Then he was sitting on the small wall that separated the road from the beach in Llamroth. The tide was in; the waves swirled closer, dragged at the pebbles as they fell back, bubbling and foaming. He turned to peer back towards the cottage. And then along towards the village. There was no one in sight. He was alone. It was dark.
Chapter 80: Linda Booth, Jacqueline Howarth, Victoria Schormann
Bradlow, late afternoon: Wednesday, October 22nd
It felt wrong to be leaving him. Without speaking, they got into the car. At first Jackie couldn’t find the headlight button and they sat in silence while she tried. Eventually she put the car into first gear and they drove slowly away from the bright entrance of Bradlow Hospital.
Word had quickly spread to Linda’s ward and Sister Lawson had appeared at the door to the side ward in the Accident and Emergency department just after the doctors declared Peter dead on arrival.
‘You’ve had a shock, my dear,’ she’d said to Linda. ‘Just let me know when you’re ready to return to work. You need to be with your family for now.’ She’d even given Linda a quick pat on the arm, which made her cry even more.
Jackie blinked through each pool of light from the street lamps. Concentrating on driving the Hillman Minx kept her calm, but she could feel the iciness of the grief in her stomach. Driving along Huddersfield Road she tried to double-de-clutch into third gear but failed, so they chugged slowly along in second. Most of the houses had the curtains drawn, but every now and then the brightness of downstairs rooms was revealed and drew her eyes. It seemed impossible that people should be doing ordinary things – laughing, chatting, sitting, eating around tables, listening to the radio – when such a devastating thing had happened to her family.
Finally drawing the car carefully alongside the kerb outside number twenty-seven, she pulled on the handbrake. ‘You ready?’ It was the first thing spoken in the last half hour.
Linda turned a blotched and tearful face towards her. ‘No.’ She screwed the wet handkerchief tighter in her fist. ‘What do we say?’
‘What can we say?’ Jackie bit her lip. ‘That the hospital said he died instantly – that he felt no pain.’
‘How do they know that?’ Linda sobbed. ‘You saw him. You heard the horrible noises he made.’ It wasn’t the first death she’d witnessed, but it was the first time she’d lost someone she’d loved so much.
There was a loud wail from the back seat. Both girls twisted around to stare at the figure slumped in the back. Victoria had her face in her hands.
Linda and Jackie watched her in silence and then looked at one another. Jackie’s face was grim. Tears flooded again down Linda’s face.
After a couple of minutes Victoria looked up at them. ‘What?’ she said. ‘What?’
The slow, hidden rage that had been forced down inside Jackie for the last few hours burst out in a flood of recrimination. ‘We’re not going to tell your mother anything, Victoria. You are.’ She jabbed her finger at the girl. ‘You were there. We were there because of you—’
‘That’s not fair—’
‘It’s not fair that Uncle Peter has gone. It’s not fair for Auntie Mary. What you did – what you’ve done to them, these past few weeks – hasn’t been fair. You’re bloody selfish … always have been. Nobody’s ever mattered – only you.’ Jackie was weeping as she shouted. ‘You … you…’ she took in great gulps of air, struggling to get more words out.
‘Jackie. Hush.’ Linda rested her head against Jackie’s arm. Reached out to hold her. ‘Hush, love.’
Victoria sat up. ‘It’s been hard for me too—’
‘Shut up.’ Linda lifted her head and glared at her. ‘Bloody shut up.’ She felt in her jeans pocket for another handkerchief but didn’t have one. Instead she picked up the cloth from the dashboard that Peter used to use to wipe the windows and gently dabbed at Jackie’s face. ‘Come on, love,’ she murmured, ‘be brave?’ She felt Jackie nod against her.
‘Now,’ Linda turned the driver’s mirror so she could see Victoria again. ‘I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. We’re going into the house and you’re going to do as Jackie said.’ She widened her eyes in warning as Victoria started to protest. ‘You’ll do as Jackie says, because you owe it to your mother. And because it’s the right thing to do. Your father went to the one place he feared, the place he hated most in his life, just to look for you. Because he’d convinced himself that was where you were. He was a good man, a brave man. You were lucky to have him as a father. He loved you and he took care of you all your life. Now it’s your turn to repay that. You can’t do anything for him now, but you can do something for your mother.’
