Pattern of Shadows (29 page)

‘I can’t stay here, Mary.’ Ellen tilted her head towards the sleeping figures in the chairs. ‘It’s like this every day. Mr Brown comes armed with bottles of his home-made wine and they polish them off between them. I can’t stand it. Even when you’re on nights, you’re still not down here, you’re asleep in bed.’

Mary stopped slicing the Spam. Not this as well! ‘I’m sorry, Ellen. I thought she was getting better. It’s him.’ She pointed the knife at Arthur Brown. ‘If we could somehow stop him coming round it’d be all right. I’ll talk to her again.’

‘No, it’s too late.’ Ellen pushed her bottom lip out.

‘I shouldn’t have left you on your own. It was too soon.’ Her eyes were sore from crying, but Ellen hadn’t noticed. Perhaps that was just as well, Mary thought. She rubbed her forehead. What could she say? The man I love, a German, has decided that he will go back to his wife?

Ellen pushed the board of cut bread across to Mary who spread the margarine thinly over it. She wiped both sides of the knife on the last piece before saying, ‘I should have realised you wouldn’t be able to do anything with Mam. I’ll try and help more.’

Ellen shook her head, brushing aside Mary’s offer. ‘It’ll be easier for you with Tom home.’

Mary doubted it. She hadn’t shown Ellen the letter from Tom that had come in the morning’s post. One stark sentence, “I am being released at the end of the month,” held no hint of his feelings, nor did the rest of his short note. She was very uneasy; there was something badly wrong. It wasn’t like Tom to be so short with her.

Ellen put the two plates on the table and sat down. ‘I thought I would be able to manage Mam. You’ve done it since Dad died. I should have come home then.’

‘How could you? You had enough to worry about with the … baby.’ Mary sat on the chair opposite Ellen. ‘Anyway you couldn’t have come home, not with the way things were with Frank. You were better staying away.’

‘Perhaps she wouldn’t have got this bad if I’d been home.’

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, love. I couldn’t stop Mr Brown from coming here. I’m sure you wouldn’t have been able to.’

They looked at each other, grimacing as Arthur Brown parted his knees and farted.

‘Dirty bugger,’ Ellen said. ‘I’m sorry, Mary; I really can’t carry on like this. Patrick and Jean are good to me, they’ve said I can go round to their house whenever I want to, but to be honest her mother doesn’t make me welcome. I’m sure she thinks I’m going to taint the place or something. Even though they swear they haven’t told her about the adoption.’ She sat back in her chair, biting on her thumbnail. ‘And then it’s seeing the baby, Jacqueline. I’m not being … I can’t be there so often, I can’t.’

Mary went round the table to hug her. Ellen might not have noticed how miserable
she
was over the last week, but Mary had certainly heard her sister crying almost every night since she’d come home. ‘Do you want to talk about it? Have you changed your mind about your baby?’

‘It’s too late.’ Ellen wriggled under Mary’s grasp. ‘I’m all right. There’s nothing I can do about that now. But sometimes I think about Al. Wonder how things might have turned out.’

Mary straightened up. They weren’t that different, her and her sister, with their ill-fated choice of lovers, she thought. If only neither of them had met Frank Shuttleworth, how different their lives would be now. She felt such a bitter hatred it shook her and she put her hand to her throat. Peter would leave, and she knew she would never feel about any other man as she did for him. She might not have a chance at happiness, but Ellen might, if she got out while she could. ‘You must do what’s best for you,’ she said, ignoring the twinge of envy.

Winifred snorted loudly, making the rockers of her chair move, and Mr Brown jumped, his boots coming up off the floor. But he didn’t wake up.

‘Just look at them,’ Ellen said. ‘It’s disgusting.’

‘I know.’ Mary stared at the food. ‘I don’t feel like eating now.’ She needed to lie down.

‘I’ll have some, I’m starving. I feel better now we’ve talked; now it’s out in the open.’ Ellen arranged the meat between the slices of bread. ‘I know I’m leaving you with this mess and I’m sorry, Mary,’ Ellen bit into the sandwich, still talking, ‘but I’ve really tried.’

