No Shelter from Darkness

by Evans, Mark D.

  It wasn't until she returned to the Wade's empty house and retreated to Oliver's unfamiliar bedroom that the tears began to fall. The poor runt had been kicked out into his mother's bedroom, making Mary feel like a fuss had been made and furthering her feeling of displacement. Now, however, it was the only place she had.

  But like everyone else who'd suffered through similar tragedies by now, Mary had to get on with it. Her skin would have to become a bit thicker.

  Royston Street ran from almost opposite the Wade's house to Bonner Street, where fifty yards down to the right was the school. Like most streets in the East End, it was lined with Victorian terraces. But war damage was everywhere. Occasional gaps, jagged and full of rubble, split one terrace into three. The look and smell of the place bespoke poverty and overcrowding that still lingered from the last century. Everyone who lived here knew that this end of the city was considered by everyone else in London as the worst part, blamed on the docks of the Thames to the south. But it was home, and had a bigger sense of community than anywhere else.

  Yet Mary still felt alone.

  Turning onto the street of her school, lagging three paces, she felt butterflies begin dancing in her stomach at the thought of the attention she'd be faced with. Through Oliver, people would know what had happened; kids would sooner ask him than Beth. It wasn't that Beth was unkind or untoward—quite the opposite, in fact. But Mary, having been her best friend for as long as she could remember, seemed to be the only one who had disregarded her roots. Pretty though she was, Beth's foreign appearance and obvious adoption provided perfect fuel for insults and sufficient justification for bullying.

  Mary's regret for ending the only friendship Beth had came flooding back, tussling with the anxiousness for the day ahead. The three of them fell into step with other straggling children at the gates of the school. The grief over her mother took a back seat for the moment, but Mary suspected that it would be a silent passenger for a long time to come.

  Probably forever.

  * * *

  “Mary?”

  She was on her way out of the gates, amid a flood of relief that she'd gotten through the day, when the familiar voice called from behind. Her step faltered and she closed her eyes in a curse, but then tentatively proceeded to walk, hoping that Kevin Gibson would take the hint.

  “Mary!”

  He didn't.

  In the classroom, he sat on the other side of the gender divide, and at break times the girls’ rooftop playground ensured no intrusions from the boys. She should have realized that after school was the time she ought to have worried about. She slowed to a halt and waited as Gibson trundled up to her side.

  “All right, Mary? You left this.” He held out to her a familiar tattered gray box.

  Mary's mind had hardly been in the game all day, and with a quiet tut she took the box and hung it around her neck. Looking into the fair-haired boy's narrow brown eyes, she smiled gently. “Ta.”

  Gibson smiled back. He was about the same height as Mary, though undoubtedly still growing, whereas she was already her late mother's height. He was a little older than her, turning fourteen sometime this year during the summer holiday. That was only a couple of months away. He'd be leaving school then, unlike Mary who was stuck here for another eight months.

  “I heard ‘bout your mum. Sorry.”

  Mary nodded shallowly.

  “It was a bit of a heavy weekend, weren't it?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, quietly. She just wanted to walk away, though ironically she actually quite liked Gibson. But now simply wasn't the time. “I'd better …” Turning away slightly, she let her actions speak for her.

  “Oh yeah, sure. Um, well I could walk you home, if you like?”

  Mary would have liked … a week ago. “Gibson, I—”

  “It's okay, I don't have to go home. My mum's not gonna be back for ages anyway.”

  The mention of the word “mum” brought a lump to Mary's throat and she looked around for some kind of escape. Beth stepped out of the school's main door. She looked around, probably searching for Oliver, but instead the two of them locked eyes.

  “… to the park if you like, think George might be going there now.”

  Mary honed back into what Gibson was saying. He was sincerely oblivious to her need for solitude. The thought of being with other people and having fun felt wrong, and tears began to well in her eyes. She thought it would be best to just walk away; her voice would likely break if she tried to speak. But she didn't want to hurt Gibson's feelings.

