Pattern of Shadows

by Judith Barrow

Winifred, rocking in her chair, frowned at him. ‘Shut up, Arthur.’

  ‘Well, talking to us in his posh bloody accent about how the bloody Huns were better than us. Bastard.’ Holding his glass, he pointed with one finger at Tom and Mary. ‘Bloody traitor, buggered off to Germany, didn’t he? Wouldn’t fight for his country.’

  Tom put his knife and fork down, picked up his plate and took it into the scullery.

  ‘Actually, he’s American, not British,’ Mary said, following her brother.

  ‘Don’t give a monkey’s arse. He’s still a coward and a traitor.’ He took a noisy gulp of his beer and stood up. He waited a couple of seconds to get his balance, leaning against Bill’s chair and belched loudly. ‘I’ve gone to The Crown.’ He took his watch out of his waistcoat pocket and squinted at it. ‘I’ll call in on my way back by eleven.’

  ‘I’ll probably have an early night,’ Winifred said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Please yourself.’ Putting on his cap and jacket Arthur opened the back door. ‘It’s pissing down.’

  He was almost knocked over by Ellen pushing past him to get into the house. ‘Mary, Mam!’ She held a raincoat over her head, a pool of water forming around her feet.

  Mary slammed the door on Arthur and pulled her further into the kitchen. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ She took Ellen’s coat and slung it over the mangle in the scullery, dragged a piece of towelling off the shelf and passed it to her.

  ‘That’s just it, nothing’s wrong.’ Ellen rubbed at her hair, a broad smile on her face ‘Not any more. It’s Ted, he’s alive!’

  ‘Ted?’

  Ellen nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, yes. We found out today he’s been a prisoner. He’s not dead. Mrs Booth collapsed when the telegram came. We couldn’t believe it but there was a number to telephone and the chap there said it was true. We don’t know when he’ll be home but isn’t it wonderful?’ She flung her arms around Mary and then Tom. ‘I can’t wait to see him.’

  Winifred pushed herself up from her chair. ‘That’s wonderful, our Ellen. Shall I come to see his mother?’

  ‘Yes, Mam, she’ll be happy to see you.’ Ellen laughed. ‘Come with me when I go back.’

  ‘You’re really excited about Ted, aren’t you, love?’ Winifred took off her apron and draped it over the back of her chair. ‘Enough to give him a second chance?’

  ‘Mam,’ Mary protested, ‘give over.’

  ‘It’s all right, our Mary, I think Mam’s right. I’ve not been fair on him. Perhaps he’s just what I need,’ Ellen said, ‘and perhaps I’m just what he needs as well. If he’ll forgive me for that letter about Al …’

  ‘I’m sure you are, love. I’ll get changed,’ Winfred said. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘How is she?’ Ellen said, after her mother had gone upstairs.

  ‘Good days, bad days,’ Mary said. ‘I just wish Arthur Brown wasn’t here so much, he doesn’t help.’

  ‘He’s a swine,’ Tom said.

  Ellen hugged him. ‘How are you feeling today, Tom.’

  ‘I’m not bad, Ellen, I’m glad about Ted.’ He looked at Mary. ‘I’m going upstairs.’

  ‘Right, love.’ His footsteps were heavy on the stairs.

  ‘He’s not right, is he?’ Ellen was suddenly subdued.

  ‘Better than he was but no,’ Mary said. ‘This house is doing him no good either.’ She nodded towards the chairs. ‘Sit down a minute, while you wait for Mam, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’

  ‘So there it is.’ Mary glanced up at the ceiling. The floorboards creaked as Winifred moved around in her bedroom. ‘I’ve not said anything yet, but I’ve been keeping in touch with Iori’s mother on and off since he died. When I saw what a state Tom was in when he got home I had the idea. And it’s best he’s not in Ashford anyway.’

  ‘Why is it best? Why shouldn’t he be in Ashford, it’s his home?’

  ‘You know. The CO stuff.’

  ‘He coped with that before.’ Ellen scowled. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

  ‘No there’s not. Anyhow I think I need to get away as much as him.’

  ‘You’ve not said anything about this before.’

  ‘Be honest, Ellen, how often do you come round here for me to talk to? I’m not blaming you but you have no idea how things have changed. I thought it was bad enough when Dad was alive.’

