Living in the Shadows

by Judith Barrow

  There was movement behind him and a young girl appeared. She glanced apologetically at Linda before leaning towards Harriet and kissing the top of her head. ‘Mum,’ she murmured, ‘how are you feeling?’

  ‘Karen.’ Harriet reached up to touch her cheek. ‘I’m fine, dear.’ But she kept her eyes on her husband. ‘George? Don’t. Please. The nurse was only trying to help. It’s her job.’

  ‘It’s her job to know her place and stop pokin’ her soddin’ nose in where it’s not wanted.’ He kept his eyes on Linda. ‘Trying to tell me what to soddin’ do.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’ Linda kept her voice level even though she knew her hands were trembling. She clasped them behind her back. ‘If you’ll let me pass?’

  He stayed in her way. ‘I’m not stopping you!’ But still he didn’t move.

  She had to shuffle past him; the skin on her arm where it touched his seemed to tighten. Angry with herself, she closed the door with a firm click and stood next to it, breathing deeply. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself, she wouldn’t, aware of her heartbeat thudding in her ears. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands. The coolness of the wall eventually steadied her.

  ‘Nurse?’ The ward sister called to her from the nurses’ station. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ What could she say? Instinctively she knew it would be Mrs Worth who’d bear the brunt of any fuss Linda made about her husband’s brutish behaviour. Yet she almost succumbed to tears at the concern in Sister Daniels’ voice. Linda pushed herself upright and crossed the main ward, now filled with the babble of visitors. All ten beds had two visitors each, cooing over the babies and chatting excitedly to the mothers, all tucked tightly under taut covers. Looking over the top of the Sister’s head and blinking, Linda said, brightly, ‘I’ll go for my break now, if you don’t mind?’

  Sister Lawson checked her watch. ‘Yes, all right. Don’t be late back. The meds will need to be sorted and as soon as visiting is over, I want the babies put in the nursery.’ She bent her head over some papers on the desk. ‘I want the ward settled down for the night earlier tonight. It was chaos until after ten last night.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ Glad to be able to escape, a few words were all Linda could manage. ‘Thank you, Sister.’

  The rest-room was empty. She poured herself a strong cup of tea from the large teapot and used the remains of the milk from a bottle in cold water in the sink. The tea was stewed but still quite warm. She sank into the sagging armchair by the window, rested her head against the back and gazed through the glass. It was windy; the sky had that luminous grey quality of a chilly evening and the branches of the beech trees swung away from the shelter of the hospital.

  A bluebottle hit one of the panes, crawled around the frame, silent and then frantically buzzing again and again. It was like the nightmare. Just when she thought it had stopped it started all over again. She stood and pulled up the sash window and waited until the bluebottle crawled over the sill and disappeared. If only the bad dream would do the same. She held on to the beige curtains cursing the man who somehow had caused the nightmares to return. She’d dealt with bullying husbands before in her job. For God’s sake, she’d even faced up to Uncle Patrick, when he was in one of his rages that always seemed to come from nowhere. She wasn’t soft. So what was it about Harriet Worth’s husband that upset her so much?

  The door opened. Linda turned with a start. Two junior nurses stopped at the sight of her, their laughing trailing away. ‘Sorry, Nurse Booth.’

  ‘No worries, girls, I was just leaving.’ Linda smiled at them. She rinsed her cup and hurried back to the ward with only a minute before her official break ended.

  In the drug-storage room she kept herself busy by preparing the trolley for the evening round of medication. She knew she was really only waiting for the bell to mark the end of visiting-time.

  When it sounded she breathed a sigh of relief. She pushed the door almost closed so that she wasn’t visible to the stream of visitors leaving the ward.

  But she couldn’t mistake the loud voice. Once George Worth had passed the room she opened the door and watched him leave. He had his arm around the girl’s waist and was chatting to another man.

  Just before they left the ward, Linda heard him say, ‘Look at me, walking out of here with such a pretty young lady.’

  She saw him look down at his stepdaughter. ‘Now, how about I get you some fish and chips?’ The girl shook her head as she quickened her pace and, shoulders stooped, pushed past the people in front of her.

  As though she couldn’t wait to get away from him, Linda thought.

