Changing Patterns

by Judith Barrow

  Still listening, she lay back, her hands pressed together under her head and stared up at the sky. Sparrows darted back and forth from the sycamore trees. She tipped her chin to watch them, heard them squabbling. Then she closed her eyes and thought back over the day.

  One of the worst things was the church parade, having to carry the little basket of flowers while still trying to hold on to the ribbon attached to the banner. On the whole she didn’t mind Whitsunday but wearing the new clothes worried her. When she’d woken up they were already laid out on the chair: pale blue cotton gloves that matched the dress with the tiny sprigs of forget-me-knots, and the blue crocheted cardigan. She’d had to stand up and lean forward to eat her toast so she didn’t get any crumbs on her front. Worst of all were the itchy new knickers. She grimaced and pulled at the crotch until she was more comfortable and then snuggled into the dip she’d made in the grass.

  The best thing about Whitsunday was the afternoon races. Today she’d won every one despite Geoffrey Fry trying to push her over. But then after the sports and the potato pie tea in the church hall, she’d had to get out of her shorts and t-shirt and back into her dress. She pulled the sleeves of her blue cardigan down over her hands, making fists. She supposed there were some good things about new clothes, such as that morning when Auntie Jean gave her a penny and said she looked beautiful. Daft really because then her Mummy had given Jacqueline a penny for showing off her new dress, which Jacqueline hated because she’d rather wear trousers.

  Grown-ups do funny things.

  Sometimes they said odd things as well. She‘d heard her Mummy and Auntie Jean talking about Auntie Mary, saying she was having a baby, when everybody knew that it needed a mummy and a daddy to find the baby under the gooseberry bush. And Auntie Mary hadn’t got a daddy, not yet anyhow because Uncle Peter and her hadn’t had a wedding so they couldn’t be a mummy and a daddy. It was too hard to think about.

  When William was born she and Jacqueline had gone into the backyard and searched the alley for a gooseberry bush but there wasn’t one, only a patch of dandelions that next door’s cat had pooed on.

  She plucked another piece of grass and chewed the end. The sweet taste filled her mouth and she had a sudden thought. Perhaps it was magic. For as long as she could remember, everybody in her class had been having little brothers or sisters and not once had she seen a gooseberry bush. She smiled, satisfied, that was it, it was magic. She closed her eyes.

  When she woke there were no sounds and she lay still, listening. Then a band struck up in the distance and she relaxed. But the sun was lower in the sky and she jumped to her feet. She was always nervous of this time of day. Dad said there was nothing to be afraid of, it was called dusk, but she didn’t even like the sound of that.

  She flinched when the hand grasped her shoulder.

  ‘Hello.’ The large man was pale, like he’d never been in the sun and his curly hair was an orangey colour. There was an old cut on his cheek, like a half moon, and his nose, spread wide between his eyes, was bent to one side so that he looked sideways at her. His clothes looked like he’d got them off the rag and bone man.

  She wanted to run. Instead she shrugged his hand away. It was dirty.

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said. ‘I’m a friend of your Daddy’s.’ He smiled. Large yellow teeth, not a nice smile, like the wolf in Red Riding Hood. And he smelled. He smelled really bad.

  ‘I’ve got to get back to Mummy,’ she said, and then, ‘she knows where I am.’ She watched a couple pass, arms linked, on their way to the railway station at the end of Shaw Street. The woman glanced at her as though she might speak but didn’t, and the words that Linda wanted to say were muddled in her head and the moment was lost.

  The man laughed. ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong. She doesn’t and she’s worried.’ He bent his head to one side, frowning so his bushy eyebrows almost met and his voice was stern when he next spoke. ‘She’s not too happy with you, young lady.’ He sniffed and tilted his head even more, studying her. ‘She’s pretty mad you’ve wandered off. She told you to stay outside the Crown, didn’t she?’

  Linda nodded, anxiety knotted in her stomach. She hated it when Mummy got cross. The man must have been talking to her if he knew what she’d said. ‘I’ll run back now,’ she said, but the man already had hold of her hand. It was horrible, cold but sweaty at the same time.

