Living in the Shadows

by Judith Barrow

  ‘I’m Arun.’ The man nearest to Mary spoke. ‘I’m a neighbour. Is it Nelly?’

  ‘Yes.’ This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after … Peter’s still form imprinted itself on her mind. Mary squeezed her eyes tight, forcing it away.

  ‘She’s hurt?’ Arun’s face was anxious.

  ‘I think she’s dead.’ Mary heard her voice from far away, her mouth dry, sour.

  One of the women screamed, held her hands over her face. Some of the smaller children began to cry.

  ‘My niece … Linda … is there as well. And someone else. They’re all so still. I don’t know what’s happened.’

  ‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ the other man said. ‘But we need to go down there. See if we can help.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ Mary stumbled backwards but she couldn’t let go of the door-frame.

  Gentle hands prised her fingers from the wood. ‘Not you,’ Arun said. ‘We’ll go. You need to sit down.’

  She was led to Nelly’s armchair in front of the old range, a woman at each elbow.

  A glass was pushed into her hands. The water spilled over, cold in her lap. She stared blindly at the spreading stain. On her red coat it looked like blood.

  Sounds hurt her ears: the grit under the feet of the men going down the cellar steps, the sobs of the woman, the muttering of the children, the soft shifting of coal and ashes in the fireplace.

  ‘Mary?’ Ted pushed his way through the increasing crowd in the back yard, followed by the boy with the football. He wasn’t carrying the ball any-more. Mary vaguely wondered where he’d dropped it.

  ‘Ted.’ She half stood. But he gently pushed her back and knelt at the side of her.

  ‘What’s happened?’ He looked bewildered, stared around at all the neighbours. ‘The boy says Nelly’s hurt? In the cellar?’

  Linda. She had to tell him about Linda. But even as the thought came to her, Arun and the other man were struggling up the steps supporting Linda between them. They shouldn’t have moved her, Mary thought, even as she gasped at the sight of her niece. The vomit rose up in her throat and she clamped her fingers over her mouth. Ted launched himself from the floor to catch hold of his daughter.

  Linda’s face was so battered it was almost impossible to recognise her. One eye was closed. A long cut on her forehead sliced across her eyebrow. Blood congealed around her nose and cheeks. Blood and saliva bubbled from her swollen lips. She groaned as Ted laid her carefully on the carpet, grabbing the cushion Mary handed to him and putting it under Linda’s head.

  ‘Who did this?’ He didn’t attempt to brush away the tears as he looked around.

  ‘There is a man down there as well. I think he’s dead.’ Arun had taken off his coat and was carrying it towards the cellar. ‘Nelly’s still alive though. But she’s in a bad way. I’ll cover her with this.’

  ‘A man?’ Mary stared at Ted. As soon as the confusion cleared on his face she knew he was thinking the same as her.

  ‘George Shuttleworth.’

  Chapter 87: Nelly Shuttleworth

  Bradlow: Thursday, November 6th

  Nelly heard the hushed sounds of movement in the room but was too tired to open her eyes.

  ‘Hello, Gran.’ A touch of soft lips on her cheek, the light familiar floral scent.

  Ah, the beloved sound of Linda’s voice. Nelly smiled to herself.

  ‘What did the doctor say?’ Another voice, another kiss, a brush of sweet-smelling hair across her face.

  Mary. Best friend a body could have. Like a daughter. The woman both her rotten sons had hurt so badly. Nelly felt the habitual anger rumble around inside her.

  They were whispering now.

  ‘She’ll not last the night.’ A stifled sob.

  Linda again. Don’t cry, pet. Nelly fought to speak but it was too much of an effort. She strained to listen.

  ‘Do you think she can hear us?’

  Nelly felt one of them put their cool hand on her forehead. Mary, she guessed.

  ‘No, the doctor said it was a massive stroke.’

  A warm tear fell on Nelly’s arm. She tried to lift her hand but it wouldn’t move.

  ‘I hope she’s at peace.’

  Oh, I am, my pets, I am.

  ‘She will be. And at least where’s she’s going she won’t meet those two blasted sons of hers.’

