Living in the Shadows

by Judith Barrow

  Still she’d gone now. Victoria hoped her family … her old family … would leave her alone now to get on with her new life with Seth. Now she was out of it she didn’t even mind having to hide in that old disgusting pipe. It would all be worth it.

  Chapter 26: Jacqueline Howarth

  Ashford: Wednesday, September 24th

  ‘Jacqueline?’

  ‘Auntie Mary! I rang last night but there was no reply. Is everything okay?’ Jackie did a thumbs-up to Nicki who was standing by the fridge and offering a glass and a bottle of lager.

  She’d had to concede the search at the old camp yesterday was a waste of time, despite the feeling that the hippies were hiding something there. She didn’t blame him, but she was well and truly in Sergeant Blackwood’s bad books for dragging him out of his warm office on what was really only a hunch on her part.

  And she’d had no luck with any of the local stations; none of them had anything untoward to report and she wasn’t surprised. Victoria was probably hiding out at a friend’s house, sulking. She certainly wouldn’t be on the streets of Manchester, scruffy and unkempt. Her cousin was too full of herself to allow that to happen.

  Her aunt’s next words shocked her out of her exasperation.

  ‘Your Uncle Peter had a slight heart attack on Monday.’

  Oh, no. ‘Is he all right?’ She loved her uncle; he was a nice man. ‘How is he? Is he in hospital? What have they said?’

  ‘They’ve kept him in but they say it’s not serious.’ Mary’s voice cracked. Jacqueline heard her sniff. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t let you know, I’ve only been back to the house to get a change of clothes—’

  ‘Oh, forget that,’ Jackie interrupted. ‘What happened?’

  Nicki came to stand next her, putting an arm over her shoulder. ‘What’s up?’

  Jackie raised a finger and mouthed ‘in a minute’, struggling to hear Mary.

  ‘We were walking on the front. Stupid because it was such bad weather but Peter insisted it would do me good after… after—’

  ‘I know.’ Jackie said quickly, scowling. ‘And, I‘m sorry, there’s been no sighting of her up here.’

  Mary didn’t acknowledge what Jackie had just said.

  ‘We were lucky. Some friends of ours were passing in their truck. They got him into the cab and we took him to Pont-y-Haven.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do? Shall I come?’

  ‘No.’

  The line hummed for a few seconds. Jackie pressed her ear firmer to the receiver. ‘Auntie Mary?’

  ‘Sorry. No, love, that’s very kind of you. But it’s not necessary, there’s nothing you could do. Alwyn and Alun, our friends, are looking after Gelert for a few days. That’s one worry off my mind.’

  ‘I’ll tell Mum and Auntie Ellen—’

  ‘No. No, don’t. And don’t tell Richard, Jackie. Peter’s insisting he doesn’t get told until after his next interview. ’

  ‘Oh, of course. I understand.’ Though what he’ll say when he finds out I’ve kept it from him, heaven only knows, she thought. ‘Do you want me to tell Nelly, then? She could ring you?’

  ‘No, she’ll only mither; she doesn’t need any worry at her age.’

  ‘You need someone, Auntie Mary. You can’t be on your own down there.’

  ‘I’m not on my own. I’ve got Peter.’ The line crackled again for some moments. Then Mary said, ‘This is all Victoria’s fault. He’s literally worried sick about her.’

  Chapter 27: Victoria Schormann

  Ashford: Thursday, September 25th

  Victoria was lonely. It was a week since she’d arrived and she hadn’t made any friends yet. She knew that most of the women resented her. Probably because she was Seth’s favourite, she told herself, pushing away the memory of two days ago.

  She hadn’t seen him to speak to since then.

  She had thought it would be so different being in a commune; that she’d belong, be accepted for herself. Not as Richard’s stroppy sister, or her parents’ difficult daughter (which she knew was how they thought of her) but as one of the community – as Seth’s girlfriend. It wasn’t turning out like that, not yet anyway. Two of the girls in the dorm had already complained about the amount of time she spent on herself instead of taking on a share of the work. Well, stuff them, they could get lost. She had no intention of looking as grungy as they did. Any more than she was going to learn how to do the stupid knitting Jasmine had insisted she tried. She reckoned if she kept on dropping stitches Jasmine would give up on her. As for using that makeshift cooking range… Victoria shut out the humiliating scene. That woman, Chrystal, hadn’t needed to be so nasty; how was she to know she was supposed to check there was enough wood to keep the fire going underneath? Wasn’t that a job for the men? The tears came easily.