  ‘I’m going back to the pub myself,’ he said. ‘I’ll walk with you. Don’t forget your hat, then.’

  Linda picked up her hat. It had got squashed on one side. She pulled the thin elastic under her chin.

  In an odd voice, the man said, ‘Look at me, walking out with such a pretty young lady.’

  She twisted her hand against his but he was holding too tightly and the fancy ring he wore hurt her fingers so she let him lead her.

  She looked down at her feet. The black patent leather was scuffed and there were grass stains on her socks. Something else to make her Mummy cross.

  Chapter 70

  ‘How is Mary now?’ Jean asked.

  ‘Better for a rest.’ Ellen threw the end of her cigarette on the flag stones of the pub’s backyard and ground it out with her foot. She was feeling quite virtuous, insisting Mary stayed in bed for the last two days, and being back in charge of everything was good. And today was her reward to herself. ‘But she doesn’t want to overdo it again. She’s had a fright. So she’s kept her feet up today.’

  ‘I’ll call in later and see her.’

  ‘Best you don’t. No need to mither her.’

  ‘I won’t be mithering her.’ Jean looked affronted. ‘She’s my friend and I want to make sure she’s well.’

  ‘I’ve just told you.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’ll see for myself, won’t I?’

  For a few minutes neither spoke.

  Jean looked sideways at Ellen. ‘Do you think she’ll ever get back with him?’

  ‘Peter, you mean?’ God, Patrick’s bigotry really has rubbed off on her. ‘No, which, actually, I think is a shame.’ Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Ellen thought.

  ‘When I think what could have happened if they’d been found out during the war. And they put me in a dangerous position. They seem to have forgotten that.’ Jean folded her arms and pulled her chin in.

  ‘This isn’t about you, Jean.’ Ellen put one foot against the wall of the pub and leaned back, balancing. Chafing her arms to warm them she looked up at the sky. The sun had moved off the yard, only the roof of the little building at the end, housing the two lavatories, had a sliver of weak evening sun on it. She should have brought a cardigan with her. ‘She doesn’t want to talk about it. You have to go along with her.’

  ‘She can’t have the baby without being married. There’s enough gossip about this family as it is.’

  ‘She doesn’t care about that.’ Ellen took her cigarettes and matches from her skirt pocket and lit up.

  ‘Well, she should.’

  ‘Why?’ Ellen picked a piece of tobacco off her lower lip. ‘She doesn’t care what people think.’ She took a long drag and flicked the match away. ‘Anyway, she’s says she’s not going back.’

  ‘She’s so big now. They were talking about her in the Post Office.’

  ‘I hope you told them to mind their own business?’

  ‘I walked out.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure that told them.’ Ellen inspected her fingernails, not even trying to keep her sarcasm under control.

  Jean flushed. ‘Anyway, I’m going to call in on her later.’

  Hell’s bells, why wouldn’t the woman take the hint? ‘She’s resting, I told you. Ted’s gone to work so she offered to stop in with William once we’d got him to bed.’ If he hadn’t insisted he had to go, she wouldn’t be stuck on her own with Jean. ‘He’s run off his feet getting ready for tomorrow. Where’s Patrick anyway?’

  ‘With the boy.’

  ‘Jack,’ Ellen said. Jean’s callous tone and the way she was refusing to say his
name upset her. It was too much like listening to Hannah talking about Linda. ‘He’s called Jack. It’s a nice name. And it’s not his fault what’s happened, poor little bugger. You know what I went through with Ted’s mother, how she made sure I knew exactly what she thought of Linda, how I worried that Linda would hear her … understand. Do you really want to hurt a child like that?’

  ‘I’m nothing like Ted’s mother.’ Jean was indignant.

  ‘You should hear yourself.’

  ‘I wouldn’t hurt a child.’ Jean stopped, looked uncomfortable. ‘I wouldn’t…’

  ‘Look,’ Ellen said, ‘we’ve managed to go the whole day without bitching at one another but I can’t stand hearing you go on about the baby like that. What’s wrong with just calling him by his name?’

