She peeped through the plain grey curtain at her window. Christine was walking stiffly behind one of the men towards the large gates. She was dressed in flared denim jeans and a white tee-shirt, unlike the long flowing dresses Victoria had seen her in before. She carried nothing: no bags, no clothes.
‘They’re sending her out with nothing,’ Victoria murmured, looking hastily around to see if there was anyone else in the dormitory. But all the other girls were in morning prayers, being talked at by the Master.
It was strange, she thought, how easily she’d slipped into calling Seth that, even in her head: how easily she’d managed to stop herself being so mesmerised by him. Two nights ago, when he’d summoned her to his room she’d gone, not knowing what to expect. She’d thought by explaining to him how she felt, that she didn’t fit in and had to leave, he might understand because her time with the commune had been so short. And she’d been determined to tell him that she wasn’t going to be treated the same as Christine; she just wanted out.
But she hadn’t had the chance; he’d wanted sex and he gave her no chance to refuse. It had been horrible; he had used her as if she was somebody he didn’t know, let alone loved. Like a prostitute, she told herself; no kisses, only his thrusts inside her until he’d collapsed, rolled over and gone to sleep. She’d crept away to sit shivering in one of the baths, pouring cold water over her body time and time again.
Now she shuddered, grasping the curtain tighter and trying to get rid of the images.
She saw Christine waiting by the gate, her head held high. Victoria could see that the man was talking, his face contorted with the venom he was spitting out at her. At last he opened the gates just far enough for Christine to squeeze through. Victoria saw him deliberately tread on her heel, taking her shoe off with the toe of his sandal. For a moment the girl faltered. But then she bent down, picked up the shoe and walked away, limping.
Victoria wasn’t aware she was weeping until the scalding tears fell onto her hand gripping the curtain.
When the man turned round she froze; it was River, the older Irish man who, over the past week, had shadowed her, touching her whenever he had the chance, whispering foul words. He wanted sex with her, she had no doubt about that, and she was running out of ways to avoid him.
‘I need to leave as well,’ she muttered. If only she’d had the courage to go with Christine, she thought. Now she’d missed her chance.
‘Summer?’
Victoria spun round.
Jasmine stood by the door of the dormitory. ‘If you don’t hurry you’ll miss the meeting with the Elders. The Master sent me to look for you.’ She crossed the dorm and stared out of the window. She gave a short laugh. ‘Ah, it was River you were so engrossed in.’ She raised her hand and waved to him. ‘Think he’s looking for you, too, Summer,’ she murmured. ‘You two going to get it together?’
‘No.’ Victoria caught her breath; she’d spoken too harshly. She gave the girl a smile and shrugged.
Jasmine laughed again. ‘Well, you’ll have all the time in the world to decide. The Master has given him permission to talk to you.’ She sat by Victoria and rested her head on her shoulder. Victoria forced herself not to recoil. She took small shallow breaths to prevent any movement. ‘And he’s told me to tell you, you can have two days off from your chores.’ She whispered in Victoria’s ear. ‘He’s allocated you the purple room for three nights next week.’
The purple room? Victoria’s heart thumped. The purple room was only given to those couples who had made a commitment to one another. Sour bile rose in her throat as she pictured the festoons of flowers and ribbons laced over the makeshift four-poster bed, the mirrors on the ceiling. The false artful glances of the other girls.
‘No!’
Jasmine moved away. She scowled. ‘You should appreciate how privileged you’ve been. You’ve been the Master’s special one for longer than most of us were…’
Longer than most of us? Victoria thought. Less than a month? What an idiot she’d been.
Jasmine was still speaking. ‘It’s about time you learned you’re no different or better than the rest of us. Don’t think we didn’t see how you sucked up to Melody.’
Victoria wished she had been brave enough to comfort the girl. What should she do. Say? Play for time, she thought, making herself smile. ‘Let me brush my hair and I’ll come down in a minute.’
‘No time for all that.’ Jasmine’s grip on Victoria’s arm was like a vice. ‘We’re late already. We’ll be lucky if we don’t have sanctions placed on us.’ She pulled Victoria close, her eyes narrow slits. ‘And if we do, I’ll make sure you do the extra chores they give me.’