  “Sorry, Gibson,” Beth said in a boisterous voice, approaching quickly in long strides. “Me and your girlfriend gotta get back home. Girl stuff.”

  Mary looked at Beth in shock, her tears quenched by the surprise of her unlikely ally. Without hesitation Beth linked arms and pulled her away from the red-faced boy.

  “She'll be back tomorrow,” Beth called back.

  The two girls walked swiftly up the road by Beth's lead, Mary not having time to think. They turned the corner and the pace slowed, and their arms unlinked. Mary was quite unsure of what to do or say. She shuddered to think she'd almost burst out crying in front of Gibson, and though she was generally well-liked, she could do without that kind of gossip. Beth had saved her from a great embarrassment. “Thanks,” she said timidly.

  Beth nodded with a hint of a smile, but said nothing more.

  * * *

  It was an odd thing, suddenly being thrown into a family she thought she knew. The dynamics were different than what Mary would've expected, or had previously envisioned. Mrs. Wade was more loving than she'd imagined, and there was a certain closeness between her and her children that Mary hadn't been expecting. Maybe it was because she was an only child, and the closeness she saw—or felt—was that between siblings.

  At times it felt like watching a theatrical production. Whether it was due to her grief, or the idea of her residence not being by choice, or the still-uncomfortable air between herself and Beth, she kept out of family affairs.

  Many a time she had helped her mother with the shopping. Ration days were a particular nightmare. The closest butcher's was on Globe Street, and it had changed hands a couple of years ago. The current butcher was Mr. Morris, big and broad-shouldered, with large hands and graying hair. He was a matter-of-fact kind of a man, and always opened and closed his shop with military precision. A few years younger and he would've made a good soldier, but as it was the only things he fought were the chopped-up carcasses of cows and pigs. He'd always been pleasant and had a chuckle with the customers, but he wasn't what Mary would call friendly.

  It was, then, something of a shock when he came round on Thursday evening. He seemed right at home when Mrs. Wade let him in, like he was a friend of the family. He recognized Mary, calling her by name and giving his condolences. The two grown-ups chatted for a few minutes about the family, and whether Mrs. Wade had heard from her husband. Mr. Morris did most of his talking with his hands, even though one of them held on to a good cut of beef which he finally handed over—off the books—and then he left as comfortably as he'd arrived. And just like that, Mary's perception of him had changed.

  After five nights of peace, London's people looked all the better for it even if the city itself didn't. Friday marked the last full day of school for the week, leaving only Saturday's half-day, and Mary could appreciate Oliver's heightened spirits. Beth, on the other hand, had always been one of those kids that loved school, which bemused Mary. She walked beside them on the way to school, no longer trailing behind but keeping just as quiet, listening to their sibling chatter.

  “If you don't stop prattling on about your bloody shrapnel …” Beth threatened.

  “Yeah? What?” dared Oliver.

  Beth swung her arm back, lightly hitting her brother below the shoulder with the back of her hand.

  “Ouch!” Oliver flinched and rubbed his arm.

  “Don't be such a baby. It was only a tap,” said Beth.

 
; “Yeah—on a bruise!”

  Beth tutted, and Mary glanced up to see her roll her eyes. “Prove it.”

  “Fine!”

  Mary subtly looked over as Oliver started to bunch up his short sleeve, and her eyes widened when she saw the yellow edges of a blemish, and then the deep purple of the bruise. When Beth next spoke, her tone had changed to that of concern.

  “Blimey Ollie, how'd you get that?”

  “Nothing. Just some joke.”

  “What happened? Tell me,” Beth demanded. Mary found it warming to hear her being so caring for her brother.

  “It was Pullen,” Oliver said, dipping his head in shame.

  “Nathan Pullen?” asked Beth.

  Oliver nodded. Beth shook her head and Mary felt a twinge of anger. Nathan was Susan Pullen's brother, and Susan Pullen was the girl who seemed to devote her life to making Beth's a living hell.

  “Why did he punch you?” asked Beth.

