Pattern of Shadows

by Judith Barrow

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why are you avoiding me?’ Mary said.

  ‘Avoiding? No. I have been given fewer shifts.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It is not for me to ask questions, Mary. Sometimes I think you forget I am a prisoner here.’

  ‘I wish I could forget. But even when we are on the same shifts you don’t speak.’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Peter? Tell me, what’s wrong?’ She waited

  He blew a stream of smoke through tightly pressed lips before answering. ‘Four men, Mary, they have shot four men because of me.’ He kept his voice low.

  ‘They didn’t shoot them, Peter.’

  ‘They were shot.’

  ‘No, they pretended to shoot them, but they didn’t.’

  ‘I do not understand?’

  ‘They were not shot. They were transferred to another camp during the night.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘To teach the rest of the Nazis a lesson.’

  Peter looked upwards, shaking his head.

  ‘It’s true,’ Mary insisted.

  ‘Sind Sie sicher? You are sure?’

  ‘Believe me, they are not dead. I don’t want you to blame yourself for something that didn’t happen,’ she said. ‘Or me!’

  ‘I must apologise.’

  ‘No,’ Mary said softly, ‘no need.’ Looking up at the nearest tower, she saw the guard was shouting down to the sentry at the gate to the compound. Neither was looking towards the hospital. Walking past Peter she locked fingers with him for a second and then walked forward to the top of the steps. She looked down, fastening the ties of her cape. ‘I’m on night shift for the next week. Will I see you?’

  Peter was quiet for a moment. ‘They have told me that I will not be needed, only Wolfgang, but I will try to exchange with him sometime.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Not well but he has not yet told them. He is a proud man, does not like to show weakness in front of the …’ Peter stopped. ‘In front of them. But for me, he will say he does not feel well, I am sure. Then they will have to put me on duty. There is no one else.’

  ‘Will he change shifts with you without asking why?’

  ‘He will know why.’

  ‘He knows about us?’

  ‘He is a friend. He will not betray me.’

  Mary ran down the steps and towards the main gate to catch up with the others. She hoped Doctor Pensch was as trustworthy as Peter said he was.

  Chapter 64

  August 1945

  The glow from the moon framed the outline of the mill against a sky patterned with thousands of stars. A slight breeze took the edge off the heat and ruffled Mary’s cap. ‘It’s a lovely night.’

  Peter stood hidden in the shadows of the entrance, drinking tea. ‘Ja. It is.’

  Mary watched as the perimeter guard appeared and strolled past inside the fence. He waved a hand in greeting and she called out to him, ‘Goodnight.’ She waited a moment before saying, ‘He’s gone.’

  They didn’t speak for a few minutes. Mary felt the perspiration on her skin between her breasts. She lifted her face to the gentle wind, appreciating its coolness and willing herself to wait until he spoke but, as the silence between them stretched out, she said, ‘Are you all right? You’ve not had any more problems with the Nazis?’

  She heard him sigh. ‘No.’ There was a slight scrape as he put his cup on the stone windowsill. She felt him move nearer.

  ‘There is something I must tell you.’ He was hesitant. Mary felt the pulse in her throat quicken with apprehension. ‘A few days ago, I received letters from my wife. They had taken a long time to reach me. Almost two years.’ Mary turned in the direction of his voice. Forgetting about the guards, she moved towards him.

  ‘She says she waits for my return to Germany.’

  ‘But you say these letters; they’re two years old?

  ‘She says she loves me.’

  ‘I love you.’ Mary moved into the shadows to stand in front of him

  ‘I am sorry, Mary.’

  ‘She doesn’t know you as you are now. You are not the same man you were.’

  ‘We must be strong, mein Geliebter.’

  ‘Get a divorce. We can be together.’

  ‘Ich liebe dich, Mary. I love you. But it is impossible.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘We belong to two different nations: nations who have just fought a bitter war against each other,’ he said. ‘Also, I must be loyal to my wife, I have not the choice.’

  ‘You have.’ Mary reached out to him. ‘You have. The war is over. We could …’

  ‘No, you know we could not, it would be impossible. Where could we live and not be hated?’

  ‘Here, you could stay here.’

