Mary squeezed her eyes tight to stop the tears.
‘Have you told Mam?’
‘Only that Iori’s died.’ Mary dabbed at her eyes. ‘She didn’t ask how and I didn’t tell her. I’m not sure it’s sunk in.’ She blew her nose. ‘Between that and – you know.’ She gestured towards the hospital. ‘I’m going out of my mind. It’s just one thing after another.’
‘You have to pull yourself together,’ Jean whispered.
I’m terrified Peter’s going to ramble … talk about me … about us.’ Mary said. ‘I know it sounds selfish but …’
‘They’ll put it down to the fever,’ Jean whispered. ‘Look, you’ve been working with him for months now. We all have. And we all get on with him and Doctor Pensch. It’s not as though you’re ever on your own with him.’ Jean stared at her with a determined look. ‘Is it? Are you listening, Mary? That’s what you say, OK? You’ve never been on your own with him.’
‘The investigation into that shooting starts today.’ The guard announced with self-importance.
‘Come on, Quarmby,’ one of the girls said impatiently. ‘What makes you think we’re interested? Just let us in, will you?’
He ignored her. ‘That lot were representatives of the Swiss ambassador.’ His voice became sour, the burn on the side of his face made his mouth twist even more as he grumbled. ‘They going to look after the Jerries; make sure their side of the story’s told about how Bock and Schormann got shot.’
‘Is that the name of the man who was killed?’ Nurse Lewis asked. ‘We weren’t told.’
‘Bloody hell, woman, what does it matter? One Hun’s same as another.’ The guard shepherded them through.
Mary and Jean lingered behind.
‘I’m more bothered about what Frank’s going to say,’ Jean said.
‘He seems to be keeping his head down,’ Mary said. ‘I haven’t seen him at all this week. In fact he hasn’t followed me since he was suspended from duty.’
‘Come on, girls. I haven’t got all day.’
‘Says he,’ a sarcastic voice intoned.
‘Obnoxious man.’ Nurse Lewis bristled. ‘Who does he think he is; calling me woman.’
‘Who indeed?’ One of the girls murmured. There were a few titters.
Quarmby lowered the barrier. ‘Yeah, Hans Bock he was called, a right bother causer. Well known for trouble. Spent more time in the cells than out. I don’t think he was that daft, mind,’ he continued to talk as they walked towards the hospital doors. ‘Meals brought to him … books to read … no standing out in all weathers for roll call.’ He raised his voice. ‘Got his comeuppance in the end though, didn’t he?’
‘I hate it when Bernard Quarmby’s on the main gate,’ one of the girls complained. ‘You can never get away from him. Standing around in the cold, that wind went straight through me.’
‘I hate these early starts; it’s like coming to work in the middle of the night,’ another said.
‘Too much partying, my girl,’ Nurse Lewis said. ‘Early to bed, early to rise; that’s my motto.’ The young nurse pulled a face at her friends as they bent over to write their names in the signing-in book and they giggled, furtively peering up at a group of civilian police who were milling around.
Mary looked through the windows in the ward doors. She couldn’t see Peter for all the pillows around him. She went into her office. The Staff Nurse who was going off duty was sitting at the desk finishing her reports. Taking off her cape Mary asked, ‘What’s that lot doing in the corridor, Staff?’
The woman scowled. ‘They’ve put the major who’s in overall charge of the investigation in one of the side wards without a by your leave,’ she grumbled. ‘The police’ve been hanging around for the last hour, disturbing all the patients, disrupting things. I’ll be glad when it’s all over and we can get back to normal.’
‘Whatever that is these days,’ Mary said. Despite her determination to concentrate on her work, she found herself taken back to Tom’s words in his first letter.
… I wanted to kill them when I saw what they were doing to Iori. I know I’ll never forget what I saw…
She shivered. She didn’t think anything would ever be normal again for her brother. Or her.
The woman fastened her cape. ‘Hmm, you’re right there. Oh, and by the way, there’s one of them waiting to talk to Doctor Schormann.’ She frowned. ‘He’s sitting right at the end of his bed, getting in everybody’s way. Won’t shift. Says the doctor is an important witness.’