  ‘Mary!’

  ‘Yes, well, it wasn’t that bad for you; you were his favourite and you always did what you wanted anyway,’ Mary said. ‘It doesn’t feel like our home here anymore: Mam’s gone to pieces, Arthur Brown comes most days and Tom hates him. Arthur just goads him all the time. And like I said, the hospital’s different now.’ She massaged her temples. ‘The POWs aren’t the same. We’re getting prisoners returned from Canada. They’re sullen, difficult to deal with. We could at least have a laugh with the permanent ones. These are so … oh, I don’t know.’ She sighed and held the palms of her hands over her face. ‘According to Major Taylor most of them thought they were going home when they were shipped from Canada and dumped here and some of them are really nasty. Even the patients are sullen. They don’t appreciate that all we’re trying to do is make them well again.’ She put her hands flat on the table. ‘So between work and home I’ve had enough and it’s best for Tom we get away from here,’ she said firmly. ‘We’re leaving.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When things are sorted. I’ll have to get a job first. I’ve asked Gwyneth to find out if there are any hospitals nearby that need staff and, of course, Tom will have to be kept busy.’

  ‘You’ve got it all worked out then!’

  ‘Don’t, Ellen, don’t be bitter. You sorted yourself out; give us a chance, please.’

  ‘What about Mam?’ There was a hint of panic in Ellen’s eyes.

  ‘Well, as I said, I’m hoping to persuade her to come with us.’

  ‘And if she won’t?’

  There were sounds of Winifred coming downstairs.

  Mary shrugged. ‘I’m hoping she will, I’d hate to leave her and I think it’s her only chance to get back to rights but we’ll still go. We have to.’

  Mary didn’t tell Ellen, but she had no intention of leaving her mother to Arthur Brown’s mercy. Winifred would go with them if they had to drag her all the way to Wales.

  Chapter 73

  ‘I wanted to tell you before, but I wasn’t sure it would work out. But now I think it will, one way or the other. I’ve just told Ellen so, while Mam’s gone with her to Mrs Booth’s, I thought I should come round and tell you and Patrick.’ Mary stood at the window watching the rain hammer down. The light from the kitchen shimmered in the puddles in Jean’s back yard as the drops hit the surface.

  ‘What am I going to do without you?’ Jean was on the edge of tears. She laid one of Jacqueline’s dresses on the blanket over the table and ran the iron over it.

  Mary reached up and pulled the kitchen curtains together, shutting out the darkness. ‘I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss all of you, especially my little niece. We both will. But I’ll keep in touch and you can visit. You do understand, don’t you?’ Mary said quietly. ‘I can’t take any chances. I have to get Tom away from here.’

  Jean bit her lip but didn’t answer. She draped the dress over a tiny wooden hanger and hooked it on the back of a chair. ‘Have you any idea where you’ll go?’ She started to press one of Patrick’s shirts.

  ‘Hopefully, Wales.’

  ‘Wales?’ Jean stopped ironing and stood the iron upright. ‘Why Wales? It’s miles away.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Mary ran hot water in the bowl in the sink and piled cups and plates into it. She worked quickly, scrubbing with the dishcloth. ‘I’ve been writing to Iori’s mother. You know, Iori; the chap Tom was friends with in prison? She’s got a cottage I’m hoping she says we can rent.’ Mary balanced the last plate against a cup. ‘It’s in a village called Llamroth, it’s very peaceful apparently. Just what Tom needs.’ She dri
ed her hands, watching Jean ironing a shirt of Patrick’s in a haphazard fashion. ‘Patrick and your mother out?’ she asked, picking up a tea cloth and drying a cup.

  ‘Patrick’s at the pub and Mother’s next door,’ Jean said, lowering the clothes rack to hang Patrick’s shirt on it before hauling it back up to the ceiling. ‘He shouldn’t be long.’ She rearranged damp nappies on the rails of the clotheshorse around the fire. Steam rose rapidly. The roaring flames sizzled every now and then as drops of rain fell down the chimney. ‘How is Tom?’

  ‘I think he’ll be better when we’ve gone.’ Mary said. ‘You know why I’m worried, Jean. I’ve no proof it was Tom and I only wish I could persuade myself I’m wrong. And I know we’ve heard nothing about what happened to Frank for a while. God willing, we never will. But, all in all, I think it’s better he’s not in the area.’

