Ted glanced over to Ellen, his top lip held between his teeth. ‘It has to be him. He’s just changed his name a bit.’
Changed his name? An unwelcome slow understanding wavered on the outskirts of Linda’s mind. A realisation she refused to acknowledge.
‘No!’ Ellen’s voice was smothered by her hands.
‘It’s him, isn’t it? It’s that man.’ Linda pulled her hands away from her father’s.
‘You remember?’ The shock slackened her father’s face again.
‘Oh God…’ Her mother had her eyes closed.
‘I remember,’ Linda whispered. ‘The nightmares – I’ve been having them again lately.’
She looked from one to the other. It was as though a part of her was separate from what was happening: as though she was an onlooker, watching two people fall apart. ‘Who is he?’ She choked out the words, willing what she was thinking not to be the truth: for George Worth not to be who she thought he was. But… ‘It’s him, isn’t it? That man. But why…? Why did he do it? When I was a little girl… Why did he take me?’
Chapter 20: Linda Booth
Ashford, morning: Sunday, September 21st
The silence was so intense that Linda could hear the slow plop of water in the cistern in the bathroom airing-cupboard above them.
Ted cleared his throat. He tried to take hold of Linda’s hand again but she flapped her fingers, avoiding his. ‘Who is he?’ she repeated.
‘I… We think it’s George Shuttleworth.’ He looked at Ellen for confirmation.
Linda turned to her mother, saw the small, frightened upward movement of her head.
‘Gran’s other son,’ Linda said, her tone flat. So it was true; what she’d been thinking minutes earlier was the truth. Harriet Worth’s husband was the son no one would speak of.
A long time ago, when she was a little girl, Linda had found a small snapshot of Nelly with two little boys in a kitchen drawer. Her gran had given her the photo and done the same thing she’d done today – told her to go home and ask her mum and dad to tell her what she wanted to know. That was the first time she’d understood why Nelly was her gran. She couldn’t remember her mum being there but Dad had pointed one of the boys out and told her that he was her other dad – one she’d never see because he was in heaven. When she asked about the other boy in the picture he’d clammed up, the look on his face telling Linda not to push her luck.
‘Yes.’ This time Ted managed to catch hold of her hand. ‘Gran’s other son.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Linda’s heart was thumping fast in her chest. ‘Why would he do that? Take me to…’ she squeezed her eyes tight, trying to shut out the picture her words were going to bring back. ‘Keep me in that place … that old mill? I was only a kid.’
Ted reached up, stroked her hair. ‘It’s a long story, love.’
Suddenly the jolt that shot through her pushed her away from Ted, made her stand. She gripped the edge of the table. ‘If he’s Gran’s son… He’s Frank’s brother…’ She needed to move. To pace the floor. To think. ‘Why would…’ she forced the words out ‘an uncle do that to a child? To me…’
‘I need a drink,’ Ellen said.
‘You don’t.’ Ted’s tone was sharp. ‘Make a brew. Put some sugar in Linda’s.’
‘I don’t like…’ Linda watched her mother take mugs from the cupboard, arrange them on the worktop. She saw the tremor in her hands.
‘Just this once, love,’ her dad said. ‘It’ll do you good.’
The anger was unexpected. ‘He gagged me.’ Linda’s voice was high-pitched. ‘He left me in that awful place … that cellar. For days.’ The rage left as quickly as it came. ‘In the dark,’ she whispered. ‘It was so dark.’ The memory of the air in that cellar – thick and damp, nauseating to breathe in, the scratching sounds, the scuffling of soft noises – was too much. Linda felt the scream rising. Then darkness closed over her.
She was lying on the settee in the living room. Ted was cradling her and her mother was holding something to her lips. Whisky. Linda twisted away. ‘No.’ The word came out as a croak. ‘What happened?’
‘You fainted, lass.’ Ted pulled her closer to him as she tried to sit up. ‘It’s okay, take your time.’ He scowled at Ellen as she drained the glass.
‘I needed that,’ she said, on the defensive. ‘I’ll go pour the tea.’
Against the loud rattling of crockery in the kitchen, Linda said, ‘Tell me why, Dad. I want you to explain to me why he did it.’