  Not if I’ve got owt to bleedin’ do about it, I won’t, Nelly thought, smiling inside.

  Chapter 88: Richard Schormann & Linda Booth

  Llamroth: Monday, November 10th

  ‘Do you remember him?’ Richard faced Linda and pointed to the grave where Mary had placed a spray of bronze chrysanthemums. The small stitches across the cut on Linda’s forehead hadn’t yet been taken out; one eye was still swollen and the bruises on her face were now a blend of purple, yellow and green.

  ‘Uncle Tom?’ She sighed. ‘Not really. I remember kind eyes, a gentle smile, gentle hands. I think I remember him picking me up and swinging me around once. Vague memories.’

  ‘Mum idolised him, I know that,’ Richard said. ‘There’s the family story about him getting Mum and Dad together after the war.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that from my mum too. She helped as well, she says.’ Linda traced the words on the headstone. ‘What’s that mean?’

  ‘Hedd perffaith hedd?’ Richard read it out. ‘Peace perfect peace.’ He pointed to the next grave which had single white chrysanthemums threaded into a metal vase. ‘Same as there. “Hedd perffaith hedd”. That’s Iori’s grave, Tom’s friend. Nain Gwyneth’s son. Actually they were more than friends, Mum says. They loved one another. He was killed in prison. Both he and Tom were conscientious objectors.’

  It was as though all the sad memories had been resurrected over the last few weeks, Linda thought. ‘They must have been really brave,’ she said. ‘It would have been so hard to stand up for what they believed, when the whole country was at war.’

  ‘Yeah. Nain Gwyneth was proud of both of them. She used to say she wouldn’t have had the courage. She’d tell us that Dad was brave too: that coming here so soon after the war to find Mum was one of the most courageous things she’d ever known.’ He looked around. ‘That’s Gwyneth’s grave,’ he pointed to a headstone just behind them. ‘And over there, that stone covered in the green lichen, is Grandma Howarth’s.’ He smiled. ‘Mum would never let us clean it off; she said Grandma would like it because she really liked gardening.’

  A scuffle of noise made Linda look up. ‘Your mum’s leaving,’ she said.

  They watched Mary being led out through the lych-gate by Jean and Ellen. Ted was talking to a large group of villagers just outside the church wall.

  ‘A good turnout,’ Richard said. ‘I wish Dad had known how popular he was.’

  ‘How could it not be? He was a lovely man.’ Linda looked up at the scudding grey clouds that covered the pale yellow smear of winter sun. She blinked back the tears. After a moment she said, ‘Should we go too?’

  ‘In a bit.’ Richard looked around. Over by the yew-trees Karen was talking to two men. One of them was constantly blowing his nose, the other talking and waving his arms around in an enthusiastic way. ‘Karen’s talking to Alun and Alwyn. We should go and say hi.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘The landlord at the pub’s putting food on. Mum won’t go, but she says she’s grateful to him.’

  ‘Do you want to go?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nor me. William and Jack have gone. William said they have some stuff to sort out without Patrick being there. I think he’s always been the one to stop them being friends.’

  ‘Hasn’t Uncle Patrick gone to the pub, then?’

  Linda allowed herself a small chuckle. ‘No. Auntie Jean wouldn’t let him. She told him to walk Jackie and Nicki back to the cottage while she stayed with your mum.’

  Richard grinned. ‘Perhaps she’ll make him into a nice chap yet.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath.’ Linda glanced towards t
he church. Victoria was sitting alone on the seat by the porch. ‘She’s quiet.’

  ‘Yeah.’ There was an edge to his voice.

  ‘She’s learned her lesson, Richard.’

  ‘Has she? I wonder.’

  ‘She talked to me last night…’ Linda remembered the increasing horror and sympathy she’d felt as she listened. ‘The lad who got her involved with that group … she called him Seth, but she said they were supposed to call him Master, he— ’

  ‘Call him what?’ Richard caught hold of her arm, turned her towards him so he could see what she’d said.

  ‘Master. They had to call him Master.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘When he got fed up with her he gave her to an older Irish bloke. The bloke forced himself on her. Like I said, she’s learned her lesson.’