She gave Jackie a small shake. ‘You okay, love? You ready?’
‘Yes.’ Jackie took a juddering breath. Without looking at Victoria she opened the car door, hesitated and then stood.
‘Right?’ Linda looked at Victoria. The girl didn’t move. ‘Right?’
With a tiny move of her head Victoria pulled on the handle of the car door. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said. Her grief was mixed with the fear of facing her mother, of telling her what Victoria knew was the worst thing she would ever have to hear.
‘Too right you will,’ Linda said, in a determined voice.
The door to the house next door was flung open. The two Crowley sisters stepped out onto the pavement.
‘Linda, what on earth is going on in your house?’ Ethel shook her head. The dewdrop on the end of her nose threatened to fall but stayed put. ‘Such a commotion, such comings and goings! We haven’t had a minute’s peace, have we, Agnes?’ Without waiting for confirmation she hurried on. ‘Your mother and father are here.’ She pointed at Jackie who stood staring at her.
‘Not now, Miss Crowley.’ Holding on to Victoria’s elbow, Linda tried to side step the two old women.
Ethel blocked her. ‘They tried to park in front of our window but I told them I’d call the police.’ She sniffed, looking Jackie up and down, taking in her uniform. ‘Your father is a very rude man.’ She wagged her finger at Jackie. ‘Luckily for him your mother persuaded him to park further down the road.’ She flapped her hand in the direction of Shaw Street. ‘And—’
‘Piss off.’ Jackie pushed past her. Linda ushered Victoria in front of her.
‘Well!’ the woman’s voice was piercing. ‘I’ll report you. You’re a disgrace to your—’
Linda slammed the door.
Chapter 81: Mary Schormann
Ashford, evening: Wednesday, October 22nd
Mary heard the front door bang. She flung the kitchen door open. ‘Where have you been?’ she cried. ‘We’ve all been worried about you.’ She felt for the light-switch but something stopped her, her hand over it. ‘Peter?’ When there was no answer she clicked it on.
For a moment it was too bright and she shielded her eyes with the flat of her hands. When she saw Victoria she thought her heart had stopped. Then, with a sudden leap, it was thundering in her chest.
‘Victoria! Where have you been?’ The relief tumbled quickly over into anger. ‘Where have you been? We’ve all been worried out of our minds. Your father and I have been looking all over Manchester. We searched for you everywhere.’ She flung her arm out. ‘At home, around here. Your father—’ She looked over the girls’ shoulders at the closed door. ‘Is he outside? Is he with you? Have you seen him? He’s been gone all day.’ She stopped, all at once really seeing them for the first time, seeing their faces, their swollen eyes. ‘What is it? What’s wrong? Where’s Peter?’
She saw Linda nudge Victoria. Push her forward.
‘Mum.’ Her daughter faltered. She walked towards Mary, leaving the other two girls watching, apprehension on their faces.
‘Linda?’
‘Let Vicky tell you, Auntie Mary.’ Linda spoke softly.
‘Tell me?’ Mary was bewildered. ‘Tell me what?’ She grabbed Victoria’s shoulders. Shook her. ‘Your father? Where is he?’
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ Victoria
had her fists clenched to her chest.
Dreadful understanding flooded through Mary. ‘He’s had another heart attack, hasn’t he? Which hospital? I’ll get my coat.’ She turned towards the kitchen. The door was crowded with figures: Ted had his hand on Ellen’s shoulder, Patrick stared at Mary over Jean’s head. ‘My coat!’
She spun back towards the girls, noticing for the first time the dishevelled state her daughter was in: her blouse torn at the shoulder, the long rip in her skirt. No shoes.
Mary looked from Victoria’s bare feet to her face. Saw the anguish.
Terror blinded her. She began to shake. ‘No!’ Her legs gave way, folded at the knees. ‘No!’
Chapter 82: Mary Schormann
Ashford: Thursday, October 23rd
The room was light. Too light. But it didn’t seem to matter.
