Mary was always grateful that it didn't shatter. To think what a mess it would have made of Frank's face – a thought too dreadful upon which to dwell. He was lucky, they were all lucky. But it was impossible to get the car out of that hole and they had to clamber out and abandon it there, with the bombs still coming down and the Ak-Ak guns popping off, making more noise than the Germans ever could. Keeping their heads down they ran through the streets, darting from shop doorway to shop doorway until an ARP warden roared at them to 'get under cover!' The closest place was the Victoria Hotel, and the warden marched them inside and directed them towards the basement. He was far from happy and took Frank's name and address. To everyone's relief, the details he gave were false and nothing more ever came of their traumatic escapades of that dreadful night.
They'd often laugh about that night, but it was more from relief than any feelings of enjoyment. The night had brought them all closer together, in more ways than one. He took her down a side alley next to her house, pushed her against the wall, his hands groping under her skirt, lifting her. She wanted to stop him, but the thrill of it, the awfulness of the night, the chaos, it all combined to bring such a longing that all her powers of resistance were lost. The feel of him, so hard inside her, forcing her to cry out, his body taut, strong. No sooner was he in her, than it was over and he stepped away, gasping, mumbling words of apology. Giving none of it any mind, she kissed his cheek and from then on, Mary and Frank saw one another regularly. There was no repetition of their brief, physical contact but a year later, they were married. Some people were full of trepidation, saying that it would never work. Frank was too unpredictable, had a short fuse, couldn't be trusted. But Mary never saw any of that. All she saw was a big strong man who had saved her life, and that of her friend. She'd never forget that.
But it was hard. Especially when he started hitting her.
He took to following her, every time she went out. And if he didn't follow her, even when she went to the baker's for some bread, which was only a few yards up the street, he'd want to know where she'd been. “For God's sake, Frank, I've been to the bloody baker's.” Then he'd hit her, not because she swore at him, but because he knew the baker was a 'bit of a ladies' man' and he knew, for certain, that Mary fancied him. “Don't be so stupid,” she'd say, and he'd hit her again. She very quickly learned that it was safer to keep quiet. That way he only ever hit her once.
Life took a very predictable course and Mary fell deeper and deeper into despair. She learned that it was best to stay indoors, only ever entraining her friends at home. But even that was fraught with danger. If Frank wasn't there, he wanted to know who'd been round for tea, and if it was Ida why wasn't there a lipstick stain on the cup? So he'd hit her again and he'd accuse her again and the whole, awful sequence would play itself out as it always did. He'd accuse her, she'd remain stoic, then the slap, sometimes the punch, and she'd fall down, and then he'd rip off her clothes and make violent love to her, ramming into her like a rutting ram, teeth clenched, face screwed up as if he were in pain. Then he'd let loose his orgasm with a loud cry and collapse on top of her, breathing hard, body bathed in sweat. When he finally rolled off her, he'd lie there, staring at the ceiling, telling her how much he loved her, how he never wanted her to leave, how he'd always look after her, protect her.
When she fell pregnant, he was ecstatic. She felt like a prisoner, condemned to a life behind bars.
Ida sat across the kitchen table, head propped up in one hand, staring at her friend with such a look of anguish that Mary felt she would have to ask her to leave it made her feel so uncomfortable. But Ida wasn't going anywhere. “Why the hell don't you leave him, May?” Ida's use of her nickname for Mary seemed so much poignant right at that moment – Ida was the only friend she had.
“And where am I supposed to go? With Matthew and all?”
“Anywhere. You've got to. His mum can take the boy.”
“I couldn't do that; I couldn't just palm him off to that woman – she's almost as bad as Frank.”
“She may be, but what choice have you got? Anyway, doesn't she ever speak to you about any of this? She must know what he's doing to you, for God's sake. Everyone else does.”
“Do they?” Mary put her face in her hands, “Christ, I had no idea.”
Ida reached over and took Mary's hand in hers. “You've got to do it, May. Before he kills you.”