Chapter 47
‘Let’s just hope they get this inquiry over and done with soon,’ Jean shouted over the noise of the wind rattling the tin roof on the coal shed in her backyard. ‘Now get home and have something to eat. You’re looking dreadful these days. All pale and thin. Positively scraggy, in fact. So go … eat. I don’t want my child to have a scraggy auntie.’
Mary laughed. ‘You’re only saying that because you’re getting fat.’
Her smile faded as soon as she walked away. Jean’s words had brought an instant image of Ellen, now almost eight months pregnant. Her weekly letters home were full of chitchat about the regimental routine of the home and how she and the other girls enjoyed breaking the rules, but Mary sensed her misery beneath the jokes. She wished Ellen would let her visit her but she wouldn’t. She often wondered if Ellen thought she would try to persuade her to keep her baby.
She hurried along the alleyway, for once relieved to be home. It had been a difficult day but at least Peter’s fever had broken and he had slept most of the time, much to the chagrin of the official waiting to speak to him.
She reached over the top of the gate and unlocked it hoping Mam had lit the fire; mostly she didn’t and by the time Mary got home it was usually too late in the day to make it worth bothering. She was glad to see the flicker of flames through the kitchen window tonight. She pushed the lavatory door open.
When she came out the kitchen light was on. She could see her mother standing in front of the fireplace with three men, looking anxiously towards the back door. Mary hurried across the yard.
‘She’s here now.’ Her mother pleated her apron between her finger and thumb, looking at Mary. ‘I was just saying you’d be in any minute from the hospital.’
‘Detective Yeats, Miss, Bradlow CID.’ The man held out his hand. Mary shook it and stepped back, forcing a smile on her face. ‘We have a few questions we need to ask.’
Mary’s heart missed a beat.
‘It’s Tom … he’s escaped,’ her mother said. ‘They were at some hospital …’
‘He was having problems, Miss. Apparently he’d been involved in an incident?’
‘He was beaten up.’ Mary was terse. ‘What kind of problems? What happened?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t have any details other than he’s escaped and we were contacted by the authorities.’
Winifred sat down with a thud into her armchair. There was a chink as her foot knocked over a glass.
Mary moved swiftly. Bending over Winifred she put her arms around her, pressing her cheek to the side of her mother’s head. ‘Please sit down,’ she said to the men, looking up at them. ‘I need to get some water for my mother. She’s not been well.’
In the scullery she heaved dryly over the sink. Without lifting her head she reached sideways and pulled the piece of towelling off its hook. She wiped the cold sweat from her face, waiting for her stomach to settle, the relief of realising they hadn’t come about Peter for a moment overwhelming her fear for her brother. However she justified what they felt for each other, she knew the shame she would bring to the family would destroy her mother. She picked up a mug from the draining board, filled it with water and carried it through to the kitchen. The men stood up as she came through the door and didn’t sit until she perched on the arm of her mother’s chair.
‘We haven’t heard from Tom for a month.’ Mary saw no reason to mention Iori’s death. Winifred sipped the water, said nothing. ‘And the last time I sa
w him was in January when I went to the prison after my father died.’
Winifred gave a small sob. Mary put a hand on her arm. ‘He certainly hasn’t been here.’
The detective stared intently at her. It wasn’t until one of the others coughed that he breathed in deeply, letting the air out in a long sigh. ‘Right-oh Miss. I think that’ll be all for now.’ He looked at them both. ‘But it’ll be in his best interest if you inform us when … if … Mr Howarth turns up. Better all round he gives himself up.’ Tipping his hat at Winifred, he glared at the other men until they did the same. ‘We’ll leave you for now, Mrs Howarth.’
‘I’ll show you out.’ Mary closed the front door behind them. Her mother was crying.
Mary stroked her hair. ‘I’ll make a brew.’
‘I’ll have some of that potato wine that Mr Brown gave to us when your father died. It’s in the sideboard. I’ll have a drop of that.’
Mary picked up the glass from under the chair. The bottle in the cupboard was almost empty. ‘I didn’t know we’d opened it,’ she said, tipping it up to get the last drops.