Mary lay on her back, savouring the moment between sleep and waking, her forearm draped across her forehead. She let her hand drop back onto the pillow next to her, waiting for Peter to take hold of her fingers, his thumb caressing the palm of her hand, in the way he always did. He always woke before her. She couldn’t remember a time when he’d slept longer than her.
‘Peter,’ she murmured. Her hand moved over the pillow. It was cold, flat.
Her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright. The realisation of everything that had happened swept away any remnants of sleep.
A movement in the corner of the room made her fling the covers back. She knelt up, pushing her hair from her face
‘Auntie? It’s me. Linda.’ She was standing there, a look of concern on her face. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I don’t know. What time is it? I’ve slept. I shouldn’t have slept.’
‘The doctor gave you something.’
‘Why?’ Mary stared down at the unrumpled side of the bed. ‘Peter. I should go to him.’
There was a choked sob. Linda came to kneel by the bedside. ‘Later, Auntie Mary, there’s no rush.’
The words thrust Mary into a reluctant acknowledgement. Her husband was dead. ‘No!’ She flung herself backward on the bed.
Linda crawled alongside her, held her tightly, crooning, as the grief racked Mary’s body. Eventually she quietened, but still the tears slid from under her lids and her body shook so hard her teeth chattered. It was as though, in some primitive way, she knew she needed to get the crying over and done with. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to confront what needed to be faced in the coming days.
‘You’re cold,’ Linda whispered, trying to move to bring the covers further up the bed, over Mary.
‘No. Don’t let go.’ Mary felt hollowed out, empty. She thought she would float away if Linda didn’t hold her down, keep her safe. She wrapped her arms around Linda’s neck.
‘It’s all right. It’ll be all right.’
It wouldn’t. Mary didn’t like to contradict her niece, but it would never be all right again. ‘I must get up.’ But she didn’t move. She was too frightened to move. Still she clung to Linda.
‘Let me go and get you a cup of tea.’ Mary felt Linda unwinding her arms from around her neck.
‘No.’
The door opened. For a moment Mary didn’t recognise the wan face. Then: ‘Victoria?’ And the memory of the past few weeks rushed back into her consciousness. ‘Get out.’ She said it calmly. Then she was screaming. ‘Get out! Get out! Get out!’
Somewhere at the back of her mind she registered the fear on her daughter’s face before the door was quickly closed. But she didn’t care.
When it opened again she was ready to yell. But it was Ellen. There was something different about her: a quiet assurance.
‘I’ll take over now,’ Ellen said to Linda. ‘You’ve been up all night.’ She lay on the other side of Mary and pulled her to her. ‘Go and get some sleep. She’ll be fine with me. Tell your dad to make a brew. Plenty of sugar.’
They were talking as though she wasn’t there. The independence in Mary flared for a moment, then faded. It was too much effort, she felt too sluggish. Let them do what they wanted, it didn’t matter to her. Nothing mattered.
The two sisters lay in silence. After a while Ted came into the bedroom, carrying a tray of mugs. He placed the tray on top of the chest of drawers and picking up the chair from beneath the window put it next to the bed. ‘There’s tea there, for when you want it,’ he said, before sitting down and resting his hand on Ellen’s thigh as though he needed to connect in some way with what was happening in the room.
‘Thanks, love.’ Ellen rhythmically stroked Mary’s hair.
Ted cleared his throat. ‘I have to tell you something, Mary. It won’t make any difference to what’s happened, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you.’
Mary stared unseeing at the bedroom wall. The pattern blurred. What now? What could be worse than what had happened?
It was almost a relief when Ted said, ‘Peter got it into his head on Monday that Victoria could be at the Granville.’
Because she already knew that. Now. But as she repeated her brother-in-law’s words in her head, her breath caught in her throat. ‘On Monday?’ She sat up, throwing Ellen off her. ‘On Monday? You knew then?’
‘Yes. But not when he was going.’
Mary saw Ellen’s mouth drop open. So her sister didn’t know either. ‘We were worried about him all day yesterday,’ she said.
‘But I was in the shop. Nobody told me.’ Ted scratched his thumb against the scar on his cheek. ‘He said he wanted to go and look for ’imself, even though Jackie had looked there just after Victoria left home. Honestly, I didn’t know ’e was going. I’d made him promise he’d tell me when he wanted to go, and I’d go with him.’ Ted stood.
