Changing Patterns (21 page)

Further along the alleyway someone banged a gate, a pram trundled past, and Ellen heard the bouncy squeak of springs as it was pushed over the cobbles. Pins and needles prickled in her arms. She lowered them, rubbing hard at the skin. She glanced up at the open bedroom window. Still no sound. William was a good little sleeper and Linda was in school, so at least there were no worries about either of them.

From the kitchen Ellen heard the mantle clock strike ten o’clock. Ted was late. He must have waited until Evelyn Stott arrived to open the shop. She’d been in the yard for almost an hour, just sitting and trying not to think. Now she felt just about calm enough to go back inside. Pushing herself off the dustbin and stretching, the tingling in her arms subsided but her backside was numb. She rubbed her buttocks and circled the yard stamping her feet, stopping when she heard the lavatory next door flush and Doreen’s husband cough. A whiff of Harpic floated over the wall; a bit different from the stench from the lavvy when old Ma Jagger lived next door.

She wondered how Doreen’s husband would react when he found out that the baby might be Patrick’s.

Jean’s head ached. She poked one finger behind her glasses and rubbed her eyes, swollen and itchy from crying. She watched the two little girls run across the concrete playground to join the line of children already outside the main door. Linda’s grey socks had already slipped down, her thin legs encircled by red lines from the knotted elastic bands that were supposed to hold them up to her knees.

She was worried about Jacqueline. She’d hardly answered Linda’s chatter all the way to school. She knew her daughter was upset, both about the quarrel and that they were staying with her Granny Winterbottom. She’d almost had to drag Jacqueline to Moss Terrace. But Patrick wouldn’t leave and Jean couldn’t be around him so she had no choice. She’d try to explain everything to Jacqueline after school.

Relieved there were no other mothers about to ask awkward questions, she leaned against the low wall that surrounded the small building. The stone was cold against her legs but not as cold as she felt inside. She couldn’t remember the last time she was as unhappy as this.

The Headmistress, holding the large brass bell by its wooden handle, frowned at the restless children, inspecting them. A scuffle broke out between two boys hitting one another with their school caps, promptly brought to a halt by a quick cuff from one of the teachers who paced up and down the lines.

‘Mrs Howarth?’ The Headmistress was waving at her. What now? Jean saw all the children turn round to look. ‘We have the nit nurse coming this afternoon. We haven’t had Jacqueline’s permission form back. Do you have it with you?’

‘No but it’s fine.’ Jacqueline would be mortified, she thought, seeing the others giggling. She was glad to see Linda’s arm slip around her daughter’s waist.

Unwilling to move, to carry on with the pretence of a normal day, she stood for a long time staring up at the tiny bell tower on the school roof that hadn’t held a bell since the early days of the war. When she was small, that bell announced the beginning and end of the school day.

Soon she heard the singing in assembly. It was an old familiar hymn, ‘
I’ll be a sunbeam for Him’,
and she listened until the last notes of the piano died away. Jacqueline’s favourite. Perhaps she should have kept her home after all. It wasn’t the first argument she’d heard since she was little but it was the worst. And if
she
didn’t know if things would ever be the same again between her and Patrick, how must their daughter be feeling?

She walked slowly along the short lane from the school, past the old air raid shelter, now bricked up, and onto Huddersfield Road, reluctant to go back to her mother’s. At the entrance to Skirm Park she walked in. At the first bench she sat down. The fragrance of the low spreading red rose bushes wafted around her. She bent down and picked up a couple of fallen petals, crushed them in her hand and lifted them to her nose. Patrick had bought a red rose as a surprise to give to her on the first night of their honeymoon. She remembered being horrified at the thought of the price. Months afterwards he confessed he’d done a deal on the black market.

Yet, despite that, it was those gestures which endeared him to her. However angry she was with him he always managed to charm her round somehow. But not this time. Yesterday had been the final straw.

She brushed her palms together, ridding them of the last of the crushed rose petals, and rubbed the red stain from her skin.

