seeks to govern my thoughts and actions and I will … not … have … it! Not any more!’ she cries, shaking her head and thumping her bony knees with her hands as each word is bitten off. Her skin tingles where she strikes it, and she likes the feeling.
‘So, what are you saying?’ George is still frowning, still unsure of her, of himself.
‘I mean to leave. I will run away from there. There is only one thing I have to do, and it will be done soon. And then I shall disappear. Like a mist in the morning, like a spoken word. I will slip away from there and none of them will be able to stop me, or know where I’ve gone. Let them see then how they control me! How they own me! They do not! But where I go … where I go is up to you, George.’
‘Is that so?’
‘I will run, and when I do I will run straight to you, if you’ll have me. I won’t marry you, George, but I will stay with you, and be true to you. But this is the moment – now I must have your answer. And if not … if not … then I will run all the same, though it would break my heart, George. You would break my heart.’
‘I would not,’ he says, the words wrung tight, tension shaking them. ‘I would not for all the world, and you are mine, wife or no.’ He puts his hand behind her head, pressing their foreheads together so tight it half hurts. ‘So run, Cat. When you may. I’ll be waiting for you.’
Cat hears this promise and she smiles; she smiles and the smile goes right the way through her, like it hasn’t since she was a little girl. George kisses her but still she can’t stop, and the smile becomes a laugh, which passes to George. A laugh of relief, of simple joy.
‘Sweet Jesus, Cat – your kisses are salty today!’ George tells her. Her skin is sticky and pale with it.
‘Oh, I’ve been sweating like a pig since dawn first broke!’ She wipes her hands over her face again; but her hands are every bit as sticky, and grubby to boot.
‘What is this last thing you must do?’
‘I … can’t tell you. I hate to have a secret from you, but while I must return to that house, I must keep it. Once we’re away, I will tell you, I promise.’
‘Is this where the money is coming from?’ His voice is weighted with unease.
‘It is. And I’ve thought long about it, and I can tell you that it breaks no law. Don’t ask me any more about it yet, I beg you,’ she says, squeezing his hand. George raises their knotted fingers, kisses her delicate knuckles, and nods.
‘You would not give yourself to another man, would you, Cat?’ he asks softly. She grips his hand, as hard as she may.
‘Never, George. I swear it.’ Beneath the boat, the water laps with a sound like something softly tearing. In the shade of the trees its surface is black and emerald green, with silver slivers dancing all over it. Cat gazes at it with utter yearning. ‘How I long to see the sea again! I saw it once, when I was a child. So vast and open and … beautiful. I long to see it again. Can we? Though we’re not to wed, perhaps we could take a trip to the seaside, once I am away? What do you say?’
‘We shall go wherever you want to go, Black Cat.’ George smiles.
Cat takes a deep, happy breath. ‘Let’s swim,’ she says.
‘Swim? In the canal?’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s not that clean, love …’
‘It’s got to be cleaner than me right now.’
‘There are crayfish … and pike, and eels …’
‘Bugger the eels!’ Cat laughs. ‘Are you scared of an eel?’
‘No, not scared. Not scared, exactly …’ George hedges.
‘Good. Come on.’ She stands, holds out her hand to him. He takes it, allows himself to be towed to the very edge of the deck. The boat dips drunkenly with their weight. ‘Ready?’