Changing Patterns

by Judith Barrow

  Ellen straightened her legs, wriggled her toes in the sand. ‘By the time Ted was due home, you were full of all your plans to come down here with Mam and Tom.’ Mary heard the antagonism. ‘You left the week he arrived.’

  ‘Only so you and he could move into number twenty-seven. I thought that’s what you wanted.’ Mary studied the pearly pink and silver on the curved inside of the shell. ‘I remember worrying about all the gossip you’d face, how you didn’t seem to care that everybody would say you were “living over the brush”.’

  ‘Says she who’d been having a secret affair with a POW in the Granville.’

  Mary’s face flushed but she couldn’t help smiling. ‘Yes, well…’ She put a hand to her cheek. ‘You could have told me you’d got a special licence and were married.’

  ‘And spoil all the fun of the nosy parkers?’ Ellen lay back on the sand, arms folded under her head, gazing up at the sky. ‘Anyway my moving in then has nothing to do with what’s happening now. I’m at the end of my tether with the old cow.’

  ‘You’re more than a match for Hannah Booth, however crabby she is.’

  ‘I can’t do right for doing wrong.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since you and me brought Linda home from that foster place.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘She’s never taken to her.’

  ‘Bringing Linda home was the right thing to do.’ In a sudden shift of mood, Mary felt a surge of anger at Ted’s mother. ‘Why haven’t you told me this before? It’s not like you not to shout it from the rooftops if something’s wrong.’

  ‘I thought I could stick it out.’ Ellen pulled a face.

  ‘And now you can’t?’

  Ellen didn’t answer. ‘Remember going to the foster woman?’ she said instead. ‘The day we went to fetch Linda?’

  ‘You did the right thing getting her back.’ Mary gave Ellen a quick hug. ‘Always remember that, whatever Hannah Booth says.’ She would never forget the sight of Ellen carrying Linda out of that house in only a terry towelling nappy and a grubby red cardigan, so dirty it was almost impossible to tell what colour it actually was. But it was the child’s grey eyes that distressed Mary; the fear in them, the tears quivering on her long lashes, as though she was too frightened to let them fall. And she’d clung so tightly to Ellen they’d had difficulty tucking the blanket around her.

  Mary had vowed then it didn’t matter who her father had been. She’d always be there for the little girl – and for Ellen.

  Now she fought down a rising sense of dread. ‘Hannah doesn’t know who Linda’s father was, does she? You haven’t told her?’ If that got out, it could cause problems for them all.

  ‘No, of course I bloody haven’t,’ Ellen said. ‘I haven’t even told Ted. It’s enough for the old bag that Linda’s not Ted’s.’

  ‘What exactly does she say? Or do?’

  ‘Everything … nothing … not when Ted’s there anyway.’ Ellen paused, blinked hard a few times. ‘I can’t take any more.’

  ‘You need to explain properly to him.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just can’t.’

  Mary waited.

  ‘You don’t resent Linda?’ Ellen searched Mary’s face, obviously looking for a reaction. ‘I know I hurt you but you’ve forgiven me? For what I did with Frank?’

  ‘Ellen, I love Linda. She was the best thing to come out of the whole mess.’

  There had been so many times over the last five years when she’d thought Linda was the nearest she’d ever have to a daughter. She loved both of her nieces but Linda had a special place in her heart. In the few months since Peter had come back to her, she’d allowed herself to hope that one day the two of them would have a family of their own; to acknowledge her yearning to hold her own child in her arms.

  ‘Frank was your boyfriend and I was stupid enough to think he fancied me. Not just using me to get back at you.’

  ‘It’s all in the past. I’ve told you that often enough.’ Mary turned her face away. She tucked her hands under her armpits. ‘Frank was a bully, worse than a bully, you know that.’ She hated the sound of his name in her head but she couldn’t get rid of it. Frank Shuttleworth, the man she once thought she loved. The man who’d raped her, one cold wet morning on the canal path. Who’d died, drowned in the canal. Murdered, she was sure now, by Tom, her brother.

  The self-loathing and the memory of scrubbing her body until her skin was sore for months afterwards all at once returned in a rush of bile in Mary’s mouth. She swallowed, screwing up her face against the sourness.

