Living in the Shadows

by Judith Barrow

  Mary sighed. ‘It’s a bad business all round.’ She leaned back against the bench, leaving her arm across Linda’s shoulder. Somewhere in the village a dog barked, followed by a volley of answering barks from other dogs.

  ‘Yes…’ Linda’s voice trailed away.

  She must know what Frank did, Mary thought. I should say something. But what if she doesn’t? What if I tell her and she didn’t know? ‘What is it, Linda?’

  Linda put her hands in her lap, twisted her fingers. ‘I’ve always known who my real father was, Auntie Mary. Mum and Dad have always been honest about that.’ She sighed. ‘I mean, I knew he was called Frank and he was Gran’s eldest son.’ She glanced up and smiled at Mary. ‘I don’t know how she would have explained Gran to me otherwise.’

  Mary returned the smile but she felt sick; she knew what was coming. The open door of the greenhouses swung gently, every now and then the glass catching the glint of the sun. ‘I’ll just close—’ she’d taken her arm off Linda’s shoulders and almost pushed herself up from the bench when Linda’s words stopped her.

  ‘I didn’t know what he’d done to you, Auntie.’ Linda’s face had taken on an odd colour. She looked queasy.

  I wonder if I look as bad as she does. The thought ran through Mary’s mind as her legs gave way. ‘Oh.’ It was all she could say. She closed her eyes, sat down on the bench. Clasping Linda’s hands in hers, she whispered, ‘It was a lifetime ago, love. I don’t think about it much any more.’ She fought against the panic. Everything about her life that she’d carefully built up since that day was threatening to crumble in the effort of protecting Linda. Would they ever escape from the evil of the Shuttleworth brothers?

  A seagull startled her as it landed with a screech and flurry on the path and strutted around, its yellow eyes watching them.

  A thought made Mary shiver; she didn’t want the relationship between Nelly and Linda to be ruined. ‘It was never your gran’s fault. Nothing either of her sons did was her fault. She thinks the world of you, you know.’

  ‘I know, Auntie Mary.’

  Mary sighed. ‘And I also know she feels she needs to make it up to both of us for what they did. Frank to me and George to you,’ she added. ‘She’ll never forgive herself for giving George an alibi. She must feel even worse now. If she’d given him up to the police there’s no way we be in this situation. Richard would probably never have met Karen.’

  ‘But, in a way, that would be a shame, Auntie Mary.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Or would it? They’d only known each other a couple of weeks. Plenty of time for mending broken hearts. There was little remorse in Mary at the thought; to have George Shuttleworth back in their lives was dragging up horrendous memories she’d believed they’d left behind forever.

  They didn’t hear the sound of Richard’s footsteps.

  ‘That was quite a story, Lin.’ The words might have been addressed to her, but Richard’s eyes, cold and resentful, were fixed on his mother. ‘When were you going to tell me?’

  The directness of his question took Mary aback. He couldn’t possibly have heard.

  He answered her unspoken question. ‘Finally came in useful being deaf. I was watching you from my window.’ He tapped his mouth. ‘I can lip-read – remember?’

  Chapter 46: Jacqueline Howarth

  Manchester: Wednesday, October 1st

  ‘I won’t come in, thank you very much, Jacqueline.’ Jean’s clipped tones echoed in the communal hallway outside Jackie’s flat.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There’s no need for me to come in.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Jackie stepped back and opened the door wider.

  ‘I’ve only come to give you a message from your father. From your father and me,’ Jean corrected herself.

  ‘Well, I’m not standing here while you do.’ It was clear her mother had come to pick a fight and Jackie had a fair idea what it was about. ‘Either you come in or …’ She let the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

  Jean’s face reddened, the lines around her pursed mouth deepened. She took one step inside and moved so Jackie could close the door. Her eyes slid to one side, taking in Nicki but not acknowledging her.

  ‘Hello, Mrs. Howarth.’

  Jean ignored her. When she began talking it was evident she’d prepared her speech. ‘You’re not to come to the house. Your father… We don’t want to see you again until you give up this disgusting notion about her.’ She tilted her head in Nicki’s direction but still didn’t look at her.