  ‘No.’ Peter held her hands. ‘I try always to be an honourable man, Leibling. I must do what I believe is the correct thing. I will miss you. I miss you already.’ He kissed her, his lips warm and firm, then he gently unclasped her fingers and turned away. ‘I must go.’ He ran down the steps as the guard opened the gate of the compound. Mary backed into the shadows and watched the darkness envelop him.

  Chapter 65

  ‘I can’t stay here, Mary.’ Ellen tilted her head towards the sleeping figures in the chairs. ‘It’s like this every day. Mr Brown comes armed with bottles of his home-made wine and they polish them off between them. I can’t stand it. Even when you’re on nights, you’re still not down here, you’re asleep in bed.’

  Mary stopped slicing the Spam. Not this as well! ‘I’m sorry, Ellen. I thought she was getting better. It’s him.’ She pointed the knife at Arthur Brown. ‘If we could somehow stop him coming round it’d be all right. I’ll talk to her again.’

  ‘No, it’s too late.’ Ellen pushed her bottom lip out.

  ‘I shouldn’t have left you on your own. It was too soon.’ Her eyes were sore from crying, but Ellen hadn’t noticed. Perhaps that was just as well, Mary thought. She rubbed her forehead. What could she say? The man I love, a German, has decided that he will go back to his wife?

  Ellen pushed the board of cut bread across to Mary who spread the margarine thinly over it. She wiped both sides of the knife on the last piece before saying, ‘I should have realised you wouldn’t be able to do anything with Mam. I’ll try and help more.’

  Ellen shook her head, brushing aside Mary’s offer. ‘It’ll be easier for you with Tom home.’

  Mary doubted it. She hadn’t shown Ellen the letter from Tom that had come in the morning’s post. One stark sentence, “I am being released at the end of the month,” held no hint of his feelings, nor did the rest of his short note. She was very uneasy; there was something badly wrong. It wasn’t like Tom to be so short with her.

  Ellen put the two plates on the table and sat down. ‘I thought I would be able to manage Mam. You’ve done it since Dad died. I should have come home then.’

  ‘How could you? You had enough to worry about with the … baby.’ Mary sat on the chair opposite Ellen. ‘Anyway you couldn’t have come home, not with the way things were with Frank. You were better staying away.’

  ‘Perhaps she wouldn’t have got this bad if I’d been home.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, love. I couldn’t stop Mr Brown from coming here. I’m sure you wouldn’t have been able to.’

  They looked at each other, grimacing as Arthur Brown parted his knees and farted.

  ‘Dirty bugger,’ Ellen said. ‘I’m sorry, Mary; I really can’t carry on like this. Patrick and Jean are good to me, they’ve said I can go round to their house whenever I want to, but to be honest her mother doesn’t make me welcome. I’m sure she thinks I’m going to taint the place or something. Even though they swear they haven’t told her about the adoption.’ She sat back in her chair, biting on her thumbnail. ‘And then it’s seeing the baby, Jacqueline. I’m not being … I can’t be there so often, I can’t.’

  Mary went round the table to h
ug her. Ellen might not have noticed how miserable she was over the last week, but Mary had certainly heard her sister crying almost every night since she’d come home. ‘Do you want to talk about it? Have you changed your mind about your baby?’

  ‘It’s too late.’ Ellen wriggled under Mary’s grasp. ‘I’m all right. There’s nothing I can do about that now. But sometimes I think about Al. Wonder how things might have turned out.’

  Mary straightened up. They weren’t that different, her and her sister, with their ill-fated choice of lovers, she thought. If only neither of them had met Frank Shuttleworth, how different their lives would be now. She felt such a bitter hatred it shook her and she put her hand to her throat. Peter would leave, and she knew she would never feel about any other man as she did for him. She might not have a chance at happiness, but Ellen might, if she got out while she could. ‘You must do what’s best for you,’ she said, ignoring the twinge of envy.

  Winifred snorted loudly, making the rockers of her chair move, and Mr Brown jumped, his boots coming up off the floor. But he didn’t wake up.

  ‘Just look at them,’ Ellen said. ‘It’s disgusting.’

  ‘I know.’ Mary stared at the food. ‘I don’t feel like eating now.’ She needed to lie down.