Mary looked up, wincing as she tried a smile. The bruise on her cheek was responding to the dabs of witch-hazel Ida had administered earlier when she'd called, taken one look, and cursed loudly. It still hurt like billy-o. “I'll think about it.”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
She saw Ida out and stood there on the doorstep, breathing in the clear air. It cooled her cheek, made her feel a little better.
“Are you all right, Miss?”
She started, snapping herself out of her daydream. He was standing there, very young, very handsome, dressed in a grey pinstripe suit, holding a little suitcase by his side. She stared at him blankly and he stepped closer.
“You look a bit – Christ, what's happened to your face?”
Subconsciously, her hand reached for the bruise. She gazed at him, horrified. Then she shook herself and narrowed her eyes. Without a word, she whirled around and slammed the front door shut, pressing herself back against it, breathing hard. How dare he be so familiar, whoever the hell he was. Cheeky bugger. A travelling salesman probably. She smiled. He'd seemed kind, concerned. Perhaps she had been a little hasty, and rude, slamming the door the way she did. He had a little name badge on his lapel and she'd taken it in with a glance. Kind, but very young. And very, very handsome.
His name, she'd noticed, was David and she decided there and then to keep an eye out for him, offer him an apology. A cup of tea. A ready smile. Suddenly, the day felt a little brighter.
6
Dad looked like he was tearing himself up inside. All this talk about Mum, it must have got his emotions all jumbled up and his eyes were wet. Jed hadn't asked him to say anything, but when he'd come home from seeing Matthew, it all sort of spilled out, uncontrolled and he didn't think he should stop the revelations in mid-flow. So, he just let his dad talk. And he'd spoken all about how mum had been treated in the War, how Matthew's father had beaten her, regarded her more like a possession, jealous and controlling. Dad didn't stop for a second, almost as if he needed to talk, to rid himself of the memories, bare his soul. Jed had known nothing about any of it, why should he? It had all happened long before he'd been born.
“We met years later,” Dad continued, his eyes still clouded with that distant look, as if he were seeking out the years, the past, disentangling them from the chaos of the present. “Your mum took Aunty Ida's advice, left them all to it. I don't suppose Matthew ever really forgave Mum for that. You can't blame him, I don't suppose.” He sniffed, ran a hand across his nose. “She went up to the Lakes. She had family there, near Kirkby Lonsdale. They ran a little hotel and she got a job as a chambermaid. Not much of a job really, but better than nothing. Especially in the circumstances. Not that anyone asked, not that anyone cared. She was just another young woman, trying to make ends meet in those after-War years. Everything was all so tight in those days, what with the rationing.”
“What happened to Mat?”
“His Nan looked after him, Frank's mother. She brought him up well, by all accounts.” He shrugged, perhaps not really believing his own words. Jed knew more about it than his dad probably gave him credit for. Matthew had told him about the armed raid, but Jed decided not to reveal the details, allowing Dad to continue, cleanse his soul. “She was working there when I met her. I'd just come out of the army. The War was long over, but I'd stayed on, doing some reconstruction work over in Germany. When I came back I was lucky enough to get a little job doing some painting and decorating in the town. I'd gone back, to see my mum, but she wasn't well. Things had changed a lot since I was overseas. And I h
adn't kept in touch…” His voice trailed away and he suddenly looked old as he sat there, hand clawing at his scalp, suffering with the memories. Not bad memories. Dad tortured himself, looking back at a time when he was hopeful and full of joy in sharing happiness with someone, someone he cared for. Mum. Now, everything was so much darker, so much more morose. Jed stood up to go but Dad reached out a hand and clutched at his son's forearm. “Jed – I need you to understand…”
“Dad…don't…” Jed pulled in a deep breath. He felt unsteady on his feet as if he didn't have the strength to support his own weight. These revelations, first from Matthew and now from Dad… He didn't need to understand, not yet anyway. That time would come. For now, all he wanted to do was go into his room and read something, anything, to lose himself in another world.