‘I will. Let’s wait for your mum.’
‘No. Now.’ Linda pushed back on the cushions, straightened the skirt of her uniform, mechanically registering that it would need washing. ‘Now. You know why he did it. I sensed you knew why. And I felt Gran knew as well. I’ve a right to know.’ Her voice rose as he began to shake his head. ‘It happened to me. I’ve every right to be told.’
‘And I … we will.’
‘I can’t. Ted?’ Ellen appeared at the door, the glass in her hand half-full again.
‘For goodness’ sake, woman.’
She spun on her heel. They heard her stumble into the coat stand.
‘It’s always the same; whatever happens, it’s always the drink.’ The frustration made Linda’s voice shake.
‘She can’t help it.’ Ted rubbed his hands over his face. ‘She’s had to live with what she did for a long time.’
‘What did she do?’ The awful sick nervousness took over again.
‘I’ll tell her.’ Ellen came back into the living-room and held out a mug of tea to Linda before perching on the edge of the armchair next to the settee. She pressed her lips together, looked helplessly at Ted.
‘I can do it, love,’ he said.
‘No. It’s my mess.’
All at once Linda didn’t want to know. She wanted to go back to before Harriet Worth had come to the hospital, be on a different ward so that they’d never met, a different shift so that she’d not ever come across George Worth. George Shuttleworth. There was a cold certainty in her that told her life was going to change after this day. But she couldn’t speak. She stared at her mother.
What Ellen next said took Linda’s breath away.
‘Gran’s other son, Frank, was courting your Auntie Mary before she met your Uncle Peter. Peter was a POW at the camp. At the Granville—’
‘I know all that,’ Linda interrupted. ‘Auntie Mary’s told me how they met hundreds of times. What’s all that got to do with me?’
‘Give her time, love.’ Ted leaned towards Linda. ‘Let her tell it her own way.’
She saw the gratitude in her mother’s face when she looked at him. ‘Okay. Go on, Mum.’
‘Things happened.’ Ellen waved an explanation away. ‘You don’t need to know what, it’s not important. But I was jealous of them and I had a … night with him.’
‘A night?’
‘Yes. It was only a night.’ Ellen was answering her, but looking at Ted, her voice a monotone. ‘But Frank didn’t want me; it was Mary he was trying to hurt.’
Ted’s face was impassive.
It was strange, Linda thought, how the only one she felt sorry for right at that moment was her dad. She reached out for him, squeezed his arm. ‘And I was the result,’ she said.
Ellen dipped her head. ‘Yes. And I’ve never regretted that, Linda, not once. I’ve always loved you, you must know that … but I’ve always felt so guilty about what I did…’ She reached across, took Ted’s other hand. ‘There are so many things I’ve done wrong…’
Ted lifted her hand to his face, held it there. ‘Now then, love,’ he murmured.
‘I’m sorry to tell you this, Linda, but Frank wasn’t a nice man. He made Auntie Mary’s life a misery for months. Then one day he waited for her under the bridge on Shaw Street. She used to take a short cut home along the canal.’ She looked at Linda. ‘After a shift at the hospital in the camp, you know?’
Linda nodded.
‘He… He raped her.�
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The words cut through Linda’s brain.
Ellen rushed on. ‘Someone saw what he was doing. There was a fight. Frank finished up in the water. He drowned. We didn’t know for a long time who he’d fought with.’
Linda couldn’t speak.
‘It all gets a bit complicated after that, love,’ Ted said, taking a quick look at Ellen.
His wife closed her eyes. ‘You tell her, then.’
‘George Shuttleworth thought it was your mum’s brother, Tom, that Frank had the fight with. You might not remember him.’
‘I do. I think I do. A tall man?’
‘Aye, that’s right, he was,’ Ted nodded. ‘He was my best friend when we were growing up. You couldn’t have found a gentler man. He was a Conscientious Objector, you know.’
Linda shook her head. None of this makes any sense, she thought.
‘You were about five when he died. The war was over. Peter had come back from Germany and he and your Auntie Mary were together again. Her and Tom had moved to Wales to get away.’