  ‘I’ll have some, I’m starving. I feel better now we’ve talked; now it’s out in the open.’ Ellen arranged the meat between the slices of bread. ‘I know I’m leaving you with this mess and I’m sorry, Mary,’ Ellen bit into the sandwich, still talking, ‘but I’ve really tried.’

  ‘I know.’ Perhaps not hard enough, but as much as was possible for her, Mary thought, keeping the instinctive resentment out of her voice. ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘I’m going to live with Mrs Booth.’

  ‘It’s already organised?’

  ‘I’ve talked to her a lot this week. She’s on her own and there’s room for me, now Ted’s … now he won’t be coming home.’

  ‘When are you moving out?’

  ‘I’ve already packed my things.’ Ellen searched Mary’s face for a reaction. ‘I know, I know, I’m a selfish bitch but I have to get out of here.’

  ‘Mrs Booth will wonder what’s hit her,’ Mary joked, hiding her dismay. ‘All those clothes. Has she got room?’

  Ellen smiled. ‘I’ve left most of my dresses; they don’t fit me now anyway.’

  ‘They will soon.’

  ‘Perhaps, but they’re yours by rights. They were mostly bought with your coupons, as you once pointed out to me.’

  ‘Aw, Ellen, I didn’t mind really.’

  ‘I know. But I can get some new things. I’ve managed to save some of my own coupons over the last few months.’ Ellen finished chewing and stood up, brushing the palms of her hands together. ‘The main thing is you’re not angry with me.’

  ‘Like I said, love, you must do what’s best for you.’

  ‘Perhaps you should do the same.’

  Mary stared at Ellen’s cleared plate, then at her mother and Mr Brown. She thought of the decision Peter had made. ‘Perhaps.’ There was a cold empty feeling in her stomach.

  Chapter 66

  Dear Tom

  It was so good to get your news. I will be there to meet you on the platform station at Bradlow on the twenty-eighth. I will be glad to have you home. I have a lot to tell you but it can all wait. Everyone sends their love.

  Yours, Mary

  When she got back from posting the letter Mary leant on the back door looking around the kitchen. Like the rest of the house it was a mess; dust layered her mother’s rocking chair, the sideboard and the range, and the rug needed a thorough shaking. Grey ash covered the fireplace; the remains of the fire that Mary had lit the day after Peter told her they had no future. She’d been so cold she couldn’t stop shaking, even though the sun poured through the kitchen window. She’d hardly seen him since, certainly hadn’t been able to get close enough to talk to him privately. Tears pricked the back of her eyes again.

  She must pull herself together. Everywhere needed a good clean before Tom came home. Neither Ellen nor her mother had done any proper housework in weeks. Mary sighed. She closed and locked the back door. Carrying the mug of milk she’d forgotten to drink to the scullery, she poured it into the bottle and fitted the top back on. She stood it in the cold water in the sink. With a bit of luck the milk wouldn’t have gone off in the morning. She glanced in the mirror as she dried her hands. She’d lost weight, it didn’t suit her and her eyes were a mess. She needed to get some sleep; she was on earlies tomorrow.

  Upstairs, in her room, Mary closed the curtains. The sky, streaked with swathes of pink, white and gold, was still quite bright and light filtered through the material although it was past ten o’clock. She dropped her dressing gown on to the chair and bent down to straighten the rag rug.

  When she stood up her mother was standing in the doorway. ‘God, Mam, you gave me a fright. I thought you’d gone to sleep ages ago.’

  Winifred fiddled with the neck of her nightdress. She wouldn’t meet Mary’s eyes.

  ‘Mam? You all right?’ Mary sat on the bed. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s something you should know.’ Winifred spoke quickly. ‘Arthur Brown has asked me to marry him and I’ve said yes. His house is rented so I’ve told him that, afterwards, he might as well move in here.’ She held the palm of one hand to her chest, moving the fingers of her other up and down the wall as she watched her daughter. Then she turned and walked back to her room, leaving Mary staring at the empty doorway.

