Pattern of Shadows

by Judith Barrow

  ‘Schormann?’

  She kept her eyes on him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fucking knew it. I fucking knew you were in with him.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m not. I just don’t like bullies and that’s what you are.’ She tossed a glance towards the two guards watching. ‘You and your cronies.’

  She threaded her fingers through the wire of the fence, speaking softly, ‘And there’s something else, Frank. Ellen.’

  Frank’s mouth worked. ‘What about her?’ His eyes narrowed.

  ‘I had a letter from her.’

  ‘So? Sod all to do with me.’ Frank threw his half-finished cigarette to the floor and ground it underfoot, moving closer.

  Mary didn’t move. For the first time in months she wasn’t afraid of him. ‘She’s having a baby.’ His head jerked upwards, his mouth slack. ‘She says it’s yours.’ Frank made a guttural sound. ‘Oh, don’t worry, she wants nothing from you. She’s not keeping it.’ Mary felt a twist of pain as she said the words. ‘I just wanted you to know … that I know what you did to her … to me.’

  ‘You can’t pin it on me. What about her Yank?’

  ‘She says she hadn’t slept with Al for weeks … before you … you …’ Mary swallowed. ‘Before he was posted home and I believe her. It’s your child.’

  ‘You’ll get nowt out of me,’ Frank blustered. One of the two guards began to saunter towards them.

  ‘Like I said, you don’t have to worry on that score.’ Mary didn’t bother keeping the contempt out of her voice. ‘And I won’t be telling anybody.’ She saw the look of relief flash across his face and felt sick. ‘Except, of course, my brothers, if I need to. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?’

  ‘Brothers? Brothers?’ Frank sniggered. ‘You’re joking. That coward in prison?’

  ‘Don’t underestimate Tom, Frank. He’ll be out one day and he has a fiery temper; especially if someone he loves is getting hurt. So remember, he’ll want you to leave me alone and he’ll want you to leave Ellen alone. If you don’t you’d better watch your back.’ The man walking towards them had stopped and was kneeling down fiddling with his shoelace. ‘But not just him, there’s Patrick too. I don’t suppose it will be long before Patrick finds out about Barry Gates; knowing how that lot talk in The Crown. But that’s your problem, not mine. Perhaps you’d better start thinking about getting another transfer well away from Ashford.’ Let him stew on that, she thought and forced herself to walk confidently towards the hospital steps.

  Chapter 41

  ‘Bring her through to the kitchen; it’s warmer in there than in the parlour.’ Mary put her shoulder to the front door and forced it open. ‘This always sticks in winter; we should have sorted it before the funeral.’

  ‘I thought we’d have to carry him out through the back,’ Patrick whispered. ‘I could just see us marching down the alley with him.’ He raised his voice, ‘Come on, Mam,’ and helped Winifred up the front step and along the hall. ‘Leave the door, I’ll come back and see to it in a minute.’

  Jean helped Mary to get the older woman out of her coat before taking her own off and unpinning the small black hat tilted to the side of her head.

  ‘I’ve never seen so many at one funeral,’ Mary said, putting the kettle on the range and thinking that her father must have been a much nicer man outside the house than he was to his family. ‘You are stopping for a brew?’ She flung her coat over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and looked at her mother. ‘Mam, I’ll help you with your shoes now.’ She crouched in front of her. ‘Let me take them off and then you can have your cup of …’

  ‘I should have been with him,’ Winifred cut in. ‘I should have been there.’

  ‘Mam?’ Mary undid the laces.

  ‘When he died.’ Winifred looked at each of them in turn. ‘When he died I should have been with him.’

  ‘He didn’t know, Mam, he died in his sleep.’ Mary slipped the shoes off and put them at the side of the chair.

  ‘It was my turn to sit with him. You should have woken me up.’

  ‘No point in worrying about that now, love.’ Mary leaned back, opened the range door and took out a newspaper-wrapped parcel. She shook it and her mother’s slippers fell out. ‘Let’s get these on you, they’re nice and warm.’