‘I know.’ Perhaps not hard enough, but as much as was possible for her, Mary thought, keeping the instinctive resentment out of her voice. ‘Where will you go?’

‘I’m going to live with Mrs Booth.’

‘It’s already organised?’

‘I’ve talked to her a lot this week. She’s on her own and there’s room for me, now Ted’s … now he won’t be coming home.’

‘When are you moving out?’

‘I’ve already packed my things.’ Ellen searched Mary’s face for a reaction. ‘I know, I know, I’m a selfish bitch but I have to get out of here.’

‘Mrs Booth will wonder what’s hit her,’ Mary joked, hiding her dismay. ‘All those clothes. Has she got room?’

Ellen smiled. ‘I’ve left most of my dresses; they don’t fit me now anyway.’

‘They will soon.’

‘Perhaps, but they’re yours by rights. They were mostly bought with your coupons, as you once pointed out to me.’

‘Aw, Ellen, I didn’t mind really.’

‘I know. But I can get some new things. I’ve managed to save some of my own coupons over the last few months.’ Ellen finished chewing and stood up, brushing the palms of her hands together. ‘The main thing is you’re not angry with me.’

‘Like I said, love, you must do what’s best for you.’

‘Perhaps you should do the same.’

Mary stared at Ellen’s cleared plate, then at her mother and Mr Brown. She thought of the decision Peter had made. ‘Perhaps.’ There was a cold empty feeling in her stomach.

When she got back from posting the letter Mary leant on the back door looking around the kitchen. Like the rest of the house it was a mess; dust layered her mother’s rocking chair, the sideboard and the range, and the rug needed a thorough shaking. Grey ash covered the fireplace; the remains of the fire that Mary had lit the day after Peter told her they had no future. She’d been so cold she couldn’t stop shaking, even though the sun poured through the kitchen window. She’d hardly seen him since, certainly hadn’t been able to get close enough to talk to him privately. Tears pricked the back of her eyes again.

She must pull herself together. Everywhere needed a good clean before Tom came home. Neither Ellen nor her mother had done any proper housework in weeks. Mary sighed. She closed and locked the back door. Carrying the
mug of milk she’d forgotten to drink to the scullery, she poured it into the bottle and fitted the top back on. She stood it in the cold water in the sink. With a bit of luck the milk wouldn’t have gone off in the morning. She glanced in the mirror as she dried her hands. She’d lost weight, it didn’t suit her and her eyes were a mess. She needed to get some sleep; she was on earlies tomorrow.

Upstairs, in her room, Mary closed the curtains. The sky, streaked with swathes of pink, white and gold, was still quite bright and light filtered through the material although it was past ten o’clock. She dropped her dressing gown on to the chair and bent down to straighten the rag rug.

When she stood up her mother was standing in the doorway. ‘God, Mam, you gave me a fright. I thought you’d gone to sleep ages ago.’

Winifred fiddled with the neck of her nightdress. She wouldn’t meet Mary’s eyes.

‘Mam? You all right?’ Mary sat on the bed. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s something you should know.’ Winifred spoke quickly. ‘Arthur Brown has asked me to marry him and I’ve said yes. His house is rented so I’ve told him that, afterwards, he might as well move in here.’ She held the palm of one hand to her chest, moving the fingers of her other up and down the wall as she watched her daughter. Then she turned and walked back to her room, leaving Mary staring at the empty doorway.

‘It was on the radio about those two atomic bombs the Americans dropped on Japan.’ Mary fastened the knot of the turban tighter around her head and knelt in front of the fireplace. She dipped the scrubbing brush into the bucket next to her and swished it round before shaking off the excess water.

Jean buttoned up her blouse and held the baby to her shoulder. Jacqueline burped; a milky dribble on her chin dripped on to her mother’s neck. ‘Patrick says it means Japan will surrender.’ Jean wiped her throat with the piece of rag she’d tucked under the baby’s chin. ‘But all those people, those children.’ She blinked. ‘Horrible.’ She gently stroked her daughter’s back.