‘I have a little drink of it, every now and then,’ Winifred said defensively.
‘I didn’t mean anything, Mam.’ Mary handed her the glass. ‘I simply said I didn’t know we’d opened the bottle.’
‘We didn’t,’ Winifred said, ‘I did. And when that one’s finished Mr Brown says I can have another.’
She avoided Mary’s eyes but turned as Patrick burst through the back door. ‘I’ve been to see Ellen,’ he said aggressively.
‘Did she know you were going?’
‘No, I didn’t need permission.’
Mary took a deep breath. ‘How is she?’ She bent over the pan of black peas she’d left simmering on the range that morning and stirred them, trying to sound calm. Poor Ellen, that’s all she needed, she thought, him turning up like a bull at a gate. ‘I hope you didn’t upset her, Patrick, she’s enough to worry about.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me the kid’s Shuttleworth’s?’
‘What?’ His mother whipped round to look Mary and then back to him. ‘I thought the father was that American she went out with? How can it be Frank Shuttleworth? I don’t understand?’
‘So you didn’t know either Mam?’ He stopped in front of her. Folding his arms he rocked on his heels. ‘Kept this one all to yourself then, our Mary. Oh no, I forgot, you told Jean, didn’t you?’
Damn you Jean, she thought, you and your big gob. ‘No, I didn’t tell you. One because I knew what you would be like and two because you didn’t need to know. And I wish I hadn’t told Jean now.’ Her mother slumped smaller into the chair. ‘I’m sorry Mam, I thought it best not to say anything; after all she’s not going to keep the baby.’
Her mother stared blankly at her.
‘Like to keep secrets, don’t you?’ Patrick said. Mary straightened up and looked at him. Fear dried her mouth. The spoon dripped water on to the hot hearth where it sizzled and evaporated. ‘I’m Jean’s husband and Ellen’s brother … and yours. I’ve a right to know everything that goes on.’
‘And you’re also a hot head.’ Mary’s words were dismissive. She tried to prevent him seeing her apprehension.
Patrick stood in front of her, glaring around the kitchen, snapping his finger and thumb together before flinging out, ‘Does Shuttleworth know?’
‘Yes, he does and I’ll tell you what I told him.’ Mary turned away from him to lift the lid off the saucepan again. ‘She’s giving it up for adoption, she wants nothing from him.’
‘I’ll swing for the bastard.’ Mary saw his face flush then blanch with rage. ‘He’ll fucking pay for this, for everything he’s done.’
She glanced quickly at him. ‘What do you mean … everything?’
‘Never you mind. He’ll be bleedin’ sorry he ever met me.’
‘Not everything’s your business, Patrick.’ Mary had her back to him. ‘This family’s had enough trouble, you’ll do nothing.’
He watched as she took a spoonful of peas and prodded them with her finger before dropping them back into the water.
‘Or what?’ He glowered at her. ‘Who put you in bloody charge, huh? I’m head of this family now Dad’s gone.’
Winifred whimpered.
He began pacing again. ‘Does Tom know?’ He saw her hesitate. ‘He does, doesn’t he?’ he shouted. ‘He knows about everything, doesn’t he?’ He wiped the spittle from his chin with the heel of his hand. ‘Bloody hell, Mam, just you and me left in the bleedin’ dark then.’ He turned and grabbed hold of the latch on the back door and opened it. The draught lifted the oilcloth on the table and billowed the stairs curtain.
‘Patrick. Just let it go … just listen.’
‘No, I’ve heard enough. I’ll bloody show you who’s boss.’ He left the door wide open.
Both women turned to look at one another. ‘You didn’t tell him about Tom,’ Winifred said. ‘You didn’t tell him about Tom being missing.’
Dear Gwyneth,
I’m sorry to have to write this letter to you but it is important that you know. Tom has escaped. I have a feeling that if he doesn’t come here he will try to get to see you. My mother is out of her mind with worry. If he does come to you please try to persuade him to give himself up. Tell him to think about what this is doing to Mam. He is only making things worse for himself.
I’m sorry I didn’t manage to get to the funeral. My thoughts are with you. Have you had any more news about what happened?