  ‘More than he is. He’s not warm.’ Her voice was flat. ‘He’s cold … cold in that box … in that hole …’

  ‘Oh Mam.’ Patrick knelt by her side and put his arms around her.

  She stroked his hair, staring into the fire and then at Bill’s armchair. ‘I’m tired. I want to go to bed. Take me upstairs, our Mary.’

  ‘I’ve got some bottles of stout for you Mam. Don’t you want one?’

  ‘Not at the moment, maybe later. I just want to sleep now.’

  When Mary came down Jean had already poured the tea and she and Patrick were sitting at the table.

  ‘We should have had a bit of a send off for the old man,’ he said.

  ‘Mam didn’t want a do, Patrick. You can always have a pint on him at The Crown. I’m sure Stan will set something up.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right.’ He looked around and then towards the hall. ‘I’ll try and fix that door before I go.’

  ‘Just make sure it’s properly closed and locked, that’s all. We won’t be using it again for a while.’ As soon as he’d gone into the hall, Mary said quietly, ‘Did you see me talking to Frank’s mother outside the church?’

  ‘The big woman?’ Jean said. ‘I wondered who she was.’

  ‘It was good of her to come. She’s a nice woman. She said his brother, George, is living with her as well now, since he got demobbed from the National Fire Service in September.’

  ‘He’s the one who tried to persuade you to stay with Frank?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmm, how did she find out about your father?’

  ‘Guess.’ Mary made a face.

  ‘Did you tell her what Frank’s been doing? You know, following you?’

  ‘No. She wouldn’t be able to do anything and it might make him worse if she tried.’

  The front door thudded.

  ‘How, Mary?’ Jean said. ‘How could things get worse? From what you say he’s still following you everywhere.’

  ‘He might change now. I told him to leave me alone. Now Dad’s died there’s no need for him to come anywhere near the house or us …’

  ‘Do you think he’ll take any notice? He hasn’t so far, so what’s so different now?’

  Mary didn’t answer. She hadn’t told Jean about Barry Gates or Ellen’s letter.

  ‘I don’t care what you say, you should let me tell Patrick.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ Patrick stood in the doorway.

  ‘Nothing, love, did you manage the door?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll come back with my carpenter’s plane and scrape a bit off the top edge. I’ll do the back gate as well.’ He looked at the girls, his face guarded. ‘We off now? I’m due in work.’

  At the back door Mary said, ‘I’m going to see Tom next week. Let him know how everything went. Will you sit with Mam, while I’m gone, Jean?’

  ‘Of course. Does he know about us?’ Jean said. ‘Having a family?’

  ‘I thought you’d have written to him.’ Mary looked at them both in surprise.

  ‘No,’ Jean said. ‘We thought you would.’

  ‘It’s your news and he’d have appreciated a visit from you, Patrick. You could have told him yourself.’

  Patrick shook his head. ‘Been too busy lately.’

  Mary closed the door behind them. As far as she knew Patrick had never been near The Scrubs. She sighed and collected the mugs off the table and took them into the scullery. Obviously the old animosity still rankled in her youngest brother. Even with Dad gone it seemed the family was always going to be split.

  Winifred was still asleep three hours later. Mary peeped in at the bedroom door. The room was shadowed orange and black from the small fire
that she’d lit in the grate earlier. She waited for the harsh coughing to split the silence of the house before she remembered she would never hear it again. Her mother was still curled in the foetal position that she’d been in when she fell asleep but Mary must have disturbed her; she straightened her legs, shivered and drew them up again.

  Mary backed onto the landing but not before she heard the whisper, ‘Bill?’ She saw Winifred run her hand over the well-worn dent in the flock of the pillow where her husband had lain his head for so many years. ‘Oh, Bill.’