  She breathed on the window and rubbed a circle in the grime on the glass with her finger. Peering out, she shivered. She hated it here.

  She hated the rusted fence, just yards from the building she was in, and beyond it the expanse of wasteland. Hated the ugly skeletons of old buildings, mapped out on the ground by foundation stones covered in pink weeds and coarse grass. Hated the spindly-looking shrubs growing from the collapsed ruins of the old mill. She especially hated the large corroded metal sheets that had replaced part of an old fence, blocking off any view of the road beyond. By twisting her head she could just about see the large gates, padlocked together and leaning lopsidedly against two brick pillars. Like a bloody prison, she thought.

  The excitement she’d felt last Wednesday, as they drove away from the boring little village in Wales, had gone. She’d replaced one stifling place for another.

  If only she and Seth hadn’t walked by the canal that day.

  She flopped down on her mattress and looked down the long room that was allocated to the single women in the commune. There was no one else around but they’d left their smells behind. She crinkled her nose against the smell … no, the stench, she thought, the stench of sweat, of unwashed hair. Body odours. She pulled at the thin, horrid sheet of material that divided her mattress from the next. It didn’t reach far enough for her; she’d have liked to shut everybody out completely. The so-called curtains separating the twelve narrow mattresses weren’t enough to give Victoria the privacy she’d been used to. But they were enough to make her feel cut off from the other girls when they chatted at night.

  That was how she knew that Seth held the daily meditations that she hadn’t been allowed to go yet. All he’d said on the second day she was in the commune was, ‘I’ll know when you’re ready to join in.’

  She listened to their discussions, jealous of their time spent with him, envious whenever one of them had been singled out for group contemplation. Wanting to feel part of what they shared. To learn how to find that spiritual peace she’d been unable to find. That Seth had promised her that day, way back in the summer.

  She’d sneaked out to meet him after her parents and Richard had gone with Auntie Jean to see the rest of the family on Henshaw Street. She’d feigned a headache but, from the scathing look her mother had given her, Victoria knew she wasn’t believed. She didn’t care; they were due to go home the following day and this morning she was supposed to be meeting Seth.

  Her skin tingled with excitement when she saw the Volkswagen parked at the far end of Greenacre Street. She wasn’t sure he’d keep the promise he’d made when she left him the week before at the festival. But when he got out of the van and picked her up in a huge bear hug she knew he felt the same as her.

  ‘Let’s walk,’ she’d said. The farther away from Henshaw Street they were, the safer she’d feel. And, from past visits to Ashford, she knew it wasn’t that far to the canal. So when they reached one of the sets of steps leading down to the canal she stopped. ‘Down here?’ There was less chance of being seen if they were on the path.

  They walked, arms wrapped around one another, pausing only for him to kiss her – long slow kisses as though he was claiming her. A
nd she was willing to submit to him, she realised. But not yet. And not here. When they stopped to kiss underneath one of the bridges she felt his hand on her breast, his knee nudging between her thighs and pulled back from him.

  ‘Don’t rush me, okay?’ She searched his face, frightened he’d laugh, mock her, knowing somehow she still hadn’t ‘done it’. Because she hadn’t. Sex was something she’d yet to discover. There’d been plenty who’d tried it on with her. She wasn’t stupid; she knew some of the boys in college really fancied her. But there hadn’t been anyone she’d liked enough to go all the way with them.

  Until now.

  So she was nervous when she spoke. ‘Not yet. Huh?’

  He shrugged. ‘Okay.’ He gave her a light kiss on the lips and let her pull him along the path.

  The grass along the edge of the canal lay flat, slimy. The surface of the sluggish water was covered in oily, multi-coloured swirls that almost hid the shapes of objects that had been thrown in over time. Victoria screwed up her nose against the faint smell of sewage. It really was a gross place. She wished she’d not suggested they walked here.