Kind Regards
Mary
Chapter 48
April 1945
‘And now, to repeat the special bulletin from the United States of America: the death has been reported of the President, Mr Roosevelt. He has been replaced by Mr Teddy S Trueman. Further details will be reported, as they become known. This is the BBC Light Programme and that was an extra news bulletin on this, the thirteenth of April nineteen forty-five.’
Jean switched the wireless off. ‘Funny having the BBC news read out with a local accent after all those years of a toffee-nosed one. Bit like having a friend in your living room,’ she said. ‘Still can’t figure out why they’ve changed it.’ She sat on the settee.
Mary wiped her eyes and blew her nose loudly. She didn’t care who read the news; it was all bad anyway. She stared out of Jean’s front room window. Above the roofs of the houses across the street, the sky merged pale blue with fast moving grey clouds.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jean’s voice was cautious. ‘I doubt it was the news about the President of America. You’ve got too much on your plate to be even interested in that, so what is it?’ She poured tea into two mugs.
Mary watched the woman in the doorway of the opposite house exchange some rags for a slab of donkey stone from a man with a small cart. ‘I don’t know. Where shall I start? Everything’s wrong. Tom still missing, God knows where and in what state. Ellen in that place, Peter, Mam, her drinking … everything.’ She was still too scared to voice the question that had been hovering on her lips since she had arrived. She turned away from the window. ‘The rag and bone man’s here.’
‘Mother’s not in. Anyway, she says she’s making her stone last: doing her bit for the country.’ Jean laughed uncertainly. ‘Only doing her step every other day.’ She put the teapot down, held one mug out to Mary and picked up the other. ‘You’ve heard nothing at all about Tom?’
‘No, that detective from Bradlow keeps calling but there’s still no news. I feel sick with worry but Mam won’t talk about it. Where can he be, Jean?’
Jean shook her head. ‘I don’t know, love. I’ve tried talking to Patrick about it but he’s too obsessed with Shuttleworth.’ Jean stopped abruptly.
‘Jean. About Peter?’
It was as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Your Mam, how is she?’ Jean said.
‘Still drinking, I could kill Mr Brown and his potato wine.’ Right at this moment she meant it: last night had been the third time in a row she’d h
ad to help her mother to bed. She didn’t understand it. Her mother had always enjoyed a tipple but it had become a real problem since Dad died. Even the odd sort of friendship that had developed between Arthur Brown and her mother didn’t appear to stop Mam feeling lonely. It was as though her mother only remembered the young man she had first married, not the bully he’d turned into. Mary felt guilty but she thought she would scream if she had to listen to one more maudlin story about the way Bill had courted her; it just wasn’t how she remembered her father. Couldn’t really imagine it.
‘Patrick said she was worse for wear when he called round the other day. He …’ Jean stopped.
‘He?’
Jean didn’t answer. There was a difficult pause.
‘Jean.’ Mary tried again. ‘About Peter …’
‘I thought he looked more like himself yesterday. Now he’s up and about, most of the time.’ Jean tucked her chin in and blew on the surface of her tea, watching a line of tea leaves circle.
‘He’ll be discharged anytime, I think. He’s going to talk to the Commandant about when he can take up his post again.’
Mary thought about the few minutes they’d had together the previous day. When she arrived for her shift one of the orderlies had taken him to sit outside on the low wall at the side of the hospital steps for a smoke and Mary had stopped to talk with him as the rest of the nurses streamed past calling out, ‘Morning, Doctor Schormann.’ ‘Hello Doctor’.
‘You’re a right Mr Popular,’ she’d laughed.
‘Of course, I am the perfect patient.’ Peter stubbed out his cigarette. Keeping his head low, he said, ‘I have missed you. This is the first time we have been alone since that night.’
‘I know.’ The memory quickened her pulse. ‘I miss our talks; there is so much I need to say.’
‘We have not the chance to speak properly since then … your father, my accident.’
‘It wasn’t an accident,’ Mary said, ‘we both know that.’ She turned her back on the compound and balanced her gas mask on the wall, close enough to touch his hand. He curled his little finger around hers.
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