Dad looked grim. “I need to do this.” He pulled himself up straight, eyes clearing, and released Jed's arm. “We got on really well, your mum and me; we had so much in common, you see. My dad's family had come from Wallasey. Martins Lane. Not so very far from her own mother's. It was a wonder we hadn't bumped into one another before. We'd sit for ages and just talk about the town, New Brighton, the prom, the ferry. It turned out that we'd even been to the Tower ballroom at the same time, but not on the night of the raid. Nineteen forty, I think. I was visiting some family, to say goodbye, just in case. My call-up papers had come and I was off.
“Well, one thing led to another, as they always do.” He turned to look out of the window. “I didn't know anything about her past. She told a few little scraps, but not a lot. And I never asked, never really thought it was important. I noticed she was very edgy at first, never liked being alone with me in those early days. I just thought she was shy, you know, not used to men…” He gave a little snigger, “A right bloody fool, wasn't I?”
“No Dad. You weren't – and you're not.” Jed sat down again, shoulders heavy, dejected.
“You think not? Wish I shared your conviction, Jed. I truly do.” He rubbed his forehead. “We got married up there. Lovely little do it was, very quiet. Then we had our honeymoon in Switzerland. Nineteen fifty-two. That was a happy time. Not a care in the world…And it stayed like that, the two of us just content with each other. I didn't know anything about what Matthew told you, not about the other bloke. The one she'd met when she'd been with Frank. I don't even know his name, not even now.” He turned around again and looked at Jed and his eyes streamed uncontrollably. A little boy lost. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Jed. Do I try and find her? What do you think?”
What did he think? What was he supposed to think? His mother had run off with another man, left them both to get through the fallout. Shouldn't they just shoulder the burden together, get through it as best they could? He shook his head, not able to offer up any advice. “I don't know, Dad…I suppose she'll be in touch.”
“When she wants something. That'll be the only reason. I thought I knew her, Jed. The woman I'd fell in love with, married…” He put the heels of his palms into each eye, squeezing away the tears.
“Whatever happened to Frank, Dad? I've never met him.”
“No, and you're not likely to.” Suddenly angry, Jed's dad stood up, tucking in his shirt, rearranging himself, “I've got to go over to your gran's now. It's time to bite the bullet.”
“What, you haven't told her yet?”
He shook his head, just the once. “Didn't think I could. But, I can't put it off any longer.” Standing next to him, Jed was a good four inches taller than his dad and, this close, he must have been quite intimidating. “My little lad,” Dad laughed, clamping a hand on Jed's shoulder, despite the height difference. “You're going to be all right, yeah?”
“When will you tell me about Frank, and what happened?”
His dad pressed his lips together, breathing out a long sigh. “Soon.” Then he brushed past to put on his coat. The weather had turned ghastly and rain threatened. Jed remembered what had happened to his granddad, his dad's father. In bed with pneumonia, a proud and stoic man, he had insisted on getting up for work. The rain teamed down, pinging off the road and pavements like tiny ball bearings. Dad had found him at the top of the road, clinging onto a wall, a horrible shade of green. He was dead two days later.
“You be careful, Dad.”
“Don't worry about me, son. “
“But I do, Dad. I don't want you doing anything stupid. You're all I've got.”
A smile. “You are too, Jed. But, as long as we've got each other, eh?”
For a moment, Jed thought they might have to hug one another. Showing emotions, baring his soul was not something which came easy to him. So he held back and Dad gave a nod and nothing more, and then left, buttoning his coat up to his throat. Jed stood, staring at the front door, wishing, not for the first time, that he was that little boy again and he was going to help his dad ride his bicycle along the road to work.