Chapter 66: Mary & Peter Schormann
Manchester, evening: Friday, October 17th
Peter took off his old trilby, rested his head against the red plastic seat – and stifled a yawn. He looked around the Berni Inn, a place they had got to know quite well; it was the sixth time they’d eaten here in the week they’d been searching Manchester. He was exhausted and over the last day or so he’d had an ache in his shoulders. He rolled his head from side to side. He knew Mary was aware of his every move and was grateful she didn’t say anything about him being so tired.
Knowing how Peter disliked fuss, Mary carried on reading down the list Jacqueline had given them. Her lips moved silently as she read the notes she’d put alongside each address. It made depressing reading, she thought. Some places so squalid, with the people living there so aggressive she’d been afraid and they’d left before they’d even managed to find a way into the buildings. Some, mostly young kids, gathered together and made their living conditions in disused stores and churches almost attractive, believing they were making a better society for themselves.
But nowhere did anyone know anything about Victoria. Or so they said.
‘You look tired, Mary.’ Peter put his trilby on the seat next to him and unfastened the buttons on his black overcoat.
‘I am, love. Exhausted, if truth were known.’ She made a rueful face that hid the despair she felt. ‘Like I said before, that’s the lot, there’s nowhere else on Jacqueline’s list. We’ve been to them all.’
All around them families were laughing and chatting as they ate. The all-pervading smell of steak and chips mingled with cigarette-smoke and the sweet aroma of sherry.
‘And Victoria has not been in one of them,’ Peter said.
‘No. I think we both knew it was hopeless, really.’
‘But what else to do? And we have shown her photograph at all the police stations.’
Mary studied him; he was sallow. ‘I think we have to presume she doesn’t want to be found.’
A waiter came towards them. ‘What can I get you?’ He brushed back his pageboy haircut, fingered his drooping moustache. He smelled heavily of Brut aftershave.
All at once Peter felt cold. ‘I am not so hungry now, Mary.’ His voice was a whisper.
She looked at him again. There was a line of sweat along his hairline.
‘No, nor me, love.’ She looked apologetically at the young man. ‘I’m sorry; we’ve decided not to eat.’
With a long drawn-out sigh, the waiter closed his order-pad and stomped towards the bar.
Peter settled his trilby on his head and stood up. He felt shaky. Mary tucked her arm through his.
Outside, although the air was filled with the smell of exhaust fumes it was still better than inside the restaurant, where the smell of food and smoke nauseated him. With the evening had come heavy clouds and it was almost dark. Shops threw oblong light across the pavements, neon lights above advertisement-boards flickered. The headlights of cars left short bursts of gloom as they passed.
They stepped away from the doorway into the stream of people, arms still linked. ‘Let’s go back to the B&B,’ Mary said. ‘You can have a rest over the weekend and then we’ll take Richard to the university and get him settled.’
And then they could go home. All at once Mary felt homesick for Llamroth, for the
peace of their home and for the sound of the sea.
She didn’t know what else they could do to find Victoria. For the first time she allowed herself to concede that even if they did find her, they wouldn’t be able to make her go home with them.
Chapter 67: Linda Booth
Manchester, evening: Friday, October 17th
‘Auntie Mary?’ Linda had seen them from the other side and, dodging through the traffic, crossed the road. ‘Any luck?’
When they turned back to look at her the answer was in their faces. In between shifts, she’d met up with them a few times since they all arrived back in Ashford; they’d looked increasingly worn out. She grimaced. ‘I’m sorry.’ She linked arms with them, one on either side of her.
‘No,’ Peter pressed her hand to his side, ‘it is fine. We have decided we can do no more. Time to go home.’
His voice was hoarse. Linda frowned, trying to study his face but in the artificial shop lights it was difficult. ‘You okay, Uncle Peter?’
He smiled down at her. ‘Your aunt and I are both tired, that is all. And—’
‘Once we’ve settled Richard in at the university, we are definitely going home.’ Mary finished the sentence for him.