  Jackie felt her girlfriend’s closeness before her arm came around her waist. She saw the repulsion that flickered over her mother’s face. It hurt and angered her. She raised her eyebrows, challenging her mother to speak.

  ‘As I said to your father, this has nothing to do with my side of the family.’ Flecks of spittle escaped with the words. ‘Nothing. This … this grossness has to be something to do with the Howarths, something wrong, something inherited from his side. Something that showed up first in his brother, Tom—’

  ‘My God, Mother, you’re unbelievable.’

  Jean continued her tirade without a pause. ‘He had an unnatural relationship with another man. There was something wrong with him and it’s the same with you. It was revolting then and it’s equally disgusting now, with you and her. Disgusting.’

  ‘I think you should leave, Mrs Howarth.’ Nicki’s voice was even but Jackie knew the resentment equalled hers. She leaned against her.

  Jean stiffened and half-turned her back to Nicki. ‘I’ve had my say; you know now how I … we feel about all this.’ She said to Jackie, fluttering a dismissive hand, ‘It’s easily solved, Jacqueline. So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to tell you to piss off, Mother. Now. Before I slap you.’

  Nicki pressed her mouth close to Jackie’s ear. ‘Don’t lower yourself, sweetheart.’

  Jean’s lips curled. ‘You both need to see a doctor.’

  ‘Get out!’ Jackie flung the door open. ‘Now.’

  Jean turned but then stopped. ‘Good grief, there are three of you.’

  Jackie glanced behind her. Karen was by the spare-bedroom door, her hand to her mouth.

  The urge to hit her mother was almost overwhelming; Jackie shifted forwards but Nicki’s grip on her arm intensified as she spoke. ‘Your job?’ The two small words instantly calmed Jackie; it wasn’t worth losing the career she loved.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Jean peered over the top of her glasses at Karen. ‘Another one?’

  A sudden thought made Jackie take in a long pull of air into her lungs. Knowing who Karen was would devastate her mother. George Shuttleworth was as much an enemy of her parents as the rest of the family. More so for her father.

  And it wasn’t something her mother would keep to herself; the first thing her mother would do when she got home would be, without any doubt, to tell him. And a whole new can of worms would be instantly opened once her father knew about it. She felt the old chill of apprehension; the last thing she wanted was him storming round to the flat.

  So she smiled and said, ‘What do you think?’ Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Jackie thought, as she once heard Auntie Mary say.

  Jean’s face drained of colour.

  ‘I can tell you’re shocked, Mrs Howarth,’ Nicki said, barely hiding a smile. ‘If you’d like to sit down, I’ll make a cup of tea and Jackie can explain.’

  Jean had quickly recovered. For the first time she looked in the direction of Jackie’s girlfriend, her eyes travelled from the tall woman’s head to her feet and back again. Her tone was cold. ‘You know nothing about me, madam. Nothing. And no, I won’t sit down.’ She faced Jackie. ‘I won’t spend another minute in this place.’

  ‘So?’ Jackie indicated the door with her head. She crossed her arms to hide the shaking; she wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction of knowing how upset she was.

  ‘I won’t come here again. Understand?’

  Jackie let the s
ilence answer for her.

  ‘And you won’t come to our house.’

  This time Jackie spoke through the surge of anger and distress. ‘No, I won’t. And you can tell my father you’ve successfully passed on his message. After all these years he still controls you, Mother. My God, I feel sorry for you.’

  She didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across Jean’s face and felt wretched as she watched her mother leave. But long afterwards, Jean’s last words resounded in Jackie’s head.

  ‘From now on, until you stop this revolting association with that woman, you’re dead to us.’

  Chapter 47: Mary Schormann

  Llamroth, morning: Thursday, October 2nd

  Mary lined the basin with the suet pastry and scooped in the mixture of steak and kidney and gravy. She felt rather than saw Richard’s presence. When she glanced up he was standing by the door, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets.

