‘She’s all right really,’ Jean whispered. ‘In fact she’s been wonderful.’ She pulled a face. ‘But she’s so nosy. What Patrick and me’ll do when we’re married and I get back to rights, I don’t know.’ She lifted her chin towards the door. ‘Close it.’
‘How is Patrick?’ Mary asked, softly turning the doorknob handle.’I’ve barely seen him for ages, at least not to talk to.’ She stayed in her room when he was having his baths after shifts and, usually, by the time she went downstairs, he’d dressed, dragged the tin bath outside and emptied it in the backyard and left the house.
‘He can’t do enough.’ Jean sipped her tea. ‘He’s really looking after me. I’m so lucky. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. Except for …’ She sighed.
‘I know.’ Mary balanced her cup on her lap and covered Jean’s hand with hers. ‘It’ll get better, you’ll be all right.’
‘Which is more than I can say for you if you carry on like this,’ Jean whispered. ‘Just what’s going on? What are you playing at?’
‘Nothing, I’m not playing at anything,’ Mary said. ‘I just think Doctor Schormann’s a decent bloke and seeing how much I hated him when he first arrived at the camp, it’s a relief to know I can work with him.’ She stood and went over to the window so her friend couldn’t see her face. What she had started to feel over the last couple of months was nothing like the heady turmoil Frank had provoked in her. His pursuit of her had been flatteringly hasty. Her attraction to Peter had grown steadily from respect to … what? She hesitated to give her emotions a name, she was too afraid. She wished she could tell Jean but it was impossible; it was too dangerous to voice the words, ever. ‘Don’t make mountains out of molehills, eh love?’ She tapped her clenched hand against her thigh. ‘OK?’
‘OK.’
Mary composed her face before turning her back to the window and leaning against the sill, holding on to it. She could tell Jean was reluctant to change the subject and stared stubbornly at her until her friend spoke again.
‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’ Jean put her cup and saucer on the floor.
‘It’s Frank,’ Mary said. ‘I’ve decided it’s definitely over.’
Jean studied her for a moment. ‘Good, he’s a pig. Have you told him?’
‘Yes, I’m not sure he believed me. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.’
‘Has something happened?”
‘He came round to the house when I was on my own,’ Mary said. ‘He wasn’t very nice; in fact he was horrible. He thinks I’ve been leading him on. I was frightened he was going to … you know.’ She pulled a face.
Jean gasped. ‘Do you want me to tell Patrick?’
‘No. No! He’d only want to go and thump him.’
‘It’d be no more than he deserved. My God, Mary, anything could have happened. I wouldn’t trust Frank Shuttleworth further than I could throw him.’
‘He wouldn’t really have hurt me. I was just a bit scared.’
‘You don’t know that. Look at what happened at the Palais, he totally lost it. Let me tell Patrick.’
‘No please. I’ll sort things out myself. I’ll make sure Frank understands we’re finished.’
‘Just be careful.’
Mary picked up her cape. ‘I will. Now, I’ll have to go or I’ll be late and we’re short-staffed at the moment.’
‘As if I didn’t know,’ Jean said. ‘I’ll be glad to get back to work, that’s if Matron will let me come back.’
‘I’ll talk to her. With the way things are I’m sure she can put her offended feelings to one side. After all you are one of our best nurses.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Jean smiled. She glanced towards the window. ‘Do me a favour before you go will you, Mary. Pull the sash down a bit. Mother always insists on having it wide open. Flies get in and Patrick goes mad about them.’
Mary lowered the window. ‘That better?’ She rubbed dust off the palms of her hands.
‘Thanks.’
‘If it was up to me I’d be glad to have you back, but not until you feel up to it. It’s only been a couple of weeks.’
‘The doc says I could be up and about by next week.’ Jean looked towards the door and whispered, ‘Mother’s driving me round the bend with her fussing about the wedding.’
‘Let her get on with it.’ Mary gave Jean a kiss on the forehead. ‘Just make sure it’s what you want. Now, rest … nurse’s orders. No telling Patrick about Frank.’ She hesitated. ‘Or the other thing.’ She wrapped her cape around her and fastened it. ‘Please?’