Compared to her uncle, her aunt looked angry, Linda thought. And I don’t blame her; Vicky has led them a merry dance these last few weeks. ‘I’ll walk with you. It’s not much out of the way and I’ve got at least another hour before my train home.’
‘You sure?’ Mary said.
‘I’m sure,’ Linda said. She’d ask her aunt about moving down to Wales, but now wasn’t the right time. She’d leave it for now.
They walked on, still in a line of three, each with their own thoughts, oblivious to the people who moved to let them pass.
When they arrived at the front door of the tall Edwardian house where Mary and Peter were staying, she kissed them both on the cheek. ‘You two look done in,’ she said. ‘Get a good night’s sleep. Look after one another. I’ll probably see you tomorrow.’
She waited until they’d pushed open the door and gone along the hallway to the stairs before she moved away.
Chapter 68: Richard Schormann
Ashford: Sunday, October 19th
‘Duw, cariad, it’s been a cool week.’ Richard folded the last of his clothes into his suitcase and closed the lid.
‘Yeah,’ Karen smiled. ‘And cool meeting more of your family … even William.’
Richard grinned. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Will said you were the girl who’d run out of petrol.’ He did up the top button of his shirt, folded the collar over his and fastened the knot of his new green skinny tie. ‘Okay?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. Looks good against the white of your shirt,’ Karen said. ‘And I couldn’t believe it when he said he was your cousin.’ Karen returned the grin. ‘Looks like I’m never going to get away from being, er, what was it you called me? A bit twp?’
They laughed.
But it wasn’t all good. And Richard knew that sooner or later there would be trouble with George Shuttleworth. He pushed his feet into his black Beatle ankle-boots.
‘I like the Cuban heels on those,’ Karen said.
‘Hmm, feel a bit odd, though.’ Richard looked down at them. It felt wrong to be fussing about how he looked with all the crap going on with Shuttleworth. ‘I still wish you’d been able to see your mum again though,’ he said. ‘Make sure she’s okay.’ The ringing in his ears started up again, a sure sign for him that he was getting stressed. He put the flat of his hands against the hearing aids and pressed on them.
Deep down, he knew Karen’s stepfather wouldn’t let things lie. Not with her leaving home. Not knowing she was seeing him. Something would happen – Shuttleworth would come out of the woodwork some time. Then there’d be trouble.
‘Don’t you think you should go and see her?’ Richard shrugged on his waistcoat and fastened the buttons. He checked the fit of it in the wardrobe mirror before taking the grey suit-jacket off the hanger and turning to look at Karen. He wanted to look right for today, but he was more worried about her.
‘And chance seeing him?’ Her voice was defiant even as he saw his fear reflected in the deep blueness of her eyes. ‘No way. But I’ve spoken to her on the ’phone a couple of times.’
‘What has she said? About him?’
‘She wouldn’t talk about it. She was angry. And then she cried.’ Karen faltered. ‘I felt rotten.’
Richard threw his jacket on the bed and sat next to Karen. He hugged her and looked into her face. ‘Must be awful for her.’
‘It is. And there’s nothing we can do.’
They’d already done too much, Richard thought.
‘Do you think he knows where’re you’re staying?’
‘No. I didn’t let her know I was at Jackie’s. So hopefully there’s no way he’ll find out where I am.’ She looked at Richard. ‘We shouldn’t be so frightened of him, Richard, I know that. But I am. Knowing what he’s done in the past, I am.’
‘Yeah.’
‘We should be able to tell the police.’
‘And say what? There’s no evidence he’s done anything wrong. Mum tried hard at the time. It’s no use. And we can’t say he’s threatened us in any way.’
‘He did, though – outside the cinema that time.’
‘Nothing the police would be interested in,’ Richard said. ‘Wonder if he knows I’m back.’
‘If Mum has talked to him about it, she’ll have had to tell him you’re in Ashford.’
‘Well, we’ll just have to hope he leaves us alone.’ Starting at the university meant there’d be times when he would be unable to look out for Karen. Richard already had it in mind to ask William to keep an eye out for trouble.