  “He said I deserved it for living with a darkie.”

  Beth scoffed. The racial slurs were nothing new, but as far as Mary knew Oliver had never been a target of them.

  “Do you want me to go punch him back?” she asked, sounding apologetic.

  “Nah, did that anyway.”

  “Good for you.”

  They walked on, but Mary heard Beth mutter Susan's name, like a voodoo curse. It bordered on sounding dangerous, and along with the offer of vengeance, it put Mary a little out of sorts. Since when has Beth been the violent type? she wondered.

  * * *

  At lunchtime, Mary wandered around the rooftop playground of the school. She was invited to play hopscotch, but chose to just watch. Over in the corner stood Beth, gazing out over the rooftops and toward the Thames. The river couldn't be seen, but its presence was made obvious by the barrage balloons that were anchored to its banks. They supposedly disguised its familiar shape from enemy planes, and had wires that threatened to bring some of the war machines down.

  Approaching Beth from behind, the towering Susan Pullen walked up with her two minions, Julie and Angela. Mary straightened up, and for the first time in over half a year started to make her way over in Beth's support.

  Susan hardly excelled in class, but she was a fierce competitor on the field. An early bloomer and only a couple of inches short of six foot, there was just one thing that prevented her total dominance in sport: Beth. Mary often wondered if it was more than just the color of Beth's skin that made her Susan's biggest target.

  The trio neared Beth, and it looked as though she'd heard them approach as she turned around to face them. Susan dwarfed her, as she did most kids, and Beth was forced to look up.

  “This is our corner,” said Susan. “Run along, slave-girl.”

  It was one of Susan's favorite names for Beth, though Beth usually just ignored everything she said and did. She never looked afraid or scared, but instead deflected Susan's petty insults with indifference. This time, Mary could see in her bright hazel eyes something different: a spark of anger, perhaps. Or determination. She turned back to the wall and continued to gaze out. Mary was still slowly approaching, unsure of exactly what it was she was doing or going to do as Susan prodded Beth's shoulder.

  “I said, piss off.”

  Mary glanced around to see Mrs. Humphries on the other side of the playground, oblivious to the confrontation, while Beth slowly turned around again, face-to-face with Susan once more. The two couldn't be more different, Susan's clipped, curly brown hair and her grubby school dress contrasting with Beth's long black hair and comparatively clean clothes.

  “Piss off yourself,” Beth said, calmly.

  Mary stood stunned.

  “Do you need a good whipping? Is that what it is? Master's not whipping you enough?” Susan made the sound of a whip and pushed Beth's shoulder, making her step back into the wall. Susan laughed, and her sheep giggled along with her. Mary saw the tension in Beth's face as she stepped away from the brickwork and punched Susan on the arm.

  To everyone's surprise, it was a well-placed strike and apparently quite forceful as Susan stepped backward to control her balance. The tittering had silenced, and Mary could hear the unrest of the playground behind her as a small audience grew.

  “Slaves don't fight back,” said Susan, and slapped Beth across the face while Julie and Angela closed in, cornering Beth and leaving her no way out. Without thinking, Mary darted forward. She could see nothing but the backs of the three girls in front of her, their shoulders moving forward as they struck, their feet swinging like pendulums. Through it all, Mary could hear Beth struggling, whimpering from the blows against which she couldn't defend herself.

  Mary was just outside the pack but could only stand there helplessly, hoping for an opportunity. Amongst the flurry of swinging limbs she saw a frightened eye and bare wrist. A tanned wrist. Mary lunged forward and grabbed it. Like a cheap magic trick, she pulled a beaten Beth from a space she couldn't possibly have fit into. Susan spun around, her surprised eyes widening to find Beth and Mary together once again. She focused on Mary alone.

  “So, you're friends with that scarred freak again, are you? I thought I told you never to speak to her again.”

  Then Angela stepped up. “You know what happens when you're friends with a slave, don't you?”

  Mary wanted to say something, was going to, but she wasn't given a chance.

  “So whose side are you on, then?” demanded Susan.