  Chapter 67

  ‘It was on the radio about those two atomic bombs the Americans dropped on Japan.’ Mary fastened the knot of the turban tighter around her head and knelt in front of the fireplace. She dipped the scrubbing brush into the bucket next to her and swished it round before shaking off the excess water.

  Jean buttoned up her blouse and held the baby to her shoulder. Jacqueline burped; a milky dribble on her chin dripped on to her mother’s neck. ‘Patrick says it means Japan will surrender.’ Jean wiped her throat with the piece of rag she’d tucked under the baby’s chin. ‘But all those people, those children.’ She blinked. ‘Horrible.’ She gently stroked her daughter’s back.

  ‘Tom knows about it, too.’ Mary scrubbed the hearth tiles. Without looking at Jean she said, ‘I had a letter from him.’

  Jean stopped patting the baby. ‘You didn’t say. How does he know? I thought they weren’t allowed newspapers.’

  ‘That’s what I thought but he’s found out somehow and he sounds dreadfully upset; he was raving on about how the Allies’ trials of war criminals should have included the Americans for those bombings.’ Mary stopped scrubbing. ‘There’s something really wrong. I’m frightened for him.’

  ‘Have you tried telephoning the prison?’

  ‘Yes, they won’t tell me anything. In fact the last time I rang they kept me waiting ages.’ Mary dropped the scrubbing brush into the bucket and used a cloth to wipe away the oily black scum on the hearth. ‘I used every penny I had and in the end they just said he was he was lucky they were letting him out at all, with the trouble he’d caused. I don’t know what they meant.’ She knelt back on her haunches and brushed her hair off her face with her forearm. ‘But I do know he’s not right. He didn’t even sign his letter.’

  ‘Well, it’s only another week or so before he’s home, isn’t it? Try not to worry.’ Jean put the baby into the navy blue pram outside the back door and tucked the blankets around her. The springs gently clicked as she moved the handle up and down. ‘Have you written back?’

  ‘No. I’d already answered his other letter; the one when he told us he’ll be home on the twenty-eighth. I thought I’d better ignore this last one.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ Jean peered around the door so she could see Mary. ‘I’ll make a brew in a minute. Will Mam want one? Is she upstairs?’

  ‘No, she’s not in. She’s gone into Bradlow with Mr Brown.’

  ‘You’ll still b
e calling him that when he’s your stepfather.’ Jean grinned.

  ‘Patrick told you then?’ Mary sidled past her in the doorway, carrying the bucket. In the yard she emptied the grimy water into the grid. ‘I know what I’d like to call him.’ She didn’t return Jean’s smile.

  Turning round, she tripped on the corner of a flag and fell, dropping the bucket. It crashed on to the ground, rocking back and forth. The baby gave a whimper of protest and a dog in a yard further down the terrace began to bark. A male voice cursed loudly, doors banged and the dog was abruptly silenced.

  Mary didn’t get up. She lay on the dirty wet ground.

  ‘Mary?’ Jean stopped jiggling the pram and ran to help Mary to her feet. Jacqueline immediately started wailing. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘See to the baby.’ Tears smeared the grime on Mary’s face.

  ‘She’s OK.’ Jean led Mary into the house. ‘Sit there, in Mam’s chair. I’ll make a cup of tea.’ She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a handkerchief. ‘Here you are.’

  ‘We can’t have tea.’ Mary sniffed. ‘The range is cold. I let it go out so I could clean it. I wanted everything tidy before Tom gets home.’

  ‘I’ll get some water then.’ The baby stopped crying. Jean hurried to the door, peered into the hood of the pram and rearranged the covers. ‘See? She’s fine.’

  When she returned to the kitchen she said, ‘You’re wearing yourself out. Isn’t Mam helping at all?’ Mary shook her head, tears dripped off her chin. ‘And you haven’t seen much of Ellen?’

  ‘Not since she left home. She’s working in Bradlow now, in the Co-op.’ Mary scrubbed at her face. ‘Mrs Booth got her a job there. And at weekends she’s got a spot singing at the Palais.’

  ‘So, you’ve been left to do it all. As usual.’ Jean perched on the arm of the rocking chair. ‘Right, this is what we’ll do. No arguing.’ She held up both hands. ‘You’re going to go to bed for a couple of hours.’