  She saw him looking at the canal in disgust as well. She touched his cheek, turned his head so he looked at her. ‘Tell me about yourself.’ When she’d seen him with the other people at the festival she felt there was something about them she’d missed. ‘Tell me about your family.’

  ‘The people you saw me with at the fest – they’re my family. Most of us have been together for ages. We don’t want to be part of all the crap that’s thrown at us day after day by idiots who think they’re in charge.’ He smiled at her, his eyes creased into laughter lines at the corners.

  Victoria’s stomach flipped over. She loved this man; she believed she’d loved him the first moment she saw him. So when he added, ‘We’ve dropped out from all that,’ she instinctively knew that was what she wanted as well.

  ‘You’re a commune?’

  ‘Yep,’ Seth lifted her arm, kissed the inside of her wrist. She felt the rush of heat between her thighs. He grinned as though he knew but only said, ‘Yep, s’pose that’s what we are: a commune. We live together, support one another, believe in a consciousness of a higher Self.’

  His last words jarred with Victoria. ‘I don’t know…’ she paused. ‘I don’t believe in any religion really, I stopped going to church when I was fourteen. I know my mother doesn’t really either but, for some reason, she goes when my dad wants her to.’

  ‘It’s not like the religion that’s been pushed down our throats since forever,’ Seth said. ‘I should know; my father was a vicar. Biggest hypocrite I’ve ever come across. He left us, ran off with one of the women in the church choir. Mum started to drink.’ His eyes narrowed, he looked almost ugly for a second or two. Victoria caught her breath. Then he relaxed and smiled. ‘Nothing I could do but get out. I was on the streets at sixteen. Hooked up with some of the others in ’60. Best thing I ever did, believe me.

  ‘You know, babe, all religions started as cults; Christianity was a cult centered around the guy Jesus. We’re different from that, we’re a commune; everyone is equal.’ He hugged Victoria. It felt good. She relaxed against him. ‘It’s real cool, babe, honest,’ he said. ‘We meditate together every day. Better than a toke, you know?’

  She didn’t; as far as she knew there weren’t any sort of drugs around in Llamroth. And so far she’d been a bit of a loner in college, so she hadn’t been involved in anything going on there either. But she nodded, not wanting him to think she was uncool.

  ‘I’ve read a lot about Transcendental Meditation,’ she said. She’d watched the news about the Beatles a couple of years ago, when they’d gone to Bangor to meet that Yogi. She wasn’t interested in the Fab Four: not like Richard, who copied everything about them, even the daft haircut. But for a few weeks after it happened it had been in all the Welsh papers; she’d heard some of the other girls in school talking about it and about Transcendental Meditation. They hadn’t included her, of course; they never did. Not that she cared. But she’d listened and afterwards she’d gone to the library to find out what it was all about. It had fascinated her ever since. ‘I’ve tried to meditate, as well. But it’s difficult.’

  ‘That’s because of the negative thoughts, babe. Think about how many negative thoughts go through your mind every day, huh?’

  Victoria flushed. It suddenly occurred to her that he was right. That’s why she needed to get away from home. But did she dare? Was she brave enough?

  As though he read her thoughts he said, ‘Think about it, babe. About joining us? Being free from all the crap, eh? Promise I’ll teach you how to meditate. Get peace.’

  Had she finally found somewhere where she’d be welcomed just for herself? One where she didn’t have to compete to be noticed?

  ‘I’ll think about it…’

  The possibilities of what it would mean churned around in her head. She walked alongside Seth lost in thought.

  ‘What’s that place?’ Seth stopped. He pointed past a line of shrubbery on top of the banking.

  Victoria glanced upwards towards a long roof, green with a covering of moss. ‘Looks like one of the buildings belonging to the old cotton mill.’ She frowned. ‘It’s all in ruins now. Was called the Granville.’ She hesitated. ‘Used to be a POW camp in the war,’ she’d said finally.