What would happen next Jean didn’t know. She tried to forget the gloating expression on her mother’s face when they’d walked through the door with suitcases. Elsie Winterbottom had left Jean in no doubt that she’d never expected her marriage to last. And, for once Jean bitterly agreed with her. Marrying Patrick had been the worst mistake of her life.

Ellen braced herself to go back into the house. Things had gone too far. Ted would have to tell his mother to go, whatever else happened. Her nerves wouldn’t take any more. He had to find her somewhere else to live. Anything as long as it meant Hannah left Henshaw Street.

With her thumb on the latch Ellen listened at the door. There were no sounds. With a bit of luck her mother-in-law had gone to her bedroom.

She ran her hands over the front of her pinny, pulling the frills straight. Tucking her blond hair behind her ears she lifted her chin, pushed the door open and went in, crossing her arms.

Hannah was lying on the floor, her eyes open and blank. It seemed to Ellen they were fixed on her. Other than letting her arms drop, Ellen didn’t move. The sudden whooshing sound in her ears blocked out all but one thought. She’d killed Ted’s mother.

Just as quickly, the noise went and she heard the dripping of the scullery tap, simmering water murmuring in the Ascot above the sink, the clock softly ticking, a bluebottle that droned and patted on the window.

Acid bile rose in Ellen’s mouth and she swallowed. Skirting around the body on tiptoe as though the movement would bring life back into the shapeless mound sprawled in front of the armchair, she ran upstairs. In the children’s room William was still asleep. Ellen leant over him watching the way his breath quivered his lower lip and lifted his chest under his pyjamas. She felt her own body taking in air to match the same rhythmic movement and it calmed her. He murmured but didn’t wake when she lifted him and held him close, his skin warmly damp against her neck. The nearness comforted her. Creeping downstairs she avoided looking at the body, moving swiftly out of the kitchen and through the yard, leaving the back door and gate open. Her need to be with Ted became more urgent with each step.

Skidding on the cobbles in her slippers she ran to the top of the alleyway. She stopped and looked along Greenacre Street. The quivering that took over her whole body was unexpected. Her back to the end house wall, she slid to the ground with William in her lap.

And then she acknowledged the emotion that flooded through her.

It was relief.

‘I’m sorry Mary, I didn’t know who else to turn to.’

‘No, I understand Ted, you were right to call me. I’ll get the earliest train I can tomorrow.’ Mary slowly replaced the receiver. She put her hand to her throat as though to press away the lump that seemed to be choking her.

‘What is it?’ Gwyneth was still slightly breathless from running to fetch Mary to her telephone. She stood by Mary’s side, her brow furrowed with anxiety.

‘It’s Ellen. She’s had some sort of breakdown. And Ted’s mother’s had a heart attack. She’s dead. Ted wants me to go up there to help with the children while he sorts everything out.’ She moved her head in bewilderment. ‘Ellen telephoned me last week to tell me Jean had left Patrick. I was worried but I was glad at the same time. I’d said to leave him when she was here.’ Gwyneth nodded. ‘I told Ellen they just had to get on with it.’ Mary’s hand moved to her mouth. ‘I asked her how she was managing with Ted’s mother and she said it was hard so I said she should tell Ted again. Oh Gwyneth, I was so angry, because when they were here, all they seemed to be bothered about was how losing Tom affected them. They both thought I should go back to Ashford, but only because it was best for them. And now this has happened.’

Gwyneth took Mary’s hand between hers. ‘Ellen has cried wolf so often,
cariad,
how were you to know?’

‘I should have.’ Mary bent down to kiss Gwyneth. ‘Thanks for trying to make me feel better, love, but Ellen’s my little sister and I should have seen some of this coming. She’s always relied on me and now I’ve let her down. I need to tell Peter what’s happening. I’ll see you before I go in the morning.’

‘No.’ Peter followed her across the room as she opened the wardrobe door and shook two dresses off their hangers, throwing them into the suitcase on the bed. ‘No Mary, you cannot go.’

She lifted a jumper and cardigan from the shelf in the wardrobe. ‘Why not?’ She folded the woollens and the dresses without looking at him.