‘Just promise to be careful … about everything.’
‘I will.’
Running along Shaw Road towards the camp, Mary hoped her friend would keep both her promises.
Chapter 25
The doors swished open and Peter Schormann hurried into the ward. His white coat was unbuttoned and for once he was not wearing his uniform jacket, his shirtcollar was undone. He combed through his hair with his fingertips. It was longer now. Mary thought it suited him. A wave of happiness tightened her skin and she felt light-headed. This is so wrong, she told herself; she had no right to feel this way. Peter kept his eyes fixed on her as he approached, his face carefully arranged to reflect his professionalism, but she saw her pleasure answered in his eyes.
Mary looked around the ward. The nurses on duty were busy changing dressings. She unhooked the notes from the end of the bed and studied them to stop the impulse to smile at him. Swallowing hard, she moved to the head of the bed, patting the arm of the patient who watched every movement she made. Under the heavy swathe of bandages he looked terrified. ‘Doctor Schormann, thank you for coming. Before we do anything could you please reassure this man. I think he is frightened.’
Peter leaned towards the patient and spoke a few words. The man sighed and moved his head from side to side.
‘He has extensive shattering of the lower jaw and has the original Barrell bandage on at the moment,’ she said. ‘He needs examining before we change it.’ She signalled to one of the nurses. When the girl was beside her she said, ‘As soon as the doctor has finished his examination I want you to put on a fresh Barrell bandage. You’ve done one before, Nurse Blackstock?’ The girl nodded. ‘Good.’ Mary faced Peter again. ‘Also, Doctor Schormann, as you can see, his right arm was amputated before he was shipped here. Extra pain relief?’ she asked, handing him the notes. Their fingers touched.
‘Ja.’ Peter scanned the patient’s records. ‘Morphine, another two grains a day,’ he said, ‘no more.’ He countersigned the prescription, his hand unsteady, and smiled briefly at her as he handed back the board.
‘Thank you, Doctor.’ Mary didn’t look at him. She spoke to the nurse who was carefully undoing the ends of the bandage. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
Peter and Mary moved away. Speaking quickly she said, ‘I called to see Jean, Nurse Winterbottom, before I came into work. She asked me to thank you for helping her.’
‘I did nothing. It is a sad thing, one my wife herself experienced.’
He clamped his lips together. The words were a barrier between them.
‘I’m sorry.’ Mary kept her voice even. ‘Do you have other children?’
‘No, we were married only the six months.’ He shoved his hands in his pocket. ‘We did not … we met only a few times before … she also was having the child before we married. Then I left.’ He gave a rueful shrug. ‘We agreed we had made the mistake … it was for the best that I left. At least that is what I thought then.’ He pulled a face. ‘But not when I was captured.’ Then he stared at her, first her eyes and then her mouth. ‘But I have again changed my mind these last few months.’
Mary licked her lips. ‘Jean …’ It was all she could think to say.
‘Ah yes, Jean.’ Peter made a movement; an unconscious gesture as though to pull himself together. ‘She is well now?’
‘A lot better,’ Mary said, grateful they
were on safer ground.
‘Good.’
‘Your kindness meant a lot to her.’ She hesitated. ‘And to me.’
‘For that I am glad.’ In an undertone he spoke again. ‘I would do anything for you, Mary.’ He pulled his shoulders back and rising slightly, clicked his heels. When he next spoke it was loudly. ‘If there is nothing else, Sister?’
‘Nothing else, Doctor.’
‘Then I will return to my barracks.’ He inclined his head, speaking quietly again. ‘I am tired. Last night … it was, as I think you would say in your country, a disturbed one.’ He moved away and then half turned and opened his mouth as though to continue. He caught his top lip between his teeth.
‘What?’ Mary tilted her head, mouthing the word, holding his gaze for the few seconds it lasted. She watched him as he left. What was it? What had he been going to tell her? She became aware that Hilda Lewis had come on to the ward, followed by one of the orderlies carrying an oxygen tent. The woman was staring at her.
