Living in the Shadows (15 page)

That was how she knew that Seth held the daily meditations that she hadn’t been allowed to go yet. All he’d said on the second day she was in the commune was, ‘I’ll know when you’re ready to join in.’

She listened to their discussions, jealous of their time spent with him, envious whenever one of them had been singled out for group contemplation. Wanting to feel part of what they shared. To learn how to find that spiritual peace she’d been unable to find. That Seth had promised her that day, way back in the summer.

She’d sneaked out to meet him after her parents and Richard had gone with Auntie Jean to see the rest of the family on Henshaw Street. She’d feigned a headache but, from the scathing look her mother had given her, Victoria knew she wasn’t believed. She didn’t care; they were due to go home the following day and this morning she was supposed to be meeting Seth.

Her skin tingled with excitement when she saw the Volkswagen parked at the far end of Greenacre Street. She wasn’t sure he’d keep the promise he’d made when she left him the week before at the festival. But when he got out of the van and picked her up in a huge bear hug she knew he felt the same as her.

‘Let’s walk,’ she’d said. The farther away from Henshaw Street they were, the safer she’d feel. And, from past visits to Ashford, she knew it wasn’t that far to the canal. So when they reached one of the sets of steps leading down to the canal she stopped. ‘Down here?’ There was less chance of being seen if they were on the path.

They walked, arms wrapped around one another, pausing only for him to kiss her – long slow kisses as though he was claiming her. And she was willing to submit to him, she realised. But not yet. And not here. When they stopped to kiss underneath one of the bridges she felt his hand on her breast, his knee nudging between her thighs and pulled back from him.

‘Don’t rush me, okay?’ She searched his face, frightened he’d laugh, mock her, knowing somehow she still hadn’t ‘done it’. Because she hadn’t. Sex was something she’d yet to discover. There’d been plenty who’d tried it on with her. She wasn’t stupid; she knew some of the boys in college really fancied her. But there hadn’t been anyone she’d liked enough to go all the way with them.

Until now.

So she was nervous when she spoke. ‘Not yet. Huh?’

He shrugged. ‘Okay.’ He gave her a light kiss on the lips and let her pull him along the path.

The grass along the edge of the canal lay flat, slimy. The surface of the sluggish water was covered in oily, multi-coloured swirls that almost hid the shapes of objects that had been thrown in over time. Victoria screwed up her nose against the faint smell of sewage. It really was a gross place. She wished she’d not suggested they walked here.

She saw him looking at the canal in disgust as well. She touched his cheek, turned his head so he looked at her. ‘Tell me about yourself.’ When she’d seen him with the other people at the festival she felt there was something about them she’d missed. ‘Tell me about your family.’

‘The people you saw me with at the fest – they’re my family. Most of us have been together for ages. We don’t want to be part of all the crap that’s thrown at us day after day by idiots who think they’re in charge.’ He smiled at her, his eyes creased into laughter lines at the corners.

Victoria’s stomach flipped over. She loved this man; she believed she’d loved him the first moment she saw him. So when he added, ‘We’ve dropped out from all that,’ she instinctively knew that was what she wanted as well.

‘You’re a commune?’

‘Yep,’ Seth lifted her arm, kissed the inside of her wrist. She felt the rush of heat between her thighs. He grinned as though he knew but only said, ‘Yep, s’pose that’s what we are: a commune. We live together, support one another, believe in a consciousness of a higher Self.’

His last words jarred with Victoria. ‘I don’t know…’ she paused. ‘I don’t believe in any religion really, I stopped going to church when I was fourteen. I know my mother doesn’t really either but, for some reason, she goes when my dad wants her to.’

‘It’s not like the religion that’s been pushed down our throats since forever,’ Seth said. ‘I should know; my father was a vicar. Biggest hypocrite I’ve ever come across. He left us, ran off with one of the women in the church choir. Mum started to drink.’ His eyes narrowed, he looked almost ugly for a second or two. Victoria caught her breath. Then he relaxed and smiled. ‘Nothing I could do but get out. I was on the streets at sixteen. Hooked up with some of the others in ’60. Best thing I ever did, believe me.

‘You know, babe, all religions started as cults; Christianity was a cult centered around the guy Jesus. We’re different from that, we’re a commune; everyone is equal.’ He hugged Victoria. It felt good. She relaxed against him. ‘It’s real cool, babe, honest,’ he said. ‘We meditate together every day. Better than a toke, you know?’

She didn’t; as far as she knew there weren’t any sort of drugs around in Llamroth. And so far she’d been a bit of a loner in college, so she hadn’t been involved in anything going on there either. But she nodded, not wanting him to think she was uncool.

‘I’ve read a lot about Transcendental Meditation,’ she said. She’d watched the news about the Beatles a couple of years ago, when they’d gone to Bangor to meet that Yogi. She wasn’t interested in the Fab Four: not like Richard, who copied everything about them, even the daft haircut. But for a few weeks after it happened it had been in all the Welsh papers; she’d heard some of the other girls in school talking about it and about Transcendental Meditation. They hadn’t included her, of course; they never did. Not that she cared. But she’d listened and afterwards she’d gone to the library to find out what it was all about. It had fascinated her ever since. ‘I’ve tried to meditate, as well. But it’s difficult.’

‘That’s because of the negative thoughts, babe. Think about how many negative thoughts go through your mind every day, huh?’

Victoria flushed. It suddenly occurred to her that he was right. That’s why she needed to get away from home. But did she dare? Was she brave enough?

As though he read her thoughts he said, ‘Think about it, babe. About joining us? Being free from all the crap, eh? Promise I’ll teach you how to meditate. Get peace.’