  She waited until the taste and the memories subsided, the silence heavy between them.

  When she turned towards Ellen, the afternoon sun was full on her face and, for the first time, Mary noticed the habitual downward pull of lines around her sister’s mouth. She’s not been really happy for a long time, she thought, pushing away the images that haunted her almost every day. ‘So,’ she said, changing the subject, ‘what are you going to do about Hannah?’

  ‘I just wish I’d been strong enough to say no to Ted when he asked if she could come to live with us.’

  ‘I still don’t know why you didn’t.’

  ‘It’s complicated. And Ted loves Linda so much. He idolises her. I thought I owed it to him to try to get on with his mother.’ Ellen scrunched herself into a tight ball, pulling her knees to her chest. ‘But she’s such bloody hard work. I knew, once she got her feet under the table, I knew she was there to stay. And she’s made sure of that.’

  Ellen stood up, brushing the sand from her blouse. She looked down at Mary, her dark blue eyes brimming with tears.

  ‘How, Ellen? Whatever she says or does, you need to tell Ted.’

  ‘I can’t. I don’t think he wants to know.’

  ‘Rubbish. Ted wouldn’t want you to be so unhappy. He’s a good kind man.’

  ‘He’s too soft, especially with that old battleaxe.’ Ellen frowned. ‘Anyway, he’s different now.’ She rubbed the back of her neck in a quick impatient gesture. ‘I can’t explain. I just can’t get through to him at all. It’s like me and the kids aren’t enough anymore.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Mary said.

  ‘I think it is.’ Ellen scooped up the still-sleeping little boy and held him close to her. She gestured to Linda to let her know they were leaving the beach. Her daughter ran towards them, protesting.

  ‘He loves you.’ Mary folded the blanket they’d been sitting on.

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘You know he does. And he’s a good provider for you – the shop—’

  ‘Is the reason his mother’s still with us,’ Ellen blurted out. ‘He got it courtesy of his mother’s money.’ Her mouth twisted into a bitter line. ‘That was the way she got to stay. She sold her house and lent him the money. And she never lets us forget it.’

  Chapter 9

  They stood in silence inside the porch of the large red-brick Council building. Leaden clouds pressed down, forcing light from the day, and the slanting rain bounced on the concrete path. Mary heard the wet swish of the passing traffic on the other side of the wall surrounding the grounds. The soil on the flowerbeds was trammelled with running water. Raindrops dripped steadily from the leaves of the laurel bushes spread out on either side of the doorway.

  ‘I’ve got to get away from here.’ Ellen knotted her headscarf under her chin.

  Mary caught hold of her arm. ‘Wait until it bates.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ Ellen pulled up the collar of her coat. ‘I’ll see you back at the house.’ She hurried away.

  Mary stared after her.

  ‘Your sister is upset.’

  ‘And I’m not?’ Mary turned to Peter. The inquest had passed in a confusion of words she hadn’t been able to follow. ‘If she’s that upset why hasn’t she asked Ted to be with her, whatever she thinks he’s done? That shouldn’t matter. Or at least it shouldn’t for now. He’s a good husband. And, b
efore the war, he was Tom’s best friend.’ She fumbled with her raincoat.

  ‘Perhaps you should have spoken to him?’ Peter moved to help her.

  ‘She wouldn’t let me. Told me to keep my nose out.’ She shrugged away from him. ‘I’m okay.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘Sorry.’ She let him ease her arms into the sleeves. ‘I’ll be glad when Jean gets here. Perhaps she knows what’s been going on.’

  ‘Patrick?’

  ‘No.’ There’d been no mention of Patrick. Did she want him to come with Jean, being honest with herself? No. He’d done too much to hurt Tom when he was alive. And there was no chance he’d be civil to Peter.

  She looked back into the porch at the door. ‘What was said in there … the verdict, that phrase “unlawful killing by person or persons unknown” was the same as at Frank’s inquest.’ Her voice rose. ‘That was what that other Coroner said then.’ She was distraught, angry that in death there was an unbreakable connection between her brother and the man who had almost destroyed her life, even if it was only the cold and bureaucratic words.