  All at once the fear took over. She couldn’t feel her body, only the beating of her heart. Her breathing quickened and her legs buckled. She flailed her arm behind her, feeling for a solid surface to hold on to. Not able to find one – she slumped to the floor; her head drooped between her knees.

  The years that had piled one on top of the last, hiding the memory, were swept away.

  It couldn’t be. Could it…?

  Chapter 18: Linda Booth & Nelly Shuttleworth

  Ashford, morning: Sunday, September 21st

  On impulse Linda stayed on the bus until it reached the top of Barnes Street.

  Hearing George Worth’s words, as he had left the ward, had brought the bitter sourness to her throat. She’d pushed through the flood of people to get to the lavatory, gagging on the vomit, and dropped to her knees over the bowl in the first cubicle, retching.

  The horror stayed with her throughout the night shift. Don’t think about it, she’d thought, changing bloodied sheets for a new mother. Don’t think about it, giving a night feed to a crying new born. Don’t think about it, handing out painkillers and filling out reports. But it had been no use. The memories of a wet stinking tunnel, a cold damp stone floor, the smell of a dirty hand over her mouth, a man coughing and wheezing, the rasp of a rusty bolt, wouldn’t go away. And then the sour smell of urine. Her urine. And the pain as her head hit the ground. The shock. The panic of seeing only blackness.

  She’d tried to empty her thoughts but the terror clung obstinately.

  ‘This is a surprise, pet. I thought you said you were on nights.’ Linda heard the cautious worry in Nelly’s voice, which changed to a forced jollity. ‘Owt to do with that daft cousin of yours, our Victoria?’

  ‘No, Gran. No news on that score.’ Linda sat on the small footstool near Nelly. It looked as if the old woman had slept in the chair; she was fully dressed and her clothes were rumpled. ‘Have you been here all night?’ She picked up Nelly’s glasses off the carpet and handed them to her.

  Nelly pushed them on, adjusted them onto the bridge of her nose. ‘Never mind me. Shouldn’t yer be tucked up in bed yerself?’ She put a gentle hand on Linda’s head.

  The touch caused Linda to gulp.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Tears smarted.

  ‘Yer don’t usually come ’ere straight after work.’

  ‘I just felt like a visit.’ It was something she’d often done as a child when there’d been trouble at home. When her mother had been drinking. There was a lot of comfort in snuggling up on her gran’s ample lap, in the familiar fusty smell of her.

  ‘Okay.’ Nelly pushed down her anxiety, stroking Linda’s hair. She would say before long what was upsetting her. ‘Owt interesting going on at the hossie?’ It was the only thing she could think to say that was normal, that would quieten the niggle of unease.

  Linda was aware she was a lifeline to the outside world for her gran who didn’t go much beyond her front door these days. But she also knew Nelly’s tactics of going all around the houses to get to whatever the problem was, and was grateful.

  ‘We’ve been busy these last two nights. Sandra Crabtree’s in again…’

  ‘Oh aye?’ Nelly raised an eyebrow. ‘Off Bridle Terrace? Poor cow.’

  ‘Twins this time. That makes seven she’s got now.’

  ‘Poor cow,’ Nelly
said again, sucking in her cheeks. ‘Terry Crabtree’s a right waster an’ all.’

  ‘I know.’ Linda paused. ‘And we have a woman in who’s much older than our usual mums. Nice woman. She had a rotten time, ever such a long labour. Little boy was breech. He had to go in one of the incubators at first.’

  Nelly screwed her face up in sympathy. ‘Always worse when you’re on your own in the ward without your bairn. ’Appened to a woman when I was in with my first. She skriked all the time.’

  ‘Oh no, she’s not in the main ward, she’s in one of the side wards. She’s private.’

  ‘Ah well, pet, some woman get mollycoddled by their fellers.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Linda tipped her head back to look at Nelly.

  Bending forward, Nelly saw the two lines between Linda’s eyebrows deepen slightly in a familiar gesture. This was it; whatever came next became her problem as well as her granddaughter’s. It was a familiar pattern between them. One that she knew Linda relied on. Her heart gave a quick double thump. ‘What is it, love?’

  ‘You know … usually the husbands are lovely…full of excitement and proud of their wives. And they treat the nurses with respect, Gran.’ Linda wrapped her arms around her body. Keep calm, she told herself.

  ‘So they should.’ Nelly nodded.