Had she finally found somewhere where she’d be welcomed just for herself? One where she didn’t have to compete to be noticed?

‘I’ll think about it…’

The possibilities of what it would mean churned around in her head. She walked alongside Seth lost in thought.

‘What’s that place?’ Seth stopped. He pointed past a line of shrubbery on top of the banking.

Victoria glanced upwards towards a long roof, green with a covering of moss. ‘Looks like one of the buildings belonging to the old cotton mill.’ She frowned. ‘It’s all in ruins now. Was called the Granville.’ She hesitated. ‘Used to be a POW camp in the war,’ she’d said finally.

‘Really?’ Seth stared along the path towards the next bridge. Victoria followed his gaze. She could see the heads of two people walking past ‘Is that a road there?’ he asked. ‘Going over the bridge?’

‘Yes.’

‘Leads to that place? The mill?’

‘Passes it, yes.’ A breeze ruffled the surface of the canal, rippling out the swirls of oily colours, the water swaying the slimy grasses along the edges of the banks. Victoria shivered, rubbed the skin on her upper arms. ‘It’s getting a bit chilly, Seth.’

‘Let’s just go and have a look. Eh?’

‘Why?’ Everything about the old mill gave her the creeps. Years ago Jackie had brought her here, told her it was where Linda had been kept for days by some weirdo. She debated on telling Seth about it. Decided she wouldn’t. ‘Let’s just go, there’s nothing to see. Honest.’

He’d pulled a face but followed her back along the path.

Yeah, letting Seth see this place had definitely been a mistake.

‘Victoria?’ A girl pulled aside the curtain, holding out a cup. She smiled. ‘We missed you; you didn’t come down for the mid-day meal. So I brought you this. It’s soup.’

Victoria took hold of the cup. The handle felt thick and clumsy in her fingers.

‘We haven’t really spoken since you first arrived. Blossom? My name’s Blossom. There are a lot of names to remember so don’t worry if you’ve forgotten.’ The girl waited for Victoria to reply. When she didn’t she said, ‘May I sit on your chair?’

Victoria nodded, not trusting the tone of friendliness from the girl.

‘I suppose you’re waiting for Seth.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘It’s difficult at first. I know.’ She tucked her legs up under her chin and arranged her long purple skirt.

‘What do you mean, “at first”?’ The wrench of fear shook Victoria.

Without answering, Blossom loosened her long brown hair and shook her head, running her fingers through the strands. Peeping through them she asked, ‘How did you meet him? Seth?’

Vicky considered not answering but then, off-handedly, ‘A pop fest, just outside Manchester, earlier this year.’

‘Hmm.’ Blossom leaned forward, let her hair flop over her face. ‘Thought so.’

This girl is so irritating, Victoria thought, peering at the brown liquid in the cup. There were circles of grease floating on the surface. She put the cup on the floor. ‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s where he usually finds us.’ Now Blossom was plaiting her hair. She spoke indifferently.

‘Seth loves me.’ Victoria made it into a statement.

‘Of course he loves you.’ The girl looked surprised now. ‘He loves us all.’

Victoria clamped her lips together. After a few minutes the girl got off the chair. Before she left she patted Victoria on the shoulder. A touch Victoria shrugged off.

She was so tired. Perhaps if she could sleep at night she wouldn’t feel so bad but she wasn’t used to sharing a room with anyone, let alone eleven other girls. All the sounds in the night, the mutterings, the snores, the muffled noises of lovemaking kept her awake. Sometimes she swore she heard Seth’s voice. But even when she crept out of the dorm with the excuse of going to the toilet, she couldn’t make out the outlines of anyone in the darkness.

Victoria rolled onto her stomach and slid her hand under the mattress. She took out the two photographs that she’d had in her skirt-pocket when she arrived at the commune and studied them. The tears were unexpected. She ran a finger over the surface of the picture of Nain Gwyneth and then the one of her on her own. No, not alone. She peered at the hand holding hers; it had to be Richard next to her, but whoever had taken the photograph had misjudged the image and left him out. She wouldn’t have believed how much she’d miss her brother but she did; she was so used to being jealous of him. Even though she loved him. She tried to ignore the next thought; just in that instant she missed all her family, her bedroom, with the walls covered in posters, her paintings. Proper curtains. Even the stupid little village. The feeling quickly passed. She’d made the choice to be here. She looked around the large room; at the bare walls, the mattresses covered with blankets the other girls had made and then back to her own mattress with the grey blankets Amber had given her: ‘Until you make your own…’. Victoria blew a sigh out. Fat chance of that.

Lonely or not, she was here now. And one way or another she’d make it work. Somehow she’d make herself fit in. It was what she wanted.

Chapter 28: Richard Schormann

Manchester: Friday, September 26th

‘
Duw
, I’m glad that’s over.’ Richard hooked his finger into his jacket-loop and slung it over his shoulder. He held out his other hand. ‘You cool?’

‘Yep.’ Karen jumped down from the low wall.

‘Did I tell you how fab you look today?’ She’d matched her purple mini-dress with zig-zag patterned purple tights. A silver chain belt hung loosely from her hips. Richard raised her arm and twirled her around. ‘Absolutely fab … u … lous.’

‘Like it?’ She giggled, falling against him. ‘Thought we might have something to celebrate?’

‘No. Not yet.’ He kissed her the tip of her nose. ‘They said they’d let me know.’ He’d been more nervous than the first time, taking care to face each questioner, make sure he could see what they were saying, watching their expressions. He’d always been good at telling what people thought from their eyes. But today he hadