Pattern of Shadows (19 page)

She would never forget his words. ‘You must be joking! I haven’t finished with her yet. Not by a long way.’

The burnt out coals settled softly in the fireplace, smothering the last tiny flames. In the dark Ellen felt rather than saw him move away from her. She turned her head as the harsh snap of the latch broke the silence, watched his shadowy figure as he shrugged on his coat. Tears scalded her eyes and she gave a loud hiccupping sob. How could he? How could he lie? Bastard …

He didn’t look back as he closed the door.

Mary waited a few more minutes but the moment had gone; whatever Ellen had intended to say, she’d obviously decided not to. It wasn’t important. After a while Mary said again, ‘It’ll be all right. But we’ve got to tell Mam and the sooner the better.’

Jean tucked Mary’s scarf into her coat and adjusted her hat lower on her head. ‘You look after yourself. You’re bearing the brunt of all this. Now, mind how you go, it’s slippery out there.’ She opened the front door. ‘Remember what Patrick said about us helping out.’

‘I meant it; if you need anything just ask,’ her brother said, leaning over Jean’s shoulder. ‘And when you do decide to tell Dad about Ellen, let me know and I’ll be there in case he kicks off. Just remember, huh?’

Marriage had certainly improved Patrick. ‘Thanks.’ Mary gave him a quick smile but doubted she would; another fight was all they needed and perhaps all her brother wanted to prove to his father was that he could no longer rule the roost unopposed. She pushed away the cynical thought, no, it was that, perhaps for the first time in his life, Patrick was content. Still she wasn’t chancing anything. Jean had been through enough, which was why she hadn’t told Jean that the business with Frank was getting worse and she was becoming more scared. Patrick might seem calmer, but she knew he would beat the living daylights out of his former drinking pal if he knew. It must be bad enough him seeing Frank and Bill together in The Crown.

‘I will. But keep it to yourselves for now, won’t you? I tried talking to her, but we still don’t know if she’ll keep the baby yet and if she decides not to Dad doesn’t need to know. It seems to be a decent place from what she said and she sounded all right. I think it helped making
friends with her roommate so quickly. I’ll let you know more when she rings next week.’ Mary stepped on to the pavement clutching the wall of the house to stop herself sliding. ‘Don’t stand on the step, you two, you’ll freeze.’ She smiled at them. ‘And don’t leave it too long before you tell Mam your good news either, it’ll cheer her up.’

‘We just want to leave it until we know everything’s going to be fine, especially after last time,’ Jean said. ‘You sure you don’t want Patrick to see you home?’

‘Don’t be daft, no point in him going out in this as well.’

The sleet, driven by a biting wind stung her face. She pulled the woollen scarf up over her nose, gingerly picking her way along Shaw Street.

It would be nice for Mam to have some good news after the last two weeks; Mary knew she’d been frantic with worry. Ellen had left home, leaving her parents a note to say she’d had the offer of a better-paid job in a factory in Shrewsbury, but Mary was still unsure whether she would keep the baby.

‘God I’m frozen,’ Mary said, resting Ellen’s suitcase on the porter’s trolley and stamping her feet on the platform. ‘We’ve been here nearly an hour.’

‘I couldn’t stand it in the house any longer. I was terrified Dad would come home and catch us.’ Ellen chewed the skin at the side of her thumbnail and looked up at the large station clock. ‘It should be here in ten minutes, anyway.’

‘We could have gone into the waiting room.’ Mary jigged up and down and banged her gloved hands together. ‘Aren’t you cold?’

‘I can’t remember the last time I was warm.’ Ellen glanced towards the steamed-up window of the little building that was crammed with people. ‘But I’m not going in there to be skenned at.’

‘Nobody would be looking at you, why would they? Anyway you’re muffled up to the eyebrows; nobody could tell.’

‘Huh!’ Ellen puffed out a small cloud of white air, nodding towards the suitcase. ‘Somebody would have something to say.’ She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I’ll miss you, Mary. I am sorry about … everything, you know.’

‘I know, love. And there really is no need to go yet,’ Mary said. ‘You’re only four months, you’re hardly showing.’ An unwelcome thought rose up: look what had happened to Jean at this stage of her pregnancy. Please God, don’t let me wish that on Ellen, Mary thought.

‘Showing enough.’

‘Are you sure the home will take you in this early?’

‘Yes, I checked.’

All at once a shrill whistle accompanied an increasing regular pound of metal on rails.

‘Mary!’ The expression of panic on Ellen’s face reflected on her sister’s.

‘You’ll be all right.’

‘I’ll be all right.’