‘Tom knows about it, too.’ Mary scrubbed the hearth tiles. Without looking at Jean she said, ‘I had a letter from him.’

Jean stopped patting the baby. ‘You didn’t say. How does he know? I thought they weren’t allowed newspapers.’

‘That’s what I thought but he’s found out somehow and he sounds dreadfully upset; he was raving on about how the Allies’ trials of war criminals should have included the Americans for those bombings.’ Mary stopped scrubbing. ‘There’s something really wrong. I’m frightened for him.’

‘Have you tried telephoning the prison?’

‘Yes, they won’t tell me anything. In fact the last time I rang they kept me waiting ages.’ Mary dropped the scrubbing brush into the bucket and used a cloth to wipe away the oily black scum on the hearth. ‘I used every penny I had and in the end they just said he was he was
lucky they were letting him out at all, with the trouble he’d caused. I don’t know what they meant.’ She knelt back on her haunches and brushed her hair off her face with her forearm. ‘But I do know he’s not right. He didn’t even sign his letter.’

‘Well, it’s only another week or so before he’s home, isn’t it? Try not to worry.’ Jean put the baby into the navy blue pram outside the back door and tucked the blankets around her. The springs gently clicked as she moved the handle up and down. ‘Have you written back?’

‘No. I’d already answered his other letter; the one when he told us he’ll be home on the twenty-eighth. I thought I’d better ignore this last one.’

‘You’re probably right.’ Jean peered around the door so she could see Mary. ‘I’ll make a brew in a minute. Will Mam want one? Is she upstairs?’

‘No, she’s not in. She’s gone into Bradlow with Mr Brown.’

‘You’ll still be calling him that when he’s your stepfather.’ Jean grinned.

‘Patrick told you then?’ Mary sidled past her in the doorway, carrying the bucket. In the yard she emptied the grimy water into the grid. ‘I know what I’d like to call him.’ She didn’t return Jean’s smile.

Turning round, she tripped on the corner of a flag and fell, dropping the bucket. It crashed on to the ground, rocking back and forth. The baby gave a whimper of protest and a dog in a yard further down the terrace began to bark. A male voice cursed loudly, doors banged and the dog was abruptly silenced.

Mary didn’t get up. She lay on the dirty wet ground.

‘Mary?’ Jean stopped jiggling the pram and ran to help
Mary to her feet. Jacqueline immediately started wailing. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘See to the baby.’ Tears smeared the grime on Mary’s face.

‘She’s OK.’ Jean led Mary into the house. ‘Sit there, in Mam’s chair. I’ll make a cup of tea.’ She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a handkerchief. ‘Here you are.’

‘We can’t have tea.’ Mary sniffed. ‘The range is cold. I let it go out so I could clean it. I wanted everything tidy before Tom gets home.’

‘I’ll get some water then.’ The baby stopped crying. Jean hurried to the door, peered into the hood of the pram and rearranged the covers. ‘See? She’s fine.’

When she returned to the kitchen she said, ‘You’re wearing yourself out. Isn’t Mam helping at all?’ Mary shook her head, tears dripped off her chin. ‘And you haven’t seen much of Ellen?’

‘Not since she left home. She’s working in Bradlow now, in the Co-op.’ Mary scrubbed at her face. ‘Mrs Booth got her a job there. And at weekends she’s got a spot singing at the Palais.’

‘So, you’ve been left to do it all. As usual.’ Jean perched on the arm of the rocking chair. ‘Right, this is what we’ll do. No arguing.’ She held up both hands. ‘You’re going to go to bed for a couple of hours.’

‘I can’t, it’s the only day off I’ll have before Tom’s home.’

‘You’ll be no good to him ill. So, like I said, you have a sleep.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll take Jacqueline home and ask Mother to look after her for a while. Then I’ll come back and do some cleaning in here and the scullery. And if I have time I’ll do the lavvy and backyard. Then I’ll nip
back home to feed Jacqueline and when you get up, we’ll clean the bedrooms together. How does that sound?’