  ‘But nothing else is the same, Mary. Tom, he was a kind, decent man. Shuttleworth was ein Sadist.’ Peter gathered her in his arms. ‘He and his cronies at the camp enjoyed the power he had over us. The war did that to many men.’

  She buried her face against him. ‘It’s just not fair.’

  ‘Things are not fair, Liebling, but, perhaps, as the Coroner said, we must wait—’

  ‘For what?’ she interrupted, lifting her head, her face flushed with pent up anger. ‘For the police to find out who did it? For someone to own up? We both know that won’t happen.’ She waited. He didn’t say anything. ‘In there it just brought everything back again. All those months when he followed me around, the things he did to frighten me into going back to him.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The way he got away with shooting you, trying to kill you.’

  Peter put his finger under her chin. ‘Look at me Liebling. We cannot let that man ruin our lives. Er ist weg … he’s gone, he’s dead.’

  His voice was firm, dismissive, but there was something about his expression. She searched his face. His gaze shifted away from hers but not before she saw the evasion in them.

  She frowned, confused, letting him gently fasten the buttons on her raincoat, the silence stretching between them. Since his return she’d believed that one day they would reminisce about the Granville because, as well as the fear of being caught, there were special memories there that bonded them forever. But it hadn’t happened. This was the first time Frank’s name had been raised and she’d been the one to start talking about him. Peter spoke only of the man’s cruelty in the camp. Not that Frank had raped her.

  An icy cold ran through her. Could he only deal with what Frank did to her by pretending it hadn’t happened?

  Don’t be stupid, she told herself. Peter had come looking for her. He loved her. If the thought of Frank raping her disgusted him so much he wouldn’t be here now. Surely?

  ‘Peter?’ She stopped. This wasn’t the place. She’d pick her time, just as she would to tell him what she’d discovered about Tom. ‘Let’s get home,’ she said instead.

  ‘Ja.’ He looked towards the gate. Water pockmarked the puddles on the path. ‘We must run, I think.’

  At the kerb they jumped back as a bus passed throwing up a wave of oil-skimmed water and then, heads bowed, they ran without looking until they were under the awning of the newsagents on the other side of the road.

  ‘Sorry.’ Mary collided with a young woman sheltering there.

  ‘S’all right,’ the woman laughed, ‘you wouldn’t think it was July, would you? S’pose we should just be glad it’s not freezing cold.’ Her voice changed to one of recognition. ‘Matron?’

  Mary peered from under her headscarf.

  ‘Nurse Allott … Vivienne, I didn’t know you lived around here?’

  ‘I don’t.’ The young woman shuffled back to let them take cover. ‘I came with some friends who live up the coast – Cardigan way. They’re in the shop.’ She made a vague gesture whilst looking with curiosity at Peter. ‘Hi,’ she said.

  He dipped his head. ‘Hello.’ His accent sounded thicker than usual.

  With a sudden stab of anger, Mary saw the sideways shift of the young woman’s eyes and the hardening of her features. ‘This is Nurse Allott, Peter, she works on one of my wards at the hospital,’ she said, adding deliberately, ‘my…’ Boyfriend sounded ridiculous. She was twenty-eight. ‘My fiancé, Peter.’ She linked arms with him. ‘He was a doctor in the hospital at the camp where I worked before.’

  By the time she was next in work it would be all over the small hospital. She didn’t care except that sooner or later it would get back to the Board of Governors. She wasn’t sure how they’d take it. She laughed, a bright artificial sound. ‘I do have a life beyond the hospital. As do you, I see.’ She could hear the stilted tone in her voice but couldn’t help it.

  For a moment all was still.

  ‘Oh. Yes, I see.’ Vivienne Allott turned and flicked a hand towards the shop as the bell above the door jingled and a couple jostled their way out. ‘Actually, we’re here to see if we can register the death of my friend’s husband. He’s been posted “missing” since ’41.’

  The silence stretched between them.

  ‘Anyway, must go.’ The young woman shifted from foot to foot. She lifted an impatient hand at her friends as they nudged her. ‘Er – I read about your brother in the paper, Matron. It must have been awful. Did they…?’ She stopped. ‘Have they arrested anybody yet?’