  ‘Bastards.’ Richard closed his eyes but not before Linda saw the rage in them. ‘I’ve a good mind to—’

  ‘To what? You’ve never believed in violence, so don’t start now. Anyway, they won’t be there; Jackie says the Council and the police are moving them this week.’

  ‘Is Vicky going to report them?’

  ‘She says not. She says she just wants to forget it all. But I persuaded her to tell Jackie. She’s had a hard time forgiving your sister. She blames Vicky for what happened.’ She looked back at Peter’s grave beyond which three Council workers waited trying to look inconspicuous.

  Richard followed her gaze. ‘I know. I do a bit, too,’ he said.

  ‘I thought if Jackie knew what Victoria’s been through she might not be so hard on her.’ Linda sighed. ‘Perhaps you should talk to your sister as well, Richard. Time to forgive and forget? If your mum can do it…’

  ‘I suppose you’re right, Lin.’

  ‘Good.’

  A sharp breeze scuttled leaves around their feet and over the graves. A few caught in the flowers on Tom’s grave.

  Linda bent down to clear them away. She shook them from her fingers and looked up at him.

  ‘What will you do now, by the way?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Your place at university?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Mum says I should carry on in Manchester.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘If she’s okay. I don’t like the thought of her being down here on her own. We’ll see.’

  ‘What about Karen?’

  ‘She wants to be near her mum now Shuttleworth’s gone.’ Richard looked directly at Linda. ‘But she won’t go back to that house; she’s got a flat in Manchester. We’d be okay if I stay here. I could go to see her sometimes.’

  Linda straightened up. The road outside the church was empty now. ‘We should go and rescue Karen, she’s looking a bit overwhelmed.’

  ‘Alun and Alwyn are smashing chaps, but they can go on,’ Richard said. ‘Well, Alun anyway.’

  ‘And we should ask Vicky if she’s going to come back to the house with us.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They wandered down the path towards Karen and the men.

  ‘Alun, Alwyn.’ Richard shook hands with each of them.

  The brothers pulled at the cuffs of their black jackets, shiny with age, and straightened matching black ties.

  ‘We’ve been telling your, er, friend, what a fine man your da was, haven’t we, Alwyn?’ Alwyn nodded, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. ‘And what a good friend he’s been to us. Anything we can do for your mam, we will. We mean that, don’t we Alwyn?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Anything at all.’ Alun looked earnestly at Richard. ‘You’ll never have to worry about her when you’re not here, dyn ni’n addo hyn i chi.’

  ‘Promise,’ Alwyn repeated.

  ‘We’d better be going now.’ Alun shook hands with the three of them and nodded towards Victoria

  ‘Are you going to the pub?’ Richard asked.

  ‘No. We nearly always met with your da for a pint on Fridays. Somehow it don’t feel right to be there without him today. We’ll miss him.’

  ‘Aye, we’ll miss him.’

  They watched the two men amble away.

  ‘They’ve been friends with Dad since he came to Llamroth,’ Richard said. ‘They will miss him.’

  We all will, Linda thought, he’s left a big hole in all our lives. ‘Come on,’ she said, holding out her hand to Victoria, ‘Let’s go.’

  Chapter 89: Linda Booth & Mary Schormann

  Llamroth: Monday, November 10th

  ‘It was a lovely service.’ Linda took hold of Mary’s hand. ‘So many people.’

  They sat on the low wall overlooking the sea, watching the creamy foam at the edge of the waves, smaller now at low tide.

  Gelert ran along the beach, barking and chasing seagulls, which flew effortlessly into the air before he got within yards of him.

  ‘Yes.’ The tears dripped off Mary’s chin. ‘Mr Willingham retired years ago. It was kind of him to agree to take the service. He married Peter and me, you know.’ Mary was trying hard to keep control. ‘Even though Peter was divorced.’

  ‘Was he? Divorced, I mean,’ Linda said. ‘I didn’t know that.’ So much she hadn’t known about her family.

  ‘Oh, yes. Before the war he married in Germany.’ Mary glanced at Linda with watery eyes. ‘It was over almost before it began. She left him for another man while he was a POW. I never questioned him about it. He said he never knew what love was until he met me.’