They spoke together and gave a strained laugh.

‘You do know you can come home if you don’t like the place?’

‘Give my love to Mam, promise not to tell Dad, tell Tom I’ll write. Was he very cross with me?’

‘I’ll tell Mam … I promise … course he wasn’t,’

There was no more time; the wheels grated, screeched to a halt. The waiting room door was flung back and people pushed past the two girls standing together, arms around one another.

‘Come home.’ Mary pushed a strand of Ellen’s hair behind her ear. Her cheek was icy cold.

‘I can’t.’ Tears poured down her face. ‘I can’t.’

‘If you change your mind about keeping the … it …’

‘I won’t.’

‘Write!’

‘Write, too!’

Then Ellen was gone. Mary watched the train struggle away from the platform. Steam covered her feet.

Thinking about it now Mary could almost taste the acrid smell of smoke left behind by the train.

It wasn’t that far from Moss Terrace but by the time she turned into the alley Mary was frozen and breathless and her scarf was stuck to her mouth. Jean was right, she would be taking the responsibility for everything, but she had no choice. She’d promised Ellen it would be all right, but she knew that the consequences of her sister’s actions would, as usual, affect them all.

She paused for a moment, looking along the terrace. The blackout curtains had been removed with a collective sigh of relief and the cloak of darkness driven away by flickering fires and forty-watt bulbs.

It also meant there were less shadows for Frank to hide in.

Next door’s bedroom light lit up the back gate which hung drunkenly on one hinge. Mary stepped cautiously over the splintered wood and looked around the yard.
Although the corners were crusted white, the flags were slushy with melted sleet and in the centre the sunken grid was overflowing. As though her feet weren’t wet enough, she thought. There didn’t seem to be anything else wrong but, unusually for this time of night, the house was in darkness.

Her father and mother were sitting at the table. The fire was out and the room felt as cold as outside.

‘Mam? What is it? Is it Tom, Ellen?’ Mary switched the light on. She could see her mother had been crying. ‘What’s wrong?’

Bill shoved his chair back and it crashed to the floor. ‘What’s wrong? What’s bloody wrong?’ he yelled, ‘I’ll show you what’s soddin’ wrong.’ He leapt at her, fist raised, and knocked her to the floor. He stood over her. ‘Don’t get up,’ he bellowed. ‘Don’t get up or by God I’ll kill you; you and that slut of a sister of yours if I ever get my hands on her.’

‘That’s enough.’ Winifred pushed him. He grabbed her, his fingers round her throat and forced her backwards until she was pressed against the sideboard.

Holding the back of her head, Mary got on her knees, squeezing her eyes closed. She hung on to the armchair and hoisted herself to her feet; looking around in bewilderment. She saw the two figures struggling and launched herself across the kitchen at him. ‘Let her go.’ She clung round his neck, taking him by surprise and they swung from left to right as they staggered backwards around the kitchen, banging into the furniture. He was smaller than her but she felt the strength in his fingers as he forced her arms apart and flung her away. She tripped over the hearthrug and fell, half under the table. As he
came at her again, she scuttled backwards, reached up and grabbed the back of the cutlery drawer, pushing it forward as hard as she could. It hit him in the crotch. As he doubled up, Mary scrabbled on all fours to Winifred. ‘Mam?’ They clutched one another. ‘Mam? What’s happened?’

‘He’s found out about Ellen having a baby, God only knows how.’ Winifred’s voice rasped in her throat. ‘And Frank Shuttleworth’s been telling him some tale about you and one of the German doctors.’

‘Oh my God Mam, what’s he been saying?’ Mary put her hand on her mother’s face and turned it towards hers. ‘Frank’s not right in the head, Mam. He won’t accept we’re finished and he’s been following me for months. He won’t let me alone. Whatever he’s said, he’s made it up. It’s not true.’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t find out?’ Bill rolled on the rug gasping, his hands between his thighs. ‘He’s been hinting about it for fucking weeks and tonight he came right out and said it. If he hadn’t told me, I’d have found out sooner or later. I have eyes in my arse, you should know that by now. Nowt gets past me.’

The two women watched him. The clock springs whirred and the hammer struck seven times. Bill crawled towards them. In panic, Mary reached above her head and groped along the top of the sideboard. She brought the bread knife down within inches of his face. Her hand quivered, but she kept her eyes on his. ‘Don’t come any nearer,’ she said. ‘I mean it.’