‘Get away from what?’ Linda’s mind whirled; she still didn’t understand what any of this had to do with what happened to her.
‘From us. From all of us.’ Ted eyes filled with tears. He let go of Ellen’s hand, pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and blew his nose. ‘You see, we thought it was Tom as well. We believed he’d killed Frank Shuttleworth.’
His words were stirring up an elusive memory in Linda. She tried to cling on to it. ‘I think I remember something. Something I didn’t understand.’ She stared at Ellen. There were tears sliding down her mother’s cheeks. ‘We were in Wales for ages … at Auntie Mary’s. But it was just you and me. And then Auntie Jean and Jacqueline.’
‘Your Uncle Tom’s funeral,’ Ted said ‘He’d been killed in an accident—’
‘It wasn’t an accident,’ Ellen interrupted, her tone sharp. ‘He was murdered … run down in the road.’ Now she locked eyes with Linda. ‘By George Shuttleworth.’
‘Oh God…’
‘Like I said, George Shuttleworth thought Tom had killed Frank an’ all,’ Ted said. ‘It was revenge. He’d found out that Peter had come back to this country and was with Mary and Tom. He found them.’ Ted blew his nose again. ‘Mary told us he drove his van straight at Tom. ‘The police said it was a … hit and run.’ He shook his head. ‘There was nothing we could do. They didn’t believe Mary when she said the van was driven at Tom on purpose. Months later she came to stay with us. She saw the van again. George Shuttleworth was in it.’
The room was beginning to feel oppressive and Linda realised she was holding her breath. ‘Can we open a window?’ she said. ‘I feel ill again.’
‘Yes, love.’ Ted moved swiftly, unlocking the catch and pushing at the frame.
The noise of the street rushed in; someone passed the house, calling out a greeting, laughing loudly at a muffled comment. A door banged shut. It’s all wrong, Linda thought, everything just carries on as though nothing’s happening. She begrudged that. ‘Go on,’ she said.
‘The police didn’t believe her. So she went to see Nelly—’
‘Gran.’
‘Aye. She believed Mary all right. Nelly told her she’d given George an alibi for the days he was in Wales, said he was home, cos he’d made her say it. She was scared of him; he was handy with his fists.
‘She must have been terrified, but she still kicked George out.’ Ted shook his head. ‘She’s a brave soul. Anyway, Mary found out later your gran had told him not to come back. That she’d tell the police what he’d done.’ Ted paused. He was holding his clenched fists together.
‘That Christmas, when Auntie Mary was staying with us … when she told us she’d seen George in the same van that ran Tom down, your Uncle Patrick was there. He went after George, gave him a right beating.’ He turned to Linda. ‘After that, George disappeared.’
So many questions still churned in Linda. She watched him, waited.
‘Then he took you.’
Ellen moaned. She leaned forward, her head on her knees.
‘But why me?’
‘We think he must have somehow thought you belonged to Patrick. That you were his daughter.’
‘So, taking me was a mistake,’ Linda said, trying to work it out. ‘It should have been Jacqueline?’ It wasn’t fair that she felt that spark of resentment but she couldn’t help it. She was taken by error, but only because her Uncle Patrick had gone wading in and fought with George Shuttleworth.
‘It shouldn’t have been either of you. But yes, he was after hurting Patrick. That’s for sure.’
‘He must have hated all of us.’ Linda tasted the fear. ‘He must still hate us. If he finds out who I am— ’
‘Nothing will happen, love. I won’t let anything happen to you. Besides, he’ll still be a wanted man for taking you—’
‘And for murdering Tom.’ Ellen lifted her head. It was the first time she’d spoken for a while. ‘If ever we could prove it.’
‘I doubt he’ll be caught for that, not now.’ Ted kept his gaze on Linda.
That happened to me because of Patrick, Linda thought, ‘If he hadn’t beaten George Shuttleworth, if he’d left him alone, he wouldn’t have gone after me. She’d never call him uncle again. For a split second she wished him dead. ‘And Uncle Tom died because he tried to save Auntie Mary that day.’ She blinked slowly. It was all too much to take in. ‘Because he killed Frank.’
‘Tom didn’t kill Frank.’ Ted’s face was impassive.
‘What?’