  ‘No.’ Mary’s lips felt stiff forming the word.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’ Vivienne Allott moved away. She didn’t acknowledge Peter.

  ‘That’s all right.’ But it wasn’t. Mary fumed. Talking about Tom to someone like this, someone who purposely snubbed Peter.

  They watched her move away through the crowds, her head close to one of the women. Mary saw them look back at her and Peter. She gave them a false smile, furious that she was the subject of their gossip.

  Peter had a strange expression on his face. A nerve pulsed at the corner of his eye that Mary hadn’t seen before.

  ‘I’m sorry about that stupid girl,’ she said.

  ‘I think we are both sorry we met her,’ he said, tracing her face with his fingers. ‘Now…’ Ruefully he looked up towards the edge of the awning where a line of water ran along the pole and streamed in shining elongated drips onto the passers-by. ‘I am afraid we will have to get wet. We must leave here and go home.’

  Home without Tom. It was something she had to get used to. ‘Yes,’ she said, turning, avoiding a newsstand by the shop window. ‘Oh Peter.’ She read the headline with dismay.

  ‘North Korean Troops Storm across

  the 38th Parallel into South Korea.’

  This conflict was one she’d tried not to think about. It was a reminder of a fear that caused her sleepless nights. What happens to us, Peter, if another war brings out all the old resentments? What if I have to lose you as well as Tom? ‘It’s impossible to believe that another war has started so soon,’ she said softly.

  Peter pressed her hand to his side with his arm. ‘It is not the war of the British. Truman has sent in troops. It is America’s war.’

  ‘Until they involve us,’ Mary said. ‘What happens then?’

  Peter lifted one shoulder. ‘We can only wait to see.’

  Chapter 10

  ‘Thanks Ted, it was good of you to ring.’ Mary scowled at Ellen who was glaring back at her from the sofa. ‘I’m sorry she’s not here at the moment. I think she must be next door at Gwyneth’s picking up the children. We had Tom’s inquest this morning.’ It chilled her just saying the words.

  She listened with a hand over her other ear against the hum of voices from the wireless, making small assenting noises. ‘Yes, I’m – we’re all fine – children too, yes.’ She sighed. ‘I know, I’m sorry, I have tri
ed.’ Finally, ‘I will ask her again to call you. Yes, I promise.’

  Putting the receiver back onto the cradle of the telephone she said, ‘You’ll have to talk to him sometime, you know. I can’t keep putting him off and why should I?’

  Ellen shrugged. But when she looked at Mary her make-up was washed away by tears.

  ‘After this morning I’d have thought you’d have understood life’s too short to play these games.’

  ‘Don’t, Mary.’

  In the lull that followed Mary could hear the children laughing next door; a bus trundled by on the lane; the drone of a bee or wasp circled the parlour before escaping into the kitchen and out through the back door. The rain had finally stopped and weak spikes of sunlight fell across the room like slivers of glass, lighting up the horse brasses on the wall. A random thought flitted through her mind: perhaps the hot days of June were coming back.

  ‘We need to talk,’ she said again, taking in long slow breaths to stay calm. ‘It’s not just Ted’s mother, is it? What’s wrong between you and Ted?’ Mary waited, watching Ellen playing with one gold hoop earring, her hand shaking.

  On the way home from the inquest Peter had said that she needed to take care of herself; that her sister must sort out her marriage on her own. Yet, even though those awful last moments of Tom’s life haunted her all the time, she still felt compelled to sort out Ellen’s problems. You’re a fool, she told herself.

  Ellen picked up her packet of Craven ‘A’. ‘Damn!’ It was empty. She flung it into the hearth.

  ‘Tom kept some cigarettes in here.’ Mary walked over to the roll-top desk in the corner of the room and opened a drawer. Her brother’s broken spectacles were at the front in their case. Mary opened the lid and touched the wire frames with the tips of her fingers as though they would burn her.

  ‘I didn’t know he smoked.’

  ‘He didn’t, not often anyway.’ Mary picked up the packet of Capstan and closed the drawer with a snap. ‘Not your brand but they’ll have to do if you’re desperate.’ She tossed them over to Ellen. ‘Well?’ She hoped she didn’t sound as tired of all this as she felt.