  Linda didn’t know what to say.

  There was a small ladder in her tights just above her knee. She covered it with her other hand. She would have liked to have taken off the black suit she’d bought for today, but didn’t want to upset her aunt. She didn’t like black. She would have to wear it again next week, for Gran’s funeral. Then she would throw it away. She’d had enough of black to last a lifetime.

  ‘Are you okay with Richard going back to Manchester?’

  ‘Yes it’s what he wants … probably what he needs. And, who knows, he might come back to work at Pont-y-Haven one day.’

  A gust of wind lifted a line of sand off the beach, swept it across in light, grainy threads.

  Mary shivered.

  ‘We should go back to the cottage.’ Linda made to stand, calling to the dog.

  ‘No, I can’t. I can’t face everybody there.’ Mary pulled her back to sit on to the wall.

  ‘You’re cold.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.’

  Linda let go of Mary’s hand and wrapped her arm around her, pulling her closer. ‘It will be all right.’

  ‘When?’ There was almost anger in the older woman’s voice. ‘When, Linda?’

  ‘I don’t know…’

  A group of shearwater strutted around the rocks, pecking. Linda watched their busyness.

  ‘Will you—?’ Linda stopped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you thinking of going back to Ashford, Auntie Mary?’

  ‘Going back?’ Mary looked astonished. ‘Why on earth would I want to go back? Peter’s here … and Tom, my mother, Gwyneth. Iori.’ She repeated the question as though she was asking herself. ‘Why would I want to go back? There.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Then they both spoke at the same time.

  ‘I don’t suppose—’

  ‘I was wondering if—’

  ‘You first,’ Linda said.

  ‘No, I interrupted you.’

  ‘I was wondering if…’ Linda didn’t look at Mary; she kept her eyes on the horizon where the clear divide on sea and sky was a bright silvery light. ‘I have to think of my … our future.’ She touched her stomach; the small life inside her was already moulding her own life. ‘It’s early days, I know, but I need to look forward. I’ve spent so much time lately looking back into the past. I wondered what you might think about me moving down here, Auntie Mary?’

  ‘I was going to ask if that’s what you’d consider doing.
Just until the baby … you know?’ Mary scrubbed at her cheeks, wiping away the last of the tears with her handkerchief.

  ‘I was thinking on a more permanent basis… if you didn’t mind?’

  Linda saw a glimmer of hope in Mary’s eyes and closed her own in relief; it was going to be all right.

  ‘With us?’ Mary tilted her head towards Victoria, who was walking along the shoreline kicking at the sand.

  ‘Yes.’ Linda knew, even if her aunt didn’t realise it yet, that Vicky wouldn’t stay long in the village. She’d confided in Linda that Llamroth stifled her, and in the post yesterday Linda had seen an envelope with the logo of an art college in London stamped on it.

  ‘I’d love it, Linda.’ Mary hugged her. ‘And, if we’re going to be living in the same house, I think you should start calling me Mary.’ She looked along the beach for Gelert. He was racing towards a man walking the shoreline. For one heart-stopping moment she thought it was Peter.

  Mary looked beyond him. The weak low sun cast a pale light across the sea, emphasising the swirls and shadows of the underwater currents.

  Epilogue: Linda Booth

  Linda can hear Gelert softly whining.

  ‘You want to go out, boy?’ she whispers, opening the back door. Stepping outside, she closes it behind her to keep the night air from rushing into the house.

  She tries to wrap her dressing-gown around her. Nowadays it won’t fasten. She places her palms over the mound of her stomach. The baby has been a little quiet for the last few days: not long now. And spring is on the way. She feels a thrill of excitement.

  Sometimes she worries what he or she will face without a father on the scene. A wave of protectiveness washes over her. It will be all right. She supposes the apprehension must be similar to what Mary and Peter went through with the twins, so soon after the war. And, just like Richard and Victoria, her baby would be okay. She’d make sure of that.

  Looking back, the cottage is in darkness.

  Mary is asleep; lately she’s been sleeping a little better, crying less in her sleep. But there’s no doubt in Linda’s mind that Mary will always miss Peter.