He fell back on his haunches. Then without speaking he staggered to his feet and reeled across to the stairs, still holding himself with one hand. Hanging on to the curtain
he turned to look at them both, but the hatred was directed only at Mary. ‘Bleedin’ sluts,’ he said. ‘You and your dirty bloody sister. Just like your mother, I should’a known …’

They listened as, step by step, he went slowly up the stairs.

Grating sobs woke Mary the following morning. Her mother, sitting up straight in the bed, stared towards the door as Mary looked in. She opened her mouth but no sound came. Mary watched as she ran her tongue over her thin dry lips.

‘Mam, what is it?’

The pinched face turned to the figure lying beside her. Bill, still seeming to be asleep, he was snoring, but as Mary approached the bed she saw that his face was distorted and slack.

‘Dad?’ She touched his cheek; his skin was cold and clammy. She knelt down by the side of the bed and held his wrist between two fingers and thumb. The pillow was wet under his head, saliva dribble from the corner of his mouth. ‘It’s a stroke, I think,’ she said slowly to the weeping woman sitting motionless at his side. ‘He’s had a stroke.’

Bill Howarth didn’t die that day or during the following week, but an expectant hush fell over the house. Patrick brought a bed downstairs for him. The days dragged in monotony and Christmas came and went unnoticed.

‘Come on Dad, just try some more.’ Mary tipped the mashed potatoes mixed with the precious ration of butter into the toothless mouth. Bill’s lips clamped shut at an angle and some of the food dribbled out. She scraped it up from his chin with the spoon and tried again. He turned his head away. ‘Enough? OK then. Do you want to sit up?’ One eye closed. ‘Right, hold on.’ Mary put the dish on top of the sideboard. She glanced at the clock. Her mother should be back in a minute. At least she hoped so, she only had half an hour to get ready and be at the hospital in time for her next shift. And she wanted, needed, to see Peter even if it was only a glimpse of him. For some reason, they always seemed to be on different shifts these day.

She eased her father up on the pillows, feeling the sharp boniness of his shoulder blades, and gently pulled the sheet up to his chin. ‘There!’ She tucked the bedding under the mattress on both sides. ‘Tucked up like a boat.’ Mary laughed quietly. ‘Do you remember that? That’s what you used to say every night.’ At least that was what he’d tease after he’d pulled the sheet taut on Ellen’s side. Mary took the dish into the scullery and ran cold water into it. Now, where had that come from? she chided herself. She’d never been jealous of her sister, not even the times when they were little and her father had swung Ellen onto his shoulders so she could see more of the Ashford carnival or Father Christmas’ procession. Mary remembered looking up and laughing with Ellen, never
expecting that it should be her he held.

She wondered if her sister would come home when she got the letter. Tom obviously couldn’t, but Ellen? No, perhaps it would be better if she didn’t.

She went to the doorway of the scullery. Bill was agitated, jerking his head from side to side, and the strands of grey hair trailed down the side of his face, getting in his eyes. Mary opened the cutlery drawer and took out a pair of scissors. Standing at the side of the bed she smoothed his hair back into place. ‘It’s annoying you, isn’t it?’ She stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers. ‘How about we cut it?’ She bent down close to him.

Anger darkened his eyes. He pushed with one shoulder at the sheets. His arm swung in an arc and hit her hard across the side of the head. The movement prompted his body to react and a stench leaked into the air. He glared at Mary, humiliation mixed with despair.

Mary’s eyes watered with the blow, but still she said, ‘Don’t worry, it can’t be helped. I’ll clean you up.’

The back door opened and an icy blast of air swept into the kitchen. ‘I’ve posted both letters. They should get them in a few days.’ Winifred’s nose wrinkled involuntarily. Her husband’s eyes met hers and then she turned to Mary. She laid a hand on her arm and gently pulled her away from the bed. ‘I’ll see to him.’

Mary nodded. ‘I’ll go and get ready for work.’ Stepping onto the first stair she stood for a moment to watch them. Her mother held his hand close to her cheek then carefully turned his palm upwards and kissed it. He watched her, expressionless. Mary heard the whisper,. ‘I love you,’ the words sounded strange, unused; her mother’s voice that of
a young woman.

Mary let the curtain slip back into place and slowly walked up the stairs. She didn’t understand; she could,
did
, identify with the care and compassion her mother gave to him, after all it was part of her own make-up, something innate in her so that she could do the work she loved. But had her mother forgotten everything? All the regrets, the disappointments, the humiliations and the violence she’d endured, that her children had grown up with? Or did she remember them yet was still able to utter those words.

Mary breathed in a long deep breath and let it escape through tightened lips. No, she didn’t understand that kind of love. The image of Frank’s face flashed into her mind. She couldn’t imagine she ever would.