7
It was all over the local news the following day. “At least it keeps you out of the public eye,” said Dad laconically. Jed ignored him, keeping his attention on the television screen. A young nurse, found brutally murdered in Earlston Park, behind the library. She had been sexually assaulted before being strangled, then her body lashed to one end of the sea-saw. Jed felt something like a vice squeezing his heart. Dad leaned over the chair Jed occupied and let out his breath slowly. His voice sounded full of shock when he spoke. “Who the hell would do that?”
Jed looked up, his eyes wide, terror rippling through him. He swallowed hard, struggling to control his voice. “Dad…I know her.”
The police detective, a man by the name of Sullivan, took up most of the armchair on which he sat.
He held a small, black notebook open in front of him, and a stubby pencil hidden amongst his fat fingers. He was peering at his notes in some sort of confusion, frowning. “All right,” he wheezed, “going back over what you said, the only time you ever saw her was at the hospital…is that about right?”
“Yes.” Jed sighed, irritated. Two minutes before he was about to pick up the telephone and call the police, the knock had come at the door and Sullivan stood there. He had with him two uniformed constables, both of whom stayed outside in the little Panda car.
“And you say that this fellow you rescued from the lake,” he thumbed back a few pages, “Jonathan Kepowski…you say he got friendly with Nurse Willis?”
“Yes.”
Sullivan nodded, tapping his bottom teeth with the end of the pencil. “You see, that's the bit that I don't quite understand.”
“I don't see what the problem is,” said Jed, unable to hide his impatience, “he had her in the ward, under the sheets, if you know what I mean.”
“Mmm…Yes, I do know what you mean, but hardly likely is it?”
“Pardon me?”
“Having it off with a girl he'd only just met. Do you ever go to The Grand?”
“The Grand? What, the nightclub?”
“The very same.”
“No. I don't think I've ever been.”
“He's only just eighteen,” put in Dad, who had been sitting next to Jed on the sofa, listening to the exchange with growing unease. “Hardly likely to be going out to nightclubs, is he?”
“You'd be surprised, sir. Believe you me…” Another smile, then another look at his notes. “So, you've never been to The Grand?”
“No. I told you – Dad's told you.”
Sullivan shook his head slowly as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair, reaching into his trouser pocket and bringing out a small, white business card. He held out his hand with the card. “Is that your signature and photograph?”
Both father and son craned forward. Suddenly, it was as if the walls were pressing in from every side. The heat rose up from Jed's collar and he could feel the sweat on his face. Dad gave a little yelp of surprise. On the card, a membership card for The Grand Nightclub, as clear as day, a photograph of Jed smiled out to the whole world.
Sullivan sat quietl
y for a moment, allowing the enormity of the revelation to sink home. “So – let's try again. When was the last time you went to The Grand?”
Jed's mouth opened and closed a few times, but it was if the words were stuck in his throat. His heart pounded in his ears, causing Sullivan's voice to sound from a hundred miles away. And Dad's, like he was calling him from inside a tunnel. A tunnel which was very dark and very scary.
“Jed, for God's sake, son, answer the bloody question!”
Jed blinked, looking at the membership card still in his hand. He was trying to say something, trying to tell them both that this was all some horrible mistake, a coincidence. Someone with a face impossibly like his own, with his name, was a member of The Grand. That was the explanation, that was the truth.
“You see,” Sullivan spread out his hands, “the problem I've got, is that Ellen Willis was found tied up to that sea-saw, in some horribly bizarre sort of way, having just spent a night in The Grand nightclub. And I've got about six, maybe more witnesses who swear blind that you were with her most of the evening.” Jed looked at him, a nervous tic beginning to play at the corner of his eye. He wanted to rub it, but he felt he shouldn't. Would that affirm his guilt? “They recognised you, from the tele. Seeing that you're so famous, having rescued that…” Sullivan looked down at his notes, “that Jonathan Kepowski. Is that why nurse Willis was so desperate to be seen with you? And is that why you were so happy to be with her; after all, she was quite attractive by all accounts. So, no more messing about, eh? You left the club with her, at what time would that be, approximately?”
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