  ‘Has he ever said anything about it?’

  ‘Not a word. Has Patrick?’

  ‘No!’ Jean stopped folding a pile of tiny nightdresses and cardigans and looked steadily at Mary. ‘Yes.’ She frowned, fiddled with the buttons on her blouse. ‘I’m sorry, I should have said something before now. Patrick told me it was Tom there that day.’

  The room tilted. ‘Did Tom admit it?’

  ‘I don’t know the ins and outs of it, just that Patrick said that’s why he went to see Tom as soon as he came out of solitary. He thought right away it might be Tom.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, admit it, Mary, you did too.’

  ‘I thought it could have been either of them; either Tom … or Patrick, you know that.’

  ‘It wasn’t Patrick,’ Jean blurted.

  Mary raised her eyebrows.

  ‘It wasn’t. We knew you’d told Tom what Frank was doing, stalking you and all that, and we all know how protective he’s always been of you. That has to be why he escaped?’

  They faced one another across the table.

  ‘But you said before he’d only got as far as Bradlow?’

  ‘That’s what Patrick said to me at the time but apparently it wasn’t true. He’s told me since Tom let it slip he did get off the train here.

  ‘But Tom’s a pacifist. He wouldn’t kill anyone. It goes against all his beliefs.’ Mary had argued this to herself a thousand times.

  Jean shook her head. ‘Not so much so that he won’t fight to protect those he loves. Look what he did when his, his friend … got beaten up.’

  ‘Why did you say “friend” like that?’

  ‘How long have I known you, Mary? I can read you like a book and I listen to what you say. I knew why you were worried about Tom and Iori.’

  ‘Does Patrick know about them?’

  ‘I haven’t said anything.’

  Mary nodded. ‘Good, keep it that way.’ She drummed her fingers on the table, her lower lip between her teeth. ‘But you should have told me what Patrick said. I’d have got Tom away from here as soon as he came out. Is that why Patrick’s hardly spoken to me for months, because he didn’t want to tell me?’

  The baby began to whimper. Jean went through to the hall and pulled the pram into the kitchen, gently bouncing it on its springs until the crying stopped.

  ‘Jean? Is that why he’s been odd with me?’

  ‘No.’ There was a catch in Jean’s voice. She turned towards Mary. ‘I … I’m sorry.’

  ‘If it’s not that …’ Mary’s skin tightened with a cold prickling sensation. Her stomach flipped. She knew what Jean was trying to say. ‘You told Patrick, didn’t you? You told him about me and Peter?’

  The rain had stopped but Mary could still hear the gurgle of water in the downspout by the back door. The fire had settled into red embers and the nappies on the clothes-horse no longer steamed. Neither woman had spoken for the last quarter of an hour, the long minutes ticked off by the clock in the hall.

  Jean was the first to speak. ‘I’m sorry, really I am,’ she said, ‘it just came out.’

  Mary closed her eyes and sighed. ‘When?’

  ‘Ages ago, after I lost the first baby, I was telling Patrick how kind Peter was and it sort of came out about you and him.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, it answers some questions. I’ve always thought he was still mad at me because I didn’t tell him about Frank being Ellen’s baby’s father.’

  ‘No. It was about Peter. He was so angry.’

  ‘Obviously still is.’ Mary couldn’t stop the bitterness. ‘I have to go.’ She grabbed her coat and put it on.

  ‘But he wouldn’t report you, you know that. You’re his sister, he loves you.’ She caught hold of Mary’s hand. ‘And so do I. Don’t be angry with me, please. Don’t leave like this, let’s sort it out.’

  Mary fastened her headscarf. She looked from Jean to Jacqueline and softened. ‘There’s nothing to sort out, love. I’m not angry, not really, it’s too late for that. And you’re right, Patrick could have reported us and he didn’t. Knowing how resentful he’s been these last few years about not being able to fight and knowing his temper, I’m amazed and I’m grateful. We’ve you to thank for that, you’ve made him happier than I’ve ever seen him, you and Jacqueline.’ She hugged Jean. ‘But we’ve no choice now, Tom and me. We have to get away from here.’ Her throat tightened. It was difficult to get her next words out. ‘We have to make a new life. Peter’s gone and I have to try to forget him. He’s gone and that’s all there is to it.’