  ‘Really?’ Seth stared along the path towards the next bridge. Victoria followed his gaze. She could see the heads of two people walking past ‘Is that a road there?’ he asked. ‘Going over the bridge?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Leads to that place? The mill?’

  ‘Passes it, yes.’ A breeze ruffled the surface of the canal, rippling out the swirls of oily colours, the water swaying the slimy grasses along the edges of the banks. Victoria shivered, rubbed the skin on her upper arms. ‘It’s getting a bit chilly, Seth.’

  ‘Let’s just go and have a look. Eh?’

  ‘Why?’ Everything about the old mill gave her the creeps. Years ago Jackie had brought her here, told her it was where Linda had been kept for days by some weirdo. She debated on telling Seth about it. Decided she wouldn’t. ‘Let’s just go, there’s nothing to see. Honest.’

  He’d pulled a face but followed her back along the path.

  Yeah, letting Seth see this place had definitely been a mistake.

  ‘Victoria?’ A girl pulled aside the curtain, holding out a cup. She smiled. ‘We missed you; you didn’t come down for the mid-day meal. So I brought you this. It’s soup.’

  Victoria took hold of the cup. The handle felt thick and clumsy in her fingers.

  ‘We haven’t really spoken since you first arrived. Blossom? My name’s Blossom. There are a lot of names to remember so don’t worry if you’ve forgotten.’ The girl waited for Victoria to reply. When she didn’t she said, ‘May I sit on your chair?’

  Victoria nodded, not trusting the tone of friendliness from the girl.

  ‘I suppose you’re waiting for Seth.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘It’s difficult at first. I know.’ She tucked her legs up under her chin and arranged her long purple skirt.

  ‘What do you mean, “at first”?’ The wrench of fear shook Victoria.

  Without answering, Blossom loosened her long brown hair and shook her head, running her fingers through the strands. Peeping through them she asked, ‘How did you meet him? Seth?’

  Vicky considered not answering but then, off-handedly, ‘A pop fest, just outside Manchester, earlier this year.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Blossom leaned forward, let her hair flop over her face. ‘Thought so.’

  This girl is so irritating, Victoria thought, peering at the brown liquid in the cup. There were circles of grease floating on the surface. She put the cup on the floor. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That’s where he usually finds us.’ Now Blossom was plaiting her hair. She spoke indifferently.

  ‘Seth loves me.’ Victoria made it into a statement.

  ‘Of course
he loves you.’ The girl looked surprised now. ‘He loves us all.’

  Victoria clamped her lips together. After a few minutes the girl got off the chair. Before she left she patted Victoria on the shoulder. A touch Victoria shrugged off.

  She was so tired. Perhaps if she could sleep at night she wouldn’t feel so bad but she wasn’t used to sharing a room with anyone, let alone eleven other girls. All the sounds in the night, the mutterings, the snores, the muffled noises of lovemaking kept her awake. Sometimes she swore she heard Seth’s voice. But even when she crept out of the dorm with the excuse of going to the toilet, she couldn’t make out the outlines of anyone in the darkness.

  Victoria rolled onto her stomach and slid her hand under the mattress. She took out the two photographs that she’d had in her skirt-pocket when she arrived at the commune and studied them. The tears were unexpected. She ran a finger over the surface of the picture of Nain Gwyneth and then the one of her on her own. No, not alone. She peered at the hand holding hers; it had to be Richard next to her, but whoever had taken the photograph had misjudged the image and left him out. She wouldn’t have believed how much she’d miss her brother but she did; she was so used to being jealous of him. Even though she loved him. She tried to ignore the next thought; just in that instant she missed all her family, her bedroom, with the walls covered in posters, her paintings. Proper curtains. Even the stupid little village. The feeling quickly passed. She’d made the choice to be here. She looked around the large room; at the bare walls, the mattresses covered with blankets the other girls had made and then back to her own mattress with the grey blankets Amber had given her: ‘Until you make your own…’. Victoria blew a sigh out. Fat chance of that.

  Lonely or not, she was here now. And one way or another she’d make it work. Somehow she’d make herself fit in. It was what she wanted.

  Chapter 28: Richard Schormann

  Manchester: Friday, September 26th