Changing Patterns (37 page)

‘Sit there on my bed,’ she said, after they’d crossed the landing, stepping out of her dress and reaching for her dressing gown. ‘Now…’ She sat next to her niece. ‘Tell me what happened.’

‘None of this is your fault,’ Mary said, when Jacqueline had sobbed out her story, ‘and Linda will be back before we know it. Now, I want you to close your eyes, it’s been a long day. You can sleep with me tonight, if that’s what you’d like?’ Jacqueline nodded, her face blotched with crying.

It didn’t take long. Mary lay alongside her, stroking the little girl’s hair until her breathing became slow and steady. Despite her words, the thought of Linda out there, alone, filled Mary with dread. She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Come back to us, sweetheart, she thought. Dear God let her be safe, don’t let anything happen to her.

‘Mary? What are you doing?’ Jean stood by the bed, her outline against the landing light. ‘I thought you were coming downstairs. I’ve been waiting.’ She clasped and unclasped her hands. ‘What’s Jacqueline doing in here?’

‘She was upset but she’s okay now.’

‘I hope so. She was in such a state earlier.’ Jean looked around the room. ‘Are you staying up here, then?’

‘I might as well.’ Mary didn’t tell her friend about the dull ache in her abdomen. ‘I can keep an eye on the children.’ She watched Jean move restlessly from one foot to the other.

‘Look,’ Jean said all at once, ‘I can’t stand this. Do you mind if I go out as well? The kids are asleep, they’re no bother and I’m going mad sitting around waiting for news.’

Mary glanced at the clock; the green luminous hands showed two o’clock. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Patrick wouldn’t want you going out on your own at this time.’ It was the only thing she could think of but as soon as she’d spoken she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

‘The time’s gone when I worried about what Patrick wants.’

‘You don’t mean that, love.’

‘Jack?’ It was more an answer than a question.

‘I know.’ Keeping an eye on the sleeping girl Mary inched her way into a sitting position, pushing up the pillows behind her. ‘But I’ve seen you with Jack.’

Jean pushed her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose. ‘Hmm.’ Behind the frames her eyes were swollen.

Even married to Patrick, with all his shenanigans, over the years, it struck Mary that she hadn’t seen her friend cry so much as she had tonight. Being partly responsible for losing Linda must be soul-destroying for Jean. But Mary couldn’t bring herself to say that. So instead she persisted. ‘I’ve seen how good you are with him when you think no one’s watching.’ Mary squeezed Jean’s hand. ‘I know how much you love Patrick and I do think he’s learned his lesson, you know.’

Jean gave a sniff.

‘And I think,’ Mary hesitated, ‘I think, if you want to stay with him, if you want to try to make your marriage work, you’ll have to accept that Jack’s here to stay.’

‘It’s hard.’ Jean sat next to Mary and hunched forward, her hands, palm to palm, pressed between her knees. Jacqueline murmured in her sleep and turned onto her side. They waited a couple of minutes, watching her, before Jean said, ‘She loves him, the baby, you know.’

‘I know. What will you do?’ Mary saw Jean’s shoulders hunch.

‘I don’t know. Take things day by day, I suppose, see how things go.’ She sighed. ‘But to be honest, Mary, I can’t think about that now. I have got to look for Linda. It’s as much my fault as Ellen’s and she’s still out there in all this weather. We should have been watching the girls but we just got talking in the yard at the back of the pub.’

Mary leaned back on the pillows. She felt incredibly tired. ‘If you must go, take that torch in the sideboard. And, please, just stick to the main streets. After yesterday there’re bound to be some drunks still lurking around.’

Jean bent over and kissed Mary’s cheek. ‘I will, don’t worry. And try not to fret about Linda, it will be fine.’

How many times had that been said over the last few hours?

Whit Monday morning 3 am

‘Mary?’ Mary shifted her head from side to side on the pillow trying to shut out the voice. ‘Mary.’ A more urgent tone – forcing her to listen.