  Chapter 42

  February 1945

  Mary leant forward on the bed, sliding the envelope backwards and forwards between her fingers and staring at the window. Through the ice-patterned panes the light was a bright pearly grey. She could hear the hooves of the milkman’s horse slipping and scraping on the road and the laughter of children sliding down the footpath but her thoughts were on the letter she’d just read. She read the cramped handwriting again.

  My dear Mary

  I guessed from what you were saying that Mam’s drinking a bit.

  That’s quite an understatement, Tom, she thought.

  I know it’s hard but you’ll have to let her grieve in her own way. Just accept it for now and keep an eye on her. I know her and Dad rowed a lot but she must be really missing him – they had been married a long time. And, in an odd sort of way, I’ll miss him too. I’ve spent years resenting him but when you told me what he’d said, that he finally understood how I felt – well it meant so much.

  Mary’s lips formed a wry smile. She could imagine the fury on her father’s face if he knew what she’d done. She reached down and absently rubbed her toes; her chilblains were worse than ever this year.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about Ellen. When you first told me about the baby I presumed the American was the father. It was a shock when you said it was Shuttleworth. I think you’re right not to tell anyone else in the family, although I have to admit it makes me sick to my stomach after all he’s done.

  And me, the bastard.

  If Dad had his stroke the night Shuttleworth told him about your ‘friend’ then, as far as I’m concerned he caused it. For that and what it’s done to Mam, he will pay one day.

  It must be hard for Ellen to hear about Patrick and Jean starting a family. Iori and I have talked a lot about her baby and we’ve a suggestion. Do you think it would make her change her mind about keeping the baby if we all offered to help? Sooner or later I’ll be coming home and Iori’s said he’ll give Ashford a try. We’re both bound to get jobs so we can help in that way as well. It doesn’t matter that Ellen’s not married. I know what it’s like to be ostracized and I’ve learned not to care and she mustn’t either.

  Easier said than done, Tom.

  As long as the baby’s loved by all of us that’s all that matters. And it will be, won’t it?

  Mary closed her eyes. Of course the baby would be loved, the circumstances of its birth wouldn’t be the baby’s fault, he couldn’t think they’d blame it for that. Was he asking because the baby was Frank’s or because he thought she was still angry at Ellen? Either way he should know her better than that. She’d told him she’d made her peace with Ellen months ago. And she couldn’t care less about Frank. Although there was no sign of him getting a transfer, as far as she could tell, he wasn’t following her anymore, so she didn’t care. At least that was what she kept telling herself.

  To be honest we’d both have preferred to go to Llamroth to start a new life but I’ve told Iori you’ll make him welcome …

  But would anyone else? Tom had been detested for his beliefs for years now, how much worse would it get, how would people react if they saw him with Iori? If it was obvious to her they were too close, it wouldn’t be long before others saw it too. People could be so cruel. Tom and Iori would be hounded at the very least; at the worst they would be prosecuted. How would Mam cope with that? Or Patrick?

  God she was so tired of having to worry about everybody else in the family.

  I doubt either Iori or I will ever get married, Mary, so I think between us all we could help Ellen to make it work.

  Because, of course, I’ll never get married either, will I? The thought was an automatic acerbic reaction to Tom’s words, but Mary knew what he wrote was a reality. The muscle in her jawline quivered as she clenched her teeth. She had to face it; there could never be any future between her and Peter. Her eyes were hot with angry tears. She hated this bloody war!

  Mary had said the same thing to Peter the last time they’d been alone together, the week before her father had his stroke. For once careless, she’d hurried along the dimly lit corridors and down the stone steps to the boiler house in the hospital basement where he waited for her.

  ‘But then we would not have met, mien Liebling.’ Peter held both her hands in his against his chest. ‘We would not be here now.’

  ‘I know. I should not ask you to meet me here. I’m putting you in such danger, Peter.’

  ‘Doing this we are both in danger, sweetheart,’

  ‘Shall I go then?’

  ‘No.’