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, Mary. And Linda and Jacqueline were with him when … when it happened.’ Ellen touched Mary’s back.
She was right, of course. The long intake of breath was held in Mary’s chest before she let it go. ‘You’re right.’ Without looking, she reached out to Ted. ‘You weren’t to know,’ she said.
He squeezed her fingers. ‘Thanks.’
There was a sound of a car braking, followed by two bangs of doors. ‘That’ll be Patrick and Jean,’ Ted said. ‘I asked them to bring William when they came back this morning.’
‘Jacqueline?’ She must thank her for being with Peter when … she cut short the thought.
‘She stayed all night,’ Ellen said.
‘Richard?’
‘You didn’t want us to get him last night, Mary. You said to leave him until today.’
‘I want him here.’
‘I’ll ask Patrick.’ Ted stopped, his fingers on the door-handle. ‘I’m sorry, Mary. Peter was a good man and a good friend. I…’ She saw his throat working to keep the tears from spilling over. ‘I loved him like a brother.’ He swung the door open and ran down the stairs.
‘He means it, love.’ Ellen stroked Mary’s back again.
‘I know.’ It didn’t help the emptiness inside but she said again, ‘I know.’ Mary swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘I’d better get dressed.’
‘Mum?’ Victoria was dressed in a pair of Linda’s jeans and a polo-necked jumper. She sat very still at the kitchen table, her hands holding the edge. Her eyes were still puffy and reddened but Mary hardened herself.
‘I don’t want to see you, Victoria. Go back to where you came from yesterday.’ She couldn’t bring herself to name the place.
‘She can’t.’ It was Linda. ‘She ran out. They tried to stop her.’
‘I’ve wanted to leave for days,’ Victoria whispered. ‘I didn’t know it was going to be like it was. I knew it was a mistake almost from the start.’
‘But still you didn’t come home.’
‘When I saw Dad I was so glad.’ Victoria pleaded. ‘I knew he’d rescue me—’
‘Rescue you?’ Mary shouted. ‘Rescue you? You went there by choice, you stupid thoughtless girl.’ Right at this moment
she hated her daughter.
There was a collective sudden hush in the room. The family waited, moved closer to one another. Except for Patrick; he was on the back step, staring out at the yard. Keeping out of it as usual. The thought was automatic. Mary’s eyes wandered over the group. Jacqueline stood next to Nicki, hand in hand. Had she been here all night as well? William was between Ted and Ellen, his arms on their shoulders. Linda was next to them.
‘Mum?’ Victoria pushed herself away from the table, knocked the chair over, reached out towards Mary.
Mary knocked her hand away. ‘Get off! Don’t you dare touch me!’
Victoria cried out. It was the cry of a young child.
Mary told herself she felt nothing. ‘We all have choices. You made yours. Now live with the consequences.’
‘You don’t mean that, Mary.’ Jean spoke for the first time. She pushed her glasses further onto her nose. ‘Remember what you told me? You said not to shut Jacqueline out of my life. And you were right.’ She moved to put her arm around Jackie’s waist. ‘Whatever anybody else says.’
Patrick looked slowly over his shoulder at her, working his cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He took a final drag on it and then flicked it into the back yard. Closing the door he pushed the tip of his tongue out, picking at a flake of tobacco with his finger and thumb. ‘Whatever anyone says?’
Jean nodded.
He walked to the hall door. Passing Jackie, he touched her arm. She looked up at him and smiled. He glanced at Mary. ‘I’ll go and get Richard.’
‘No. I’ve changed my mind. I want you to drive me to pick up Richard. And then we’re going to see Peter.’
‘Mum?’
Mary turned back to her daughter. ‘No. Not you.’ She heard the sharp sigh from Jean. She looked at her. There hadn’t been many times in Mary’s life when she’d taken Jean’s advice. She wavered. Perhaps this time was one of the few occasions she should. Maybe she and her children needed to face this together. ‘Come on, then,’ she said.
Living in the Shadows Page 30