  ‘Patrick chose it.’ Jean pulled a face. ‘It … he,’ she said hastily seeing Ellen glare at her, ‘was called something else before.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know. What I do know is he thought it clever to call some other woman’s kid nearly the same as our Jacqueline.’ Ellen looked blank. ‘Jacqueline … Jack?’

  ‘You don’t know what he was called before? Haven’t you seen the birth certificate?’

  ‘No, why should I have? I’m not interested.’

  Ellen glanced indifferently at the large woman who stepped out of the pub’s back door, moved to one side to let her pass and was rewarded by a toothless smile.

  ‘Thanks pet.’ The woman shuffled across the yard. Her stout figure made the hem of her skirt uneven, showing more of her swollen calves from the back than the front. Her shoes, worn down at the heels, slapped against her feet.

  Jean and Ellen stood in silence. The noise from inside the pub had risen steadily over the last hour and now the voices and the clink of glass vied with the bands making their way to the park.

  Inside the lavatory there was a squeal of the chain being pulled, a pause and then another attempt. There was no following gushing of water. The door opened. ‘Bloody thing won’t flush.’ The woman hitched up her skirt and adjusted her large pair of white bloomers. ‘Sorry, no room to swing a cat in there, I couldn’t move my arms.’ She walked towards them. ‘I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,’ she said, tilting her head backwards. ‘Old Green’s ale’s right off today.’ She sucked her lips inwards. ‘Pretty bad, if I say so myself. Th’owd sod must be making a mint, he’s mixed it with summat and it’s not only water.’

  She stopped in front of Jean and the two women stared at each other. Jean raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Jean wrinkled her nose.

  Ellen lowered her foot and pushed herself off the wall. This was interesting. She knew Jean enough to know she was uneasy. Come to think of it, the old woman did look a bit familiar. There was something about her: her eyes, the way she lifted one bushy grey eyebrow, almost in comic imitation of Jean.

  ‘I’m Nelly Shuttleworth. I live on Barnes Street. You’re a friend of Mary Howarth, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I remember you now. Frank Shuttleworth’s mother.’ Jean didn’t bother to hide her contempt.

  Ellen’s mouth slackened. Frank’s mother? Oh God.

  ‘That’s right.’ Ellen saw the old woman pull her shoulders back and look straight at Jean. When she turned towards her and said, ‘You Mary’s sister?’ Ellen felt sick. It was the first time she’d spoken to her daughter’s grandmother.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘You look alike. Well, except she’s got dark hair, of course. You got children?’

  ‘A girl and a boy.’ Ellen clenched her jaw. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Nelly shrugged. ‘No reason. Does the little girl look like you?’

  Oh God. Goose-bumps rose on Ellen’s skin. ‘Suppose so.’

  ‘That’s nice. I only had lads myself.’ She stopped. ‘Sorry, I suppose you know that already, don’t you?’ She looked long and hard at Jean. ‘Now, if I could just get past?’

  Jean stepped aside.

  Ellen stood inside the door, watching the woman push her way through the crowded tap room before speaking. ‘Nelly Shuttleworth.’

  Jean moved her head in acknowledgement.

  Linda’s grandmother. The words repeated in Ellen’s head. Why had she never thought about her before? ‘I need a pee.’ She made herself laugh. ‘I’ll have to hold my nose while I’m at it.’

  Sitting in the semi-darkness, her head tilted back against the smoke of the cigarette in her mouth, Ellen’s mind worked furiously. Linda was Frank’s child. That woman, that dreadful woman was her grandmother. Stop it, she told herself, stop thinking about it. She felt quite ill.

  When she came out she dropped her cigarette end onto the flags and screwed her foot on it. ‘We’d better find the girls,’ she said.

  Chapter 71

  It was so cold. The dampness of the stone floor seeped through the rough material Linda was lying on and every now and then her body moved in spasmodic jerks that shook her from head to toe.

  And it was dark. Even when she opened her eyes as wide as she could there was nothing, only blackness, and it took all of her courage not to panic. If she did she’d start screaming again and her throat hurt so much already.