  ‘You all right, love?’ Mary kept her voice casual, though the pulse in her neck throbbed. He’d barely spoken to her since Tuesday. Waiting for his response, she pretended to concentrate on rolling out the rest of the pastry and laying it on top of the meat, trimming the remainder with a small knife.

  He didn’t answer.

  Mary sighed. ‘Richard, I know it must have been an awful, horrible shock for you. And I am so sorry you had to find out like that. But I was going to tell you—’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Before you went back up north, honestly; I wouldn’t have let you go without you knowing everything. I suppose I thought we could have a talk—’

  ‘A talk?’ There was quick anger in his voice. He stared at her. ‘I can’t believe you’ve just said that.’

  ‘When it was the right time.’ She ended lamely, accepting his resentment. She looked towards the back door. The transistor radio was still playing music in the greenhouse. Please, Peter, don’t come in yet, she prayed.

  ‘Don’t you think the right time should have been years ago?’

  ‘No. That time, when all that happened, it’s nothing to do with us as a family.’

  He closed his eyes, shaking his head, taking long steady breaths through his nose. Mary could tell he was trying to calm himself.

  ‘It had everything to do with Linda and even she wasn’t told.’ His voice was even.

  ‘We thought … we hoped, she’d forgotten.’

  ‘Being kidnapped?’ his voice rose again. ‘Come off it, Mum.’

  Mary put the basin down and rested the flat of her hands on the table. She was tempted to retort, to say that if he hadn’t met Karen, the past would have stayed in the past. But she couldn’t; that would be totally unfair. And untrue. Linda would still have come across George Shuttleworth in the hospital and it hadn’t taken long for her to put two and two together by all accounts. So all she said was, ‘I’m sorry, love.’

  ‘Does Dad know? About Karen, I mean. Not all the … other stuff.’

  ‘Of course he knows what happened then. But no.’ She spoke sharper than she meant to. Softening her tone she said, ‘No, he doesn’t know about Karen. And I don’t want him to. Not yet anyway.’

  ‘So you’re keeping secrets from him as well, then?’ he glowered at her.

  ‘With good reason. Your father’s not well.’ Mary pleated a circle of greaseproof paper over the top and around of the basin and tied it quickly with string. ‘Please try to understand, Richard. Like I said, I thought all that, everything that happened then, was behind us.’ She lowered the basin in water in a saucepan by the loop of string, switched the electric ring on and turned to face him. What she was going to say would make him uncomfortable but she couldn’t see a way around it. ‘At least, it was left behind as far as not having to talk about it.’ Her voice wobbled and she drew in air to calm herself. ‘But in my head it never goes away, it’s something I’ve lived with for years. You heard … saw what Linda said.’ He hadn’t mentioned Peter’s part on that day; how Frank Shuttleworth had died. But she knew it was inevitable she needed to explain – to make sure Peter kept Richard’s respect. She felt sick. ‘I need to talk to you about your dad. Why he had to do what—’

  ‘There’s one bit I don’t understand, the only part of the whole thing I missed.’ Richard interrupted, his face scarlet. He pushed himself away from the door-jamb and went to the window. ‘When the two of you were talking, Linda moved. I wasn’t able to make out what she was saying.’ He looked out at the garden. ‘When he spoke again his voice was gruff. ‘When you were being attacked … when you were … you know … the fight.’ He spun around to face her. ‘I don’t know who it was who killed Karen’s stepdad’s brother. So I don’t understand.’ He stretched out his hands, palms upwards. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Mary’s knees gave way and she sat down at the table. ‘Look, love, sit down.’

  ‘No. Just tell me. Who pushed the man into the canal?’

  ‘He fell.’ The words were out before she could help it. ‘It was an accident. The Coroner ruled it as accidental death.’ That bit was true, anyway, she told herself.

  ‘But who was it? Who was the man? The man who saved you?’

  ‘A stranger. We never found out.’ May God forgive me, she thought. ‘There were a few people who heard my cries, who came. We didn’t find out who came to my rescue.’

  ‘So why did George Worth … Shuttleworth … run down your brother? Uncle Tom? And why did he wait until years after…’ His face reddened even more. ‘Years after what happened to you?’