  ‘But the first time this woman’s husband came on the ward it wasn’t visiting time and he wouldn’t take no for an answer … just shoved me to one side when I tried to tell him he wasn’t allowed in.’

  Nelly made a fist. If the bloke had been standing in front of her now, she’d give him what for. ‘You weren’t frightened, weren’t you, pet?’

  ‘I was, to be honest … which isn’t like me. I freaked a bit. He was horrible.’

  ‘Bastard.’ Nelly’s hand was motionless on Linda’s head.

  Linda hugged herself harder. ‘And then last night he came in again. I was telling his wife she needed a few days more rest. She’s had an awful time, Gran.’ Linda looked up at her. ‘She’s exhausted. And to be honest, I don’t think he cares about anything else but how he’s being put out with her being in hospital. He was so nasty.’ Her scalp tightened. ‘Normally, I can handle anything. But this was different. There was something about him. It was as though I knew him from somewhere.’ Linda twisted round to face Nelly, her hand on her gran’s knee. ‘As though I knew I should be scared of him. Instinctively like. You know what I mean?’

  ‘Right…’ Nelly drew the word out. ‘Was ’e a big bloke?’

  ‘No, he was same size as me but thickset.’

  ‘Did you report ’im?’

  ‘No, I was just glad to get away from him.’

  ‘You should tell your William. ’E’d sort ’im out.’

  ‘I don’t want him involved. To be honest, Gran, the man looks like one of the Kray twins – slick hair, flash … as though he has to prove he has money… One of those astrakhan coats slung around his shoulders. Loads of gold chains round his neck, his wrists. Great big square ring on his little finger. And he looks as if he’d been in loads of fights; he has a sort of half-moon shaped scar on his face. Here.’ Linda touched her cheek. ‘And a nose that looks as if it’s had a bad break. He frightens me.’

  Nelly’s stomach lurched. She put her hand to her throat but couldn’t stop the small groan. She took her glasses off, pressed her fingers over her eyes.

  ‘Gran? What is it?’

  Nelly opened then closed her mouth. The tremor started deep inside her until she was shaking violently.

  Linda got to her knees, wrapped her arms around the old woman.

  ‘Gran? What’s wrong?’

  Nelly’s shoulders shuddered. ‘I can’t…’

  Goosebumps rose on Linda‘s arms. She held her breath for a few seconds, waited. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded strange even to herself. ‘You know him, don’t you Gran? You know who the man is.’

  When Nelly next spoke it was in a whisper. ‘Not my place to say, pet. You need to go home. You need to talk to your Dad.’

  Chapter 19: Linda Booth

  Ashford, morning: Sunday, September 21st

  Linda sat on the bench, staring unseeingly at her hands clasped together on her lap. The autumn sun was quite warm on the top of her head but inside she felt icy cold. Why was Gran so upset? Who was this man? Instinctively she felt she knew who he was, but how? Where from?

  The lake was crammed with families in pedal-boats and canoes, enjoying their Sunday. Shouts and screams of laughter wafted across the water. Dogs barked, children cried. Somewhere an ice-cream van played a tinny tune. Greensleeves? But the noises in the park sounded miles away. Occasionally she’d been conscious of someone sitting on the seat next to her, attempting to chat, but she ignored them and eventually they’d moved away. One, a young woman, had a child with her: a small girl who’d touched Linda’s hand and smiled. Linda could only stare blindly into the child’s brown eyes.

  There was a high-pitched yell and a loud splash. Linda jumped; her scalp tingled with the sudden disturbance. One of the men in charge of the boats was hooking a canoe towards him as a girl clung to the side, her paddle drifting away on the water. They were laughing.

  Linda stood. There was only one way to find out who that man really was … George Worth. She needed to get home.

  Later, she wondered why she hadn’t put two and two together when she was talking to her gran.

  There was no one in the kitchen when she walked in through the back door but she could hear voices and she went into the hall. Her dad was cleaning the outside of the living-room windows. Bert Robinson, a neighbour from the end of the street, leant against the house wall talking to him, the pipe between his lips waggling from side to side as he spoke.

  ‘Hello, Linda, love,’ Bert said, taking the pipe from his mouth and pointing the stem at her when she looked out from the front door. ‘You look in a lather … been running, like?’