  They stood still, each savouring the closeness of the other in the light that escaped from around the doors of the large furnace at the other end of the room.

  ‘I love you.’ Mary lifted her face to his. ‘I can’t bear it, Peter, it’s so unfair.’

  ‘And I love you, ich liebe Sie Mary.’ He released her hands and pulled her to him, slowly touching each part of her face with his mouth until his lips were over hers. They were still for a moment and then they kissed.

  For Mary, even her fear of everything she could lose couldn’t stop the intense craving to have this man’s body against hers. She pressed herself against him, her eyes closed, moving slowly with the rhythm of his hands on her.

  ‘You are sure?’ Peter drew away from her, spoke softly.

  ‘Sure,’ she murmured, unbuttoning first the white apron bib and then the bodice of her uniform.

  He freed her breasts and flicked his tongue around her nipples. She ground her hips against his, pulling at his shirt, and ran her palms over the smoothness of his skin, realising how strong, how muscular he must have been in his former life. Even now, despite the privations of camp life, his arms were strong enough to lift her off her feet and press her against the wall. He kissed her, one arm still holding her around the waist so her breasts were crushed to his chest. He lifted the skirt of her uniform with his other hand and, hooking his thumb around the waistband of her camiknickers, tugged until they fell around her ankles.

  Her lips still brushing his, she struggled with the buttons of his trouser. ‘Oh hell,’ she breathed, ‘I can’t …’ She tugged again.

  Peter laughed a low hoarse sound and putting his fingers over hers helped to release the buttons. He lifted her, cradling her head against his neck. ‘Ich liebe Sie, I love you Sister Howarth,’ he whispered as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He guided himself gently into her. For a moment she stiffened, a small gasp escaping her lips and he hesitated.

  ‘No,’ she moaned, tightening her thighs, ‘don’t stop … don’t stop.’

  Sometimes the unwilling thought came into her mind: Had someone seen them? Was that why Frank had finally told her father? But then surely he would have reported them. It would have been the quickest way to split them up, to get rid of Peter. He would have been transported to Canada within days. And that hadn’t happened.

  What did happen was that Matron insisted she take time off from the hospital at home to help the family cope with Bill’s illness and subsequent death. And when she was in work, now, Peter was always on a different shift.

  She pressed her fingers to her eyelids The only time she felt alive was when she was near him but she had barely seen him for two months. Coincidence or contrivance: the question swirled constantly in her mind. At night she dreamt that someone was biding their time, waiting to denounce them. But as yet no one had.

  Through
the thin bedroom wall the monotony of muffled gasps and sobs had stopped for the time being and once or twice Mary thought there was a chinking noise of glass on glass. Mam had started early today. She put the letter on the bed and read the rest of it quickly while she got dressed.

  I’ll have to close now. One of the blokes on our landing’s being released today and he’s promised to get this out for me. One day that’ll be us. I can’t wait to get away from this god-forsaken hole.

  As always, you are in my thoughts and prayers.

  Be strong Mary, we are all depending on you.

  All my love, Tom

  Mary folded the paper and pushed it back into the envelope. She opened the top drawer of the tallboy and dropped Tom’s letter into it. Partly closing it, she stood still, holding on to the handle and biting hard on her lower lip. Then she gave the drawer a final shove and it snapped shut. Oh yes Tom, she thought, I’ll be the one to look after everybody. I’ll be strong, just like everybody expects, but who’s going to be strong for me?

  Chapter 43

  It was almost dark enough to draw the curtains for the night. Against the floodlights of the compound, the windowpanes were patterned with diagonal threads of golden raindrops.

  Mary surveyed the ward; except for the young soldier with both legs amputated and a couple of others too ill to move, it was empty. The other patients had been escorted outside for a roll call long before she’d come on duty. And with both doctors and the German orderlies also instructed to participate in the count, the hospital had been quiet all day. She began to load up a small trolley with bowls, solutions and bandages.