  When the man picked her up and ran towards the scary old mill she’d shouted for her daddy but he’d put his smelly hands over her mouth and called her a little gobshite. She couldn’t breathe. The sound bounced around her as she screamed and fought all the time he dragged her up through that horrible wet stinky pipe. The tops of her arms burned from him pulling at her, and her elbows and knees smarted and were sticky with blood. Once, she’d rolled on her back and pressed her feet on the top of the tunnel to stop herself from being moved but then something ran over her face and the man said it was a rat and if she didn’t shut up others would come. So she’d let him heave her to the top, even though she could hear her frock being torn. When he dropped her to the hard ground she curled into a ball and couldn’t stop shaking. It was a long time before she opened her eyes. All she could hear was the man coughing and wheezing.

  Then he’d carried her under his arm to this room. She’d lost one of her shoes.

  There was a noise. Her stomach jerked. Lifting her head she whispered, ‘Hello?’ And then louder, ‘Hello?’

  Silence.

  A scraping noise above. Footsteps.

  She felt warm wetness between her legs; she’d peed herself. She hadn’t done that in years. The shame she felt was soon lost in the fear. She shuffled away from the rapidly cooling cloth.

  The footsteps stopped. Linda heard the crunch of grit under boots. Then there was the snap of a bolt being pulled back, the scraping of a key turning. The sob in her throat stuck. She saw the outline of the man against the faint light from the open door. She could hear him breathing. She held her own breath, hoping he couldn’t see her, but then he walked towards her and even though she knew he was there, right in front of her, she jumped when the toe of his heavy boot nudged her and couldn’t stop a small quivering cry.

  ‘How about I get you some fish and chips?’ The man leant over her, his breath sour, smelling of cigarettes.

  She shrank back, twisting her head away from him. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘please let me go home.’

  ‘I said how about I get you some fish and chips?’

  ‘I’m thirsty.’ There was a salty taste on her lips from her tears.

  The man moved away from her. He was still in the room. She heard him clear his throat. Water running somewhere.

  The cup, shoved against her teeth, cut her gum. The blood mixed with the water and made her feel sick.

  Suddenly, she was being covered by something, the material harsh and prickly. She screamed, kicking out and squirming backward. The rough flags scraped the skin on her wet thighs and buttocks. ‘Get off, get away.’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ the man shouted, ‘shut the fuck up.’ His voice ec
hoed around her. The room was bigger that she thought and empty sounding. ‘It’s only a sodding blanket, for God’s sake.’

  ‘I want my mummy,’ she pleaded, ‘please.’ He didn’t answer. She tried to be brave, to scare him. ‘If you don’t I’ll tell my daddy about you.’ That was a mistake. The blow to the side of her head hurt her ears. No one had ever hit her before. It left a buzzing sound in her head and sick rose in her mouth. She swallowed.

  The door closed, she heard the key turn and he was gone, his footsteps a clink of metal studs on concrete.

  ‘Mummy,’ she whispered.

  The darkness closed in on her, the air was thick and damp, cloying to breathe in. There was a scratching sound, a scuffling of soft noises.

  Linda screamed.

  Chapter 72

  Let her scream all she liked. She deserved that clout, the little bitch, threatening him with that bastard.

  George stood outside the boiler room flexing his fingers.

  What the hell was he thinking? It was a fucking stupid idea, bringing her here. The vague plan he’d thought of when he watched Howarth’s missus leave her and the other kid outside the Crown – shutting her in one of the sheds on the allotment – went to pot the minute she started screaming.

  He hit the wall with his fist. The pain stopped the rising panic but he needed a drink.

  No he didn’t, it was bloody drink that had got him in this sodding mess. As soon as he’d done it he knew it was stupid. Too bloody late by then. Never thought anything through… It was only supposed to give the bastards a fright for a couple of hours. He walked back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

  He couldn’t keep her here forever.

  He took a deep breath and went back into the boiler room, leaving the door slightly open. There was a sour smell of urine. The kid had obviously pissed herself. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom before he spoke. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I can tell you don’t like this game. Me, I thought it would be fun but I don’t think you’re enjoying playing, are you?’