She’d slept fitfully, a few minutes at a time. Now she was struggling from a nightmare: she was running along the canal path, a sharp stinging rain hitting her in the face, Linda floating away from her on oily water. As she was swept under the bridge the little girl raised one arm slowly, fingers spread, reaching out towards her.

‘Mary!’

‘No!’ Mary hit out at the hands holding her.

‘Mary, it’s Ted. Wake up, you’re dreaming.’

She was sweating. Something was wrong. ‘Ted?’

‘Yes. Jean found us and she’s still looking with the others … except for Ellen. I persuaded her to lie down on the sofa and she’s flat out, so I’m leaving her down there. I’ve just come up to check you and the kids are all right. Are you okay?’

‘Yes. No.’ She quietened. She felt odd, wrong. Putting a hand under the sheets she touched her legs. ‘No. I’m not. I’m bleeding.’

He’d rung the doctor. He paused, rested his hand on the receiver before picking it up again. ‘Is that Gwyneth? It’s Ted, Mary’s brother-in-law. I’m sorry it’s the middle of the night – could you get Peter to the telephone please?’

The room was warm from the day’s sun. Mary heard the ripple of the curtains wafting with the light breeze that had risen. The open window allowed noises from the street: a man whistling, a child’s cry, the rumble of some sort of a cart. She frowned, reluctant to open her eyes, savouring the effects of the sedative given to her by the doctor. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been cocooned in this small world but she knew she felt safe. Out there, there was something terrible waiting to pounce; something she needed to face.

She was drifting again, back into the protection of the soft sheets that smelled of lavender. Then it was there again, the horror. Eyes still closed she flung the covers to one side, tried to sit up. ‘Linda.’

‘Hush now,
Liebling,
it will be all right.’

‘Peter?’

‘I am here,
mein Geliebter,
I am here. Ted, he telephoned me.’

She felt the warmth of his fingers on hers.

‘I will always be here,
Liebling
.’

The relief that he’d returned to her was instant but fleeting. The anger and resentment rose up again, vying with the fear of what was happening to Linda. The image of her niece somewhere, lonely and frightened, consumed her, tortured her. But she wouldn’t let him comfort her. She pulled her fingers from under his and turned away. Tracks of tears slowly slid from the outer corners of her eyes and down to her hairline.

Peter waited until he was sure she was sleeping. He smoothed her hair away from her face, stroked her forehead. She was very pale. He looked at the shape of her under the covers, unable to believe she was carrying his child and he hadn’t known. There should have been some instinctive awareness. The combination of happiness and trepidation made him lightheaded, had done since he’d put the telephone down in Gwyneth’s and looked down into her anxious eyes. ‘Go to her,’ she’d said, ‘go and bring her home. And don’t take no for an answer.’

Waiting for the milk train on the platform at Pont y Haven, he’d known he was taking one of the biggest gambles of his
life.

Had he lost?

‘That’ll be them now,’ Ted said, when the heavy thumping on the front door rattled the letter box.

Patrick pulled his face. ‘Fat lot of bloody good they’ll be. We should be out there looking for her.’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Ted whirled on him. ‘Just shut the fuck up.’

The three others in the room stared at him. Neither Ellen nor Jean had ever heard him swear before.

‘Sorry.’ Ted locked his fingers on top of his head, watching Patrick stalk off in a temper to answer the door. ‘It’s just that I said we’d all be here when they came.’ He slid his hands down to the back of his neck and stretched. ‘The others are still searching,’ he answered Ellen’s distress, ‘and, as soon as the police have gone, we can get out there again.’

She reached up and touched him. ‘As soon as they’ve gone,’ she said, nodding. Her eyes were almost closed by her constant crying. ‘We have to.’

They listened to the muttered conversation at the door.

‘Detective Hardcastle, Mr Booth.’

‘Well?’ Patrick demanded.

John Hardcastle shook his head. ‘Sorry, no news yet. My boss has asked me to go over a few things with you.’

‘What more can we tell you?’ Patrick cut in, reluctantly moving to one side to let him into the hall before poking his head out into the street. Outside almost every house women stood watching, arms crossed under aproned bosoms, collective expressions of nosy sympathy on their faces. Patrick scowled but then realised there wasn’t a man in sight; they must all still be out looking for Linda. He raised a hand to the women, acknowledging them.