‘Tom didn’t kill Frank.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Linda was confused. ‘Who did then?’
The question crackled between them.
‘Who did then?’ she repeated
‘Peter.’
Chapter 21: Richard Schormann
Manchester, afternoon: Monday, September 22nd
William was waiting for Richard when he walked from the entrance of the university onto Moorside Road. He swung off his motorbike and put his helmet on the seat.
‘Well?’ William ruffled his cousin’s hair. ‘You got in?’ There was a steady flow of traffic going past and, aware that too much background noise made hearing difficult for Richard, he turned to face him, so that Richard could see his mouth.
‘Not quite. Second interview Friday.’ Richard grinned, batting him off and flattening his fringe.
‘You’ll get it – you’re a clever young bugger.’
‘Fingers crossed.’
You’ll have to give your mum and dad a ring.’
‘They let me do it from the foyer in there.’ Richard tipped his head towards the hospital behind him. ‘They were over the moon.’ His mum had actually been less enthusiastic than he’d expected but he shouldn’t be disappointed; she was going mad with worry about Vicky. And she kept asking him if he knew where she’d gone. As if he wouldn’t tell them. What she’d done was unfair to them both. And she knew worry was bad for Dad. He’d ring again later.
‘They said the weather’s atrocious at home.’ He looked up at the sky, veiled with thin clouds. ‘I’m glad I’m not there.’ He dropped his gaze to his cousin. ‘Anyway, what are you doing here?’
‘I thought I’d make it up to you for being late at the station on Friday. I’ve been feeling bad about it.’ William slung his arm over Richard’s shoulder and raised his voice. ‘That business with those bloody idiots wouldn’t have happened if I’d made it on time.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Honest, Will. You told me you had a last-minute job on.’
William frowned. ‘Which needn’t have happened if Jack had just topped the petrol up from the can in the recovery truck. It would have got that dozy girl to the nearest petrol station.’
‘Hmmm. Well yes, from what you said, however pretty she was, she was also a bit twp – not having a clue how to put petrol in, isn’t it.’ Richard gave a short laugh. ‘And Jack was a lame-brain for missing a chance with a good-looking girl.’<
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‘Way out of his league.’ William took the spare helmet from inside the seat and held it out to Richard. ‘Now, sir, where do you want to go?’
Richard didn’t take the helmet. ‘Do you mind if I don’t? I’m not sure it’ll go on over these.’ He touched the hearing-aids.
‘Up to you.’ William replaced the helmet, smoothed back his long hair and put his own helmet on. Buckling the strap under his chin, he said, ‘Now, where to?’
‘Mossbridge. If that’s okay with you, chauffeur?’ Richard got on the pillion seat.
‘Oh?’
‘It’s where Karen lives.’
‘The girl you met?’ William raised his voice, kick-starting the bike. ‘Your saviour?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘For such an innocent, my lad, you must have a good line in chat.’ William shouted above the revs.
‘What?’
‘I said you must have a good line in chat.’
‘We can’t all have the gift.’ Richard jabbed him in the back, laughing.
‘How many times is this, then?’
‘Just seen her a couple of times over the weekend.’ Richard shouted. He didn’t want his cousin to know he’d fallen for Karen in a big way – that she was like no other girl he’d known. William might joke about it. And it felt so new, so exciting, he was sure it would be spoiled if shared.
‘Good for you. Hold on then. Mossbridge it is.’
Richard tapped William on the shoulder. ‘It’s around here somewhere,’ he shouted. ‘I said I’d meet her outside a pub. The Dog and Whistle? There!’ he pointed so William could tell which direction to go in. ‘There it is.’
‘Not at her house?’
‘No, she’s got a pig of a stepfather apparently, so she thought it better we meet here.’
William slowed the bike and rolled it towards the footpath. ‘Want me to wait just in case she doesn’t turn up?’
‘No.’ Richard didn’t wait for William to switch the engine off before jumping from the bike. ‘She will.’ He looked around, all at once anxious. The blood rushed to his face as William grinned. ‘She will turn up,’ he repeated, pulling his comb from the top pocket of his suit and running it through his fringe.
Living in the Shadows Page 9