  Chapter 74

  October 1945

  Mary switched on the light in the front room and drew the curtains against any curious stares from people passing by on the pavement outside. Then she sat on the lumpy settee and skimmed through the letter that Winifred had propped up against the teapot on the kitchen table.

  … As you know the cottage next door belonged to my parents but ever since they died it’s been empty, so it’s a bit damp. It would have been Iori’s eventually and I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else being in it but I’ve made a decision. It’s here if you and Tom want to rent it …’

  Mary let the piece of paper drop into her lap. It was going to happen. She could get Tom out of this place.

  Iori’s buried in the local churchyard, which is just down the lane from the cottages. I would really like it if Tom could help me to look after the grave?

  You wanted to know if there would be any work for Tom, so I asked around. There are quite a few older people in Llamroth who told me they are always looking for odd job men to do their gardens and such.

  As for the other thing you asked me to find out about. There is a hospital in the nearest town, Pont y Haven, that’s looking for trained nurses. I’ve enclosed the details …

  Laughter and applause told Mary the radio had been switched on in the kitchen. There was a great burst of giggles from Arthur. The door opened. ‘Can’t stand that programme,’ Tom said, sitting next to Mary.

  ‘It’s That Man Again, Handley.’ Mary smiled. ‘He’s all right in small doses. Listen, there’s something I want to ask you.’ She paused, watching him closely. ‘I’ve been writing to Gwyneth, Mrs Griffiths, for a while now.’

  Tom now straightened up. ‘Iori’s mother?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve come up with a plan. I think you’ll like it.’

  Tom twisted sideways to look at her, nervously gathering the antimacassar on the back of the settee into folds in his large hands. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Here, read her letter.’ She waited, watching for his reaction. When he looked up at her again she said, ‘What do you think?’

  Tom dropped his chin on his chest. She could hear him struggling not to cry. When the tears came, it was a noisy outpouring of grief. Mary knelt up on the settee and held him, rocking him from side to side.

  Gradually he calmed down, his breath drawn in great shuddering gasps against her shoulder. ‘Sorry,’ he finally said, scrubbing at his face with Mary’s handkerchief. ‘I didn’t …’

  ‘I know.’ She let go of him. ‘I didn’t want to say anything until I knew I could mak
e it happen.’

  They sat quietly, each thinking their own thoughts. Out on the street footsteps hurried past, the rain drummed on the window, plopped down the chimney into the empty fireplace.

  Tom sat forward. ‘What about Mam?’

  ‘I thought between us we might persuade her to come with us?’

  ‘Right!’ He nodded. ‘I’ve not been much use lately, have I?’

  Mary smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Everything that’s happened … to you, to Dad, Mam, Ellen … and Iori, it just all built up.’

  ‘Do you feel like talking?’ When she saw the distress on his face, she leaned towards him. ‘Tom? What is it?’ Her first thought, please don’t tell me it was you, was like a chant in her head. She hated the thought that he’d had to betray his beliefs to protect her.

  ‘I can’t stop thinking about Iori. It was horrible what they did to him.’ He screwed his eyes shut and then opened them. Mary was horrified by the surge of relief in her. ‘There were seven of them. They blocked him in the cell. I couldn’t get to him, I tried I really tried, Mary.’ He leaned forward, pressing his hands against his eyes.

  ‘Yes, Tom, I’m sure you did.’ She put her head on his shoulder.

  ‘When he was on the floor they kept on kicking him, again and again and again,’ he said. ‘I climbed over them, I hit them, I kicked them, I was screaming for them to stop. The prisoners who stood by and watched what they did to Iori later told the Governor I went berserk.’ He nodded. ‘I think I did. I wanted to kill them. When I got to him he was unrecognisable. His face was all smashed in. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, that’s all I can see.’

  ‘Oh Tom.’ Mary heard the clock in the kitchen strike ten and overhead sounds of her mother clattering about on her way to bed. A thought struck her. ‘Did I get it wrong then?’ she said. ‘Be truthful, Tom, do you really think it would be a good idea going to Llamroth?’ She leaned forward to look into his face. ‘Would it be too painful, love? Make those memories worse?’