The detective followed Patrick into the kitchen, taking off his trilby. ‘Just making sure we got all the information last night, Mr Booth, Mrs Booth. So we know everything that’ll help us to find your daughter.’ The man paused, looked beyond them at Jean. ‘Miss?’

‘Mrs – Mrs Howarth. I’m Linda’s aunt.’ She rocked Jack in her arms as he slept. His closeness comforted her and she felt a certain satisfaction that she could settle him better than Patrick could these last few days. Though she certainly wouldn’t tell her husband that.

The detective nodded, coughed and turned again to Ted.

‘There is something I need to ask, Mr Booth.’ The detective held the brim of his hat, constantly running it through his fingers. ‘Is it possible Linda has run away?’

Ellen buried her face in her hands. ‘No.’

‘No, she’s a happy child.’ Ted was grey with fatigue. He’d spent the last thirty-six hours searching the streets.

‘She’s seven years old, for God’s sake,’ Patrick shouted. ‘She wouldn’t know where to run to. Bloody idiot!’

The man overlooked his outburst. The uniformed policeman standing by his side raised a warning hand to Patrick.

‘It’s happened in the past,’ Detective Hardcastle said. ‘Children can get very disturbed by things that are happening at home.’

‘Nothing’s happened. Not in this house anyway.’ Jean spoke slowly and deliberately. As she fixed Patrick with a stare, she instinctively stroked Jack’s head. Patrick’s expression softened as he returned her look. He’d noticed how close she was getting to the little boy.

When the detective looked around inquiringly, no one spoke. He shrugged. Without being asked he sat down, adjusting the creases of his trousers. ‘Now I need to clarify a few details from you. Go over what you told us at the station, Mr Booth.’ He took a notebook from his pocket. ‘As I understand it, on Sunday, Mrs Booth was at the band contest with…?’ He looked up.

‘With me,’ Jean said. She lifted her chin in the direction of Patrick. ‘And our daughter, but she knows nothing either. She was playing with some other girls when Linda went to the chip shop.’

‘Perhaps if Jacqueline had stayed with her…’ Ellen gave her an angry look.

‘Now Ellen.’ Ted laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘There are so many ways we could all blame ourselves.’ His voice cracked. ‘If I hadn’t worked…’ He didn’t finish.

Ellen covered his hand with hers. ‘Sorry,’ she said to Jean, ‘sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Jean said to her, shaking her head. ‘My husband wasn’t with us,’ she told the detective. ‘He was home looking after this one.’ She rested her cheek on top of Jack’s head. He snuggled closer.

‘Ah, giving you some time off then?’ He smiled at her first and then at Patrick. ‘Not many men would do that, especially on a Whitsunday. Good turn-out too, I hear.’

No one answered.

He cleared his throat. ‘So, if I’m right, the first time you noticed Linda missing was when you’d been to the lavatory at the back of the Crown?’

Both women nodded, avoiding one another’s eyes.

‘And that was about five o’clock?’

‘Yes.’ Ellen whispered, rubbing at her nose with a wet, bunched up handkerchief.

‘And you’ve been searching since then?’ This to Ted.

‘We have.’ Ted nodded. ‘All of us.’ He indicated the three others. ‘And half the street. Nothing.’

‘Right. And it’s just you and Mrs Booth and Linda live here?’

‘We have another child, William. He’s with one of the neighbours. And Jacqueline, she’s there too.’

‘I might have to talk to Jacqueline.’

‘No,’ Jean protested. ‘I don’t want her frightened. I told you, she doesn’t know anything.’

‘We can leave it for now. Perhaps in a few days if Linda hasn’t turned up?’

‘Oh!’ Ellen folded, her head on her knees. She rocked on the chair.

‘She’ll be back. We’ll … someone will find her.’ Jean spoke more to herself.

Ted crouched by Ellen, held her. He looked across at the detective. ‘You asked if there was anybody else living here?’