  It was that choice again. The same one that had been given to Mary half a year ago, the one that she'd gotten wrong. She was too weak then, too afraid. She'd seen the clumps of hair pulled out by Susan's hands, and the red marks around wrists from her torturous burns. Mary wasn't a coward, but she wasn't stupid either. She'd sided with Susan, thinking she could still be friends with Beth outside of school. But she hadn't considered the hurt that decision would cause.

  Now, even after the beating Beth had just taken, scratched and bruised and with her clothes pulled into disarray, Mary was determined not to make the same mistake. “Isn't it clear?” she asked the towering girl.

  Susan's jaw tensed and her eyes narrowed.

  “I say! Just what in God's name is going on there?” shouted the sturdy and strict Mrs. Humphries. The small crowd turned and dispersed, while Susan smiled and stepped back. “Susan Pullen, is this your doing?”

  Susan's smile instantly dropped. “What Miss? No.” Her acting was commendable as usual, seemingly oblivious to any wrongdoing.

  “A likely story. You'll see me after school young lady.”

  Everyone knew what those words meant, and Susan was no stranger to the cane. Her eyes turned accusingly to Beth, standing gingerly, keeping her weight off of her left leg. Susan approached her, dipping her head as she passed Beth and speaking quietly in her ear.

  “You're dead.”

  Mary could hear it plain as day, and the delivery sent shivers down her spine even though it wasn't directed at her. Susan barged Beth's shoulder before walking on. Beth steadied herself on her bruised leg, wincing and hopping, grabbing Mary's arm for stability before looking at her with watery eyes.

  THREE

  BETH PRODDED THE THIN, dry pastry of the vegetable pie with her fork, half-expecting it to squirm or wriggle. It would've made it more interesting, at least. On either side of her, Oliver and Mary had slightly more enthusiasm and carried on eating.

  “Elizabeth.” Beth looked up at her mother across the rickety wooden table, knowing what she would instruct but waiting for her to say it before acting. “Take that elbow off the table.”

  She did as she was told, letting her head fall and her black hair hang over her eyes.

  “For goodness’ sake. What's the matter with you?” her mother asked with impatience. “You're acting like a child.”

  Beth sighed and shrugged. “I'm not hungry.”

  “You have to eat. Isn't it sports practice tomorrow?”

  Beth nodded.

  “So what's changed? A few days ago
you were eating like a horse?”

  I wish I knew, thought Beth. She'd been all over the place this past week, first noticing that last Friday the unusual peaks and troughs of her energy. After feeling so unusually fired up prior to her unpleasant run-in with Susan Pullen, it was all she could do not to fall asleep in class that same afternoon. She'd found herself suddenly exhausted and utterly miserable. She never usually cared what Susan said or did, but the brutality of last Friday had ultimately shaken her.

  There hadn't been any further raids that weekend, but she still had the usual chores to do and they had drained her completely, as they had the week before. The bruised ribs didn't help. She doubted she would have finished if not for Mary lending a hand. That was one good thing: they'd started talking to each other again, over the last couple of days in particular. There'd been times when it felt like they were the best of friends once more. But the moments were rare and never lasted long before both of them realized it.

  Meanwhile, Susan took every opportunity to throw Beth a look of disdain, a seething expression that unwittingly provided a glimpse at the cogs of cruelty ticking around in her mind. But Beth was ever increasingly preoccupied with her own problems.

  Just before the sirens wailed for a relatively light raid on Tuesday night, she'd been at the table scooping her food into her mouth. Being hungry was nothing unusual in these days of strict rationing, but that night's dinner had done nothing to satisfy whatever it was she was feeling inside. She couldn't make up her mind if it was hunger or thirst; food didn't touch it, and no amount of water calmed the feeling. It was constantly with her, this need for something she couldn't determine. A phantom craving. And now, Thursday night, the feeling was still there. Picking at the vegetables that had seen better days, she consciously chewed a mouthful and forced it down, hesitating for a second to let the nausea pass.