‘Your work. They may yet need you.’

‘They don’t. I’ve been sacked.’ Her words were clipped. The devastation of losing her job so suddenly, her vocation, a calling she’d worked so hard for all her adult life, was still raw.

‘You think it my fault?’ he said. ‘That is why you are going.’ It was a flat statement.

‘No, of course not.’ Startled, she stopped what she was doing and stared at him, clutching a jumper to her chest.

‘I feel it is as though you blame me.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Of course I don’t. We’ve talked about this, Peter.’

He wasn’t listening. He moved restlessly around the room. ‘Yes.’ He nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, that is what you think.’

‘No, that’s not true. Honestly, love, it was my choice. I would probably have left eventually, once we were married anyway.’ She smiled. ‘You know, when we started a family?’ It didn’t help with the memory of her humiliation in front of the Board, or the loss of her self-respect, but it was something to hold onto.

He didn’t return her smile. What was wrong with him? Standing still he crossed his arms. ‘The wedding?’

So that’s what it was. ‘Isn’t until December, two months away. I’ll be back long before then.’ Mary opened a drawer and rifled through, choosing nightgowns and underwear. ‘And, if I’m not, if we have to put it off until everything’s sorted, that’s what we’ll do.’ She folded her woolly dressing gown. The Henshaw Street house could be freezing in the mornings at this time of year. ‘But I will be back, don’t worry.’

‘No!’

‘What do you mean, no?’ She was stunned. ‘They need me, Peter.’

‘I need you.’ He sounded infuriated.

‘Peter—’ She stopped, wondering how she else could describe the catastrophe that had happened. ‘Things are in turmoil up there. We can’t just ignore it. We have a future together, you and me. I love you and I will love being your wife. But for now I have to put the others before what I want.’

When he didn’t answer she assumed he’d come to terms with what she said. ‘Look,’ she said, continuing to pack, ‘come with me. You got on well with Ted, you could talk to him, help him.’

‘I cannot. My work here. I cannot take the chance that I will lose my customers.’ He caught hold of Mary’s arm so she was forced to stop and straighten up.

‘Yes, I see that. But you need to see what I’m saying as well.’ She gave him a quick hug before turning to look around the room, murmuring, ‘I must take some soap with me, it’s still difficult to get. So, scarves, gloves, stockings, suspender belt, spare shoes.’ She halted, fingers to her chin. ‘What else?’

She looked up, saw him pacing the room again. She thought she knew what was really wrong. ‘I’ll never expect you to go back there if you don’t want to. I realise there are too many bad memories for you,’ she said quietly.

‘No, it is not that,’ he said. ‘I am only thinking, why?’

‘Why what?’ She studied him. He was pale, agitated. ‘Peter?’ The silence stretched between them before she said again. ‘Why what?’

‘Why do you feel you have to be the one to do this?’

‘Because Ellen’s my sister.’ She flipped the lid of the suitcase down. ‘And there is only me.’ Her heart clenched when she thought how frightened Linda must be. William wouldn’t understand, he was too young, but Linda would. She’d be taking everything in. ‘I told you, the children need me, Peter.’

‘And I told you.’ He stood still but she saw he was shaking. ‘I need you with me. They always call for you. It is not fair … to you … to me. It is not right they do this all the time. Since I came here we have had no time with just the two of us.’

She looked at him intently, trying to make sense of what he was saying, why he was saying it. His lips were thin, pressed so tightly a white line bordered them. For the first time she saw how cold his pale blue eyes were in anger.

She felt her own corresponding fury begin to build deep inside her. But still she reached out to him, aware of how much had happened since he first arrived in Llamroth. ‘I know it must seem unfair, love. And there’s really nothing I want more than to be here with you. But they’re my family.’ She stopped, remembering the day she’d said almost the same words to Jean. But that time she’d meant her and Peter and, all at once, she saw how it must seem to him, how insignificant he must feel. She opened her arms to him, beseeching. ‘I’m sorry.’