  Mary raised her shoulders, hiding her anxiety. ‘He was desperate, set against us because his brother died. He must have kept hold of that anger. We moved here to get away from everything. He found out where we were. That your father was with me. I don’t know, Richard – he was, is – a vindictive man. Perhaps because he lost someone he loved he thought we should as well, however many years went by.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s the kind of man to care about anyone else but himself.’

  ‘Revenge, then.’

  ‘And what he did to Linda? Why take her that time?’ He waited for her to speak.

  The music from the radio outside stopped. Peter must be coming in. Mary quelled the panic. She hadn’t planned for everything to come out like this; she’d mapped out what she would say but his questions were throwing her. She battled with her feelings.

  ‘Okay.’ She had to speak coherently – sort out how, and, how much, to tell her son. But there wasn’t much time. She heard the crunch of Peter’s footsteps on the path. But then the high-pitched squeak of the side gate told her he was going around the front of the cottage.

  The reprieve made her head spin. ‘Shuttleworth was angry about the Coroner’s decision. He thought he needed to get at us, one way or another. Poor Linda was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been any of us he hurt. Especially me.’

  ‘But she was a child.’

  ‘Exactly. Which shows what kind of a man he is.’ Mary clenched her fingers together so tightly they throbbed. ‘I’ve always wished it could have been me instead of her, believe me.’

  ‘He was a sicko.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And still is…’

  ‘Yes.’

  Richard’s shoulders slumped.

  The reprieve that surged through in Mary made her feel faint. She laid her head on the table.

  ‘You okay, Mum?

  ‘Yes.’ She spoke without moving, her voice muted. ‘And I am so sorry, Richard. So sorry.’ She sensed his movement. Then his hand was touching her arm.

  Neither of them spoke. There was a flurry of wings outside; sparrows fighting over the breadcrumbs she’d put out earlier. They must have been hanging on for Peter to leave the garden, Mary supposed. She waited for the uneven beat of her heart and the sick feeling to settle.

  When she lifted her head, Richard held out a sheet of paper. ‘This came in the post.’

  Without taking it from him she quickly read it. ‘You got in. Oh, love, I’m so
pleased.’ She half-stood to hug him but he stepped back and sat in the chair next to her.

  ‘There’s another problem, isn’t it, Mum. What are you going to do about Karen? Will you tell her? Tell her about all that stuff?’

  ‘What do you want me to do, Richard?’ This time he let her touch him. She turned his hand so his palm lay in hers.

  ‘Nothing.’ He looked at her, pleading. ‘I think it will finish us. I really like her and this will finish us.’

  ‘Not necessarily. You said she doesn’t like Shuttleworth.’

  ‘She hates him. But that’s not the point.’

  ‘We could tell her together if you like.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘All right. But perhaps you should tell her, Richard.’

  ‘But then what, Mum?’

  Mary covered their clasped hands with her other one. ‘Then we hope she understands.’

  ‘I still don’t, you know. I don’t understand why he wasn’t arrested. Why the police didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Because there was no proof. I tried to tell them about what he did to Tom.’ The image was there immediately; it was always on the edge of her consciousness: the fading sounds of the van that had run her brother down, the dark spreading of his blood on the road in the fading light. ‘I tried to get justice for him.’

  The water in the large saucepan began to boil and splutter. They both looked towards the cooker.

  ‘It’s your favourite,’ Mary said, standing to lower the heat of the ring. ‘Should be ready for six.’

  ‘Hope you’re not trying to get into my good books, by any chance, Mum?’

  Was that a glimmer of a smile? Mary allowed herself to relax even though the guilt lingered. She wasn’t going to tell Richard the whole truth. She would protect Peter until the end of her days – even from his own son.

  Chapter 48: Linda Booth & Mary Schormann

  Pont-y-Haven, morning: Friday, October 3rd

  The sales assistant licked her pencil before totting up the cost of their purchases on a pad. Linda gazed around the different counters in the small Woolworths. ‘Anything else we need from here?’