‘S’pose. I’m worried he’ll come to college. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to start a row there. He threatened to do that when I said I wanted to leave home before.’
‘Why? What did it matter to him if you left home or not?’
‘I don’t know. He gives me the creeps. But I’m out of there now and I’m staying out.’
‘Can you afford to get your own place?’
‘Yeah – Dad left money for me. I have an allowance. And our solicitor would release enough for me to find somewhere, I’m sure.’
Richard leaned towards her. Her mouth was soft, trembling beneath his lips. He put his hand around the curve of her slender neck. Karen stayed still, so still, he didn’t know what she was thinking. The kiss was gentle at first but then he felt the urgency stir in him and he moved back. There was plenty of time – all the time in the world to get to really know one another. He wasn’t sure if Karen was the one true love of his life but right now, right at this minute, he believed she might be. ‘Whatever happens,’ he murmured, ‘whatever he does, you and me, we’ll be okay. You do believe me?’
‘Yes,’ she said. She was quivering. Richard could tell she’d wanted him to make love to her, that it had been as difficult for her to hold back. ‘Yes,’ she said again.
She held his head between her hands. The hearing-aids pressed against his ears and, self-consciously, he tried to move away so she wasn’t touching them.
‘It’s all right,’ she whispered, raising her face to his. ‘They don’t matter. Nothing matters, only us.’
It was the first time she’d acknowledged his deafness.
Chapter 69: Linda Booth
Ashford: Sunday, October 19th
Linda pulled the key from the lock and closed the front door. Switching on the hall light, she checked herself in the mirror. Her eyelids were still red and swollen but there was nothing she could do about that. Taking off her coat and scarf she repeated the words her gran had told her to say, the ones she’d practised in her mind all the way home on the bus.
‘You can’t go on like this, pet.’ Nelly hugged Linda goodbye on the front doorstep. ‘Come right out with it. Tell your mam and dad you’re pregnant, that it’s Martin’s, but you won’t marry �
��im. They’ll stand by yer … and so will your Auntie Mary when you need her. Just remember, you’re not the first to get into a pickle like this … and you won’t be the last.’ She waved to her next-door neighbour, Sakhi, who was standing by her garden gate watching her two boys riding their bicycles. ‘But you ’ave some decisions to make for yourself. You know that, and I know you; you’ll do the right thing … for you and the bairn.’ Holding on to the door-frame she heaved herself off the doorstep and shuffled after Linda. ‘It’ll be fine. You’ll see. Just remember wot I said.’
Linda kissed Nelly. ‘Thanks, Gran.’ She let her face rest against the wrinkled skin of the old woman’s cheek, breathing in the comforting faint smell of soap and mustiness that had belonged to her gran for as long as Linda could remember. ‘I will.’
Keeping a firm smile on her face, she nodded at the small Asian woman as she passed her.
Just before turning onto Manchester Road she turned around and waved. The two women were chatting by her gran’s gate. But her gran’s eyes were on Linda and she returned the wave.
Waiting at the bus stop, the apprehension returned in waves of cold sickness in the pit of her stomach.
Linda stared into the mirror. ‘I’m pregnant. It’s Martin’s,’ she murmured. ‘I’m not marrying him. We’re finished.’ She nodded; it was enough. She’d leave the ranting to her mother.
A ripple of light laughter came from upstairs, followed by another, lower, laugh. Richard and Karen. Linda envied them; whatever troubles faced them they had each other. The sob in her throat was unexpected. ‘Pull yourself together,’ she muttered to her reflection. It wasn’t that she even wanted Martin, the memory of him crouched on the floor disgusted her. But still the fear of what was happening panicked her in the nights. She was going to be an unmarried mother. It was what she was choosing to be. But she’d have no husband, no job, no money. Soon she’d be starting to show; at thirteen weeks her uniform was already straining across her bust and waist and the local gossips would have a field day. Well, not at my expense, she thought. One way or another she’d get away from Ashford. And right now Auntie Mary was her only hope. ‘What a mess,’ she breathed, dumping her coat on the end of the banister at the bottom of the stairs.
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