‘It sounds like I’m having a lazy time.’ Mary blew her nose and smiled slightly.

‘Rubbish. And, in future, if something’s wrong, I’ll thank you to tell me. I’ve not stopped being your best friend just because I’m your sister-in-law.’

Mary gave a wobbly chuckle. ‘OK, I give in.’ She stood and pulled off the turban. She dropped it on the table and began to automatically rub at a stain with it.

‘I should think so. Now, stop that and up those stairs.’

‘I feel like the world’s on my shoulders sometimes, Jean.’ Mary’s face began to crumple again.

‘I know, love. But I’m here. I’m always ready to listen.’

But not to what I really need to talk about, Mary thought. She let the curtain fall into place.

Mary hadn’t been asked to sit when she was called into Matron’s office and the woman’s face was impassive. After a few moments she spoke, ‘What I have to say, Sister, will stay between these four walls.’ She clasped her hands on the desk. ‘And when you have heard it, you will be exceedingly glad that is what I have decided.’ She paused, frowning. ‘I have been told that you have formed a very unwise attachment to Doctor Schormann.’

‘No.’ Mary’s heart leapt.

‘The Commandant has interviewed him and obviously he has also denied it. However my source is reliable and, I have to say, I have had my suspicions for a while.’ Matron
stressed her words by drumming her fingers on the table. ‘Now, Sister Howarth, you must be aware of the penalties for fraternising with the Germans; indeed, when you came to work at the hospital it was one of the first things you were warned about. I have discussed the matter with Major Taylor. At this stage, with the war now officially over, we feel it’s unnecessary to bring in any outside authorities and he agrees with me, so, for this reason and this reason only, we have decided that you will only receive an unofficial warning.’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong, Matron.’

‘In your eyes perhaps, and I have to say your attitude disappoints me, but, because in the past your behaviour has been exemplary and your work professional, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Look on this as a reprimand of the strongest order. Now, you can get back to your duties. And consider yourself a very lucky young woman.’

She picked up a pen and began to write. Mary waited a moment. She could feel the anger welling up inside her and didn’t trust herself to speak. Without lifting her head Matron spoke again, ‘I said you could go. There is nothing else to discuss.’ She stopped writing but didn’t look at Mary. ‘Except perhaps you should know that as from tomorrow, we will be having two different doctors here.’

‘Matron?’

‘I don’t have to tell you this, Sister, but I will, as it will soon be known within the camp anyway.’ She opened the bottle of ink on her desk. ‘The Commandant has told me the military authorities have already formulated plans to re-educate the prisoners before they are sent back to Germany.’

Now she looked up at Mary. ‘Major Taylor says it will take a long time. However, there is apparently a scheme that the Government has decided will be put into operation forthwith.’ She lifted the lever on the side of the pen. ‘A number of German prisoners will be chosen to return home soon.’ She paused to fill her fountain pen. Mary waited, the familiar rushing noise beginning.

Matron screwed the top back on the bottle. ‘The Commandant has been requested to put forward names of those men who were screened as “A” ratings. Because of that, and because of his trusted position as
Lagerführer
, Doctor Schormann has been chosen as one of those doctors who will accompany the German sick and wounded back to their own country for further treatment at the earliest opportunity. It is for the best.’

Mary was trembling. She put her fingertips on the edge of Matron’s desk.

‘You may sit down, Sister.’

She stumbled on to the chair.

When Matron spoke again her voice had softened but she continued, ‘Doctor Pensch will also be leaving us. I’m afraid he has been diagnosed with stomach cancer so, as he formerly lived in what is now the British zone of Germany, he is being allowed to go home. He is one of the patients that Doctor Schormann will be accompanying. I suggest you get back to your duties now you are fully apprised of the situation.’

Mary walked unsteadily towards the door. In the corridor she stopped. ‘It is for the best Mary.’ The words went round and round in her head.

‘No, it’s not,’ she said aloud, ‘it’s not for the best. Not for us it’s not.’ She crossed her arms across her waist
and turned to face the wall. Resting her forehead she whispered, ‘It’s not; it’s not for the best.’