On sudden impulse Mary pushed past her and left the ward.
Peter was standing outside the main doors of the hospital, staring across the compound towards the block of asbestos buildings that held the Commandant’s office.
‘Peter.’ Mary stopped a few feet behind him, her body turned to one side so that, from a distance, it was impossible to see she was speaking to him. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ She became aware that groups of prisoners were huddled together beyond the fence. ‘Those men, what are they waiting for?’
There was despair in Peter’s voice. ‘They expect me to act on something that happened last night. But your friend has … advised me there will be more trouble if I do.’
‘My friend?’
‘Shuttleworth.’ He threw the name over his shoulder, his eyes still on the prisoners. ‘He ordered a strip search at three of the morning. I was on duty in the hospital when I heard the commotion outside in the dark. There were rows of the prisoners standing in the compound: they were naked. Some of the guards, they walked along the lines of the men, they bounce thick cudgels off the palms of their hands.’ Mary gasped. ‘I asked on whose command is this happening.’ He stumbled over the English words in his anger. ‘Verdammt! Three of the morning! I asked, is there emergency? He says as the senior rank on duty he finds it necessary to hold the search.’ Peter took a deep intake of air. ‘I say I know the regulations. Strip searches must be carried out on the orders of the Commandant only. I say that, as Lagerführer, I have been informed earlier in the day that the Major was away visiting another camp so I know this is illegal.’
‘But why? Why did Frank … why did Frank Shuttleworth do this?’ Mary felt sick; this was her fault, it must be. She had thwarted Frank, rejected him. In true cowardly fashion he’d taken it out on those who were helpless against his cruelty. The anger in her was reflected in Peter’s face as he gave her a fleeting glance.
‘He says one of the men had an automatic pistol and ammunition sewn into the back of his greatcoat. Dummkopf! A warm day in summer and this man wears a greatcoat on. Stupid. Of course he is caught.’ When he spoke again, Mary heard the weariness in his voice. ‘So he punishes all those in the same block. The men, they are nervous, even though they fear the Nazis in the camp they secretly read the Wochenpost. They believe the war is lost. They are afraid of the guards, especially Shuttleworth and his … friends, of what they will do to them. I promised them I will report Shuttleworth to the Commandant as soon as he returned. So now they wait for me to keep my word. But I know if I do it will be the worse for them. They will suffer.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Mary felt helpless. There was nothing she could say or do that would help.
Peter spoke softly. ‘Just then, when I came into the ward, when I saw you there, I almost forgot how much I was in despair. I love to look at you, Mary. But you must tell me the truth. Is he … is he your friend?’
‘No,’ Mary said quietly, ‘no, he’s not, not any more.’
Chapter 26
The back of Mary’s cotton dress clung between her shoulder blades and although it had only taken her twenty minutes to get from home to the street where Frank lived, sweat beaded her forehead and tendrils of hair had escaped from the roll she’d pinned at the back of her neck. She pushed open the small gate and took two steps to the front door. Number four; this was it.
Her heart thumped remembering the last time she saw Frank, but she was determined not to let him see she was nervous; after all she’d been dealing with bullies at home all her life. She wanted him to know that she would report him if he carried on with his maltreatment of the prisoners and then she would make sure he understood he and she were finished. But was she being stupid just coming here? She decided that if he answered the door and no one else was in the house she’d stand on the step and tell him.
She glanced up and down Barnes Street. The houses had an air of past affluence. Although terraced, they were stone fronted with bay windows and low walls enclosed small areas of tarmac in front of each one. There wasn’t a soul around; no one sat on their doorsteps, no one leant against the walls gossiping and there was no noise: no shouting, no radios, no cries of children. The only sounds Mary heard were the rumble of vehicles from Shaw Road and the shouts of male voices. It sounded as though there was some sort of game, perhaps a football match, at the camp.