  ‘Linda.’ Ted turned, dropping the wash-leather into the bucket at his feet. ‘You’re late home, lass…’

  ‘Can we talk, Dad?’ She didn’t acknowledge the question in his voice and went back into the kitchen.

  She heard her father say, ‘See you, Bert.’ before following her. He put the bucket by the sink. ‘What is it?’ He dried his hands, bunching the towel up and tossing it onto the draining-board.

  Now she was here she didn’t know where to start. She leant against the table, clutching the edges of the surface. ‘Something happened at work. A man. The husband of one of my mothers…’ She saw Ted’s mouth tighten, the slight frown. Gran was right; her dad must know something. But his next words threw her.

  ‘Someone been pestering you?’

  ‘Not like that.’ Impatience made her voice strident. ‘Gran said I should ask you about him. She said you’d know…’ Her knees were giving way.

  ‘Know what?’ Ted put his hands on her arms and gently sat her down on one of the chairs. He pulled up another chair and dragged it closer to her. ‘What is it, love? What’s happened?’

  ‘Gran said you’d know who he is.’ Linda gulped, the words hard in her throat. ‘Who this man is. There’s something about him. He’s nasty, aggressive for no reason. He bullies his wife.’ Linda held up her hand as Ted opened his mouth to speak. ‘It’s not that … it’s something else.’ She wasn’t explaining properly. Her words tumbled out. ‘I keep getting the feeling I know him from somewhere but I can’t… I don’t…’

  ‘Take it easy, lass. Tell me what he looks like?’

  She frowned, picturing the man. ‘Like he used to have ginger hair … more grey now. Not tall. He has a half-moon shaped scar on his cheek. And a nose that looks as if it’s been broken. Bent, like. Gran said I had to ask you. She was really upset. Really upset,’ she stressed. ‘He scares me, Dad. It’s as though I know – knew him once. I remember…’ her words trailed away. She watched Ted. His face seemed to crumble and then harden. But his features weren’t the same as before; he looked like a different man. Whe
n he spoke his voice was harsh.

  ‘What’s he called?’

  All at once Linda was frightened – more frightened than she could ever remember. ‘Dad?’

  ‘I said, what’s he called?’ Linda saw her father brace himself. Then his shoulders drooped. ‘Sorry, Linda. Just tell me his name, love.’

  ‘Worth. His name’s George Worth.’ She watched him sway on the chair as though to fall, and put her hand out to him. He grabbed her fingers, squeezed them until it hurt. ‘Dad?’

  ‘It can’t be …’

  Linda twisted around in the chair to see Ellen holding on to the door as though it was the only thing keeping her upright. Had she been drinking again? The thought flashed through Linda’s mind, but her mother’s voice wasn’t slurred when she repeated, ‘It can’t be. Ted?’

  ‘Hush, Ellen. Let me think.’

  ‘Dad?’ Linda felt the weakening of her bladder, feeling she would wet herself any moment. ‘You know him?’

  The silence flickered around the room.

  ‘We need to talk, love.’ Ted glanced at his wife. ‘Ellen, come and sit down.’ She shook her head. His voice was sharp. ‘I said come and sit down. Here. We need to talk. It’s time. Linda needs to know. Now. Come and sit down.’

  ‘Time for what?’ Linda whispered. ‘Just tell me. What do I need to know?’

  Ellen sat opposite them. Her face, cupped between her palms, was grey; her eyes were fixed on Ted.

  He kept hold of Linda’s hands. ‘Now … you say his wife’s just had a baby?’ He glanced at Ellen, shaking his head slightly. ‘So how old is he?’

  ‘He’s about Mum’s age, I think. But what—’

  ‘How old’s his wife?’ Ellen interrupted, leaning across the table.

  ‘Same, round about. But what’s that got to do with it?’ Linda stared at her. ‘There’s an older girl as well.’ Why did she feel it was important to add that?

  ‘What’s he look like?’ Ellen again.

  Ted answered. ‘Short, stocky bloke? Ginger hair, you said?’

  ‘Yes.’ Linda nodded slowly. ‘Mostly grey but it looks as though it was ginger. And frizzy.’ A memory hovered. A man standing over her; the sun, low in the sky, highlighting red greasy curls. There was a sour taste in her mouth. ‘And he’s called Worth. George Worth?’