Mary turned to look at the house in front of her. Amongst all the others this one stood out in its neglect. The paint on the door, once black, was dull and flaked and the oblong leaded window in the upper panel was filthy. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a movement in the net curtain in the window next door. Taking a deep breath she grabbed the brass knocker and hammered. She waited, re-pinning her hair and straightening the collar of her dress.
The door was tugged twice before it opened. The woman who stood in the doorway gave her a toothless smile. ‘I know who you are; you’re our Frank’s Mary? I’m Nelly. Come in, out of this heat. I’ll give him a shout. He’s still asleep in his room, being on nights like.’ Mary followed the stout figure down the hall. The back of Nelly’s slippers were flattened and slapped against her feet. ‘I’ll make a brew in a minute, pet, but you’ll have to come through to the wash house, I’m just mangling some clothes.’
‘I only wanted a word with Frank if you don’t mind, Mrs Shuttleworth.’
‘Nelly!’
‘Nelly. It’s just that I’m on shift at two o’clock.’
‘Plenty of time.’ The older woman stood over a copper tub and stirred the washing one last time with the long wooden dolly-stick. ‘I’ll have to get this out on the line. First lot’s already dry.’ She lifted a white sheet out of the soapy water and fed it through the rollers by turning the large wheel on the side of the mangle. The muscles under the skin of her bare arms bulged. She gave Mary another gummy grin. ‘I take washing in from the big houses. Keeps the wolf from the door.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t have much time and I still have to get back home to change.’
‘Well, if it’s that urgent …’ Frank’s mother was obviously disappointed that Mary wasn’t going to have time to chat.
‘It is.’
‘Tell you what, then. I’ll rinse these and make a cuppa. You go and wake him up. Up the stairs, first right.’
‘OK.’
Mary waited a moment outside Frank’s bedroom and then, slowing her breathing, knocked.
‘What?’ He yelled. ‘Ma?’
‘It’s Mary.’
She heard the springs on his bed crunch and then he opened the door. ‘What are you doing here?’ She stepped back. He was wearing only his trousers and he scowled at her as he fastened the fly buttons and tugged fiercely on his belt, his arm muscles flexing under the skin. ‘What’s up with you? What d’you think I’m going to do? In my own house?’
‘After the other day? In mine?’ Mary shrugged. ‘I need to talk to you.’ She avoided looking at him. Hitching her bag further onto her shoulder and crossing her arms,
she stepped into the room, wincing as he slammed the door. Hearing his mother singing outside in the yard as she pegged out the sheets made Mary feel a little less anxious.
Frank went to his bedside table and picked up a packet of cigarettes. He sat down on the edge of the bed and lit one. ‘Sit down.’ He gestured with his thumb towards a chair in the corner of the room piled high with clothes. ‘Shift that lot.’ He blew smoke out, making an impatient clicking noise with his tongue on the back of his teeth.
‘I won’t, thanks.’ Mary crossed to the window and watched his mother hook the wooden prop under the washing line and hoist it higher. Steam began to rise instantly from the sheets. Now she was here she couldn’t think where to start. Without turning around she blurted, ‘I know you resent Tom and, especially after the other day, I don’t really care.’ She heard the crack of his knuckles. ‘What you said about him and about me just showed how nasty you are.’ The headboard of the bed creaked and then bumped softly against the wall as Frank leaned against it.
When he answered her, his tone was surly. ‘What do you expect, you and your flaming brother? I’m sick of everything. I should be out there fighting the bloody Jerries, part of this invasion that’s going on and here I am looking after a bunch of Nazis.’
‘I’ve heard all this before, Frank.’
‘Aye and you look at me as though I’m a rotten smell under your nose half the time.’
‘I don’t.’ She took a quick look over her shoulder at him. He was biting his nails. ‘But it’s … it’s not worked out, Frank. Even before you did what you did in our house you wanted too much, too soon.’ She heard his snort of derision and took a deep breath. ‘We’re finished. I want you to understand that before I leave here.’ She rushed on before she ran out of courage. ‘And the other thing is I’ve heard about some of the things you and the other guards do.’ She flinched as she heard him launch himself off the bed to stand behind her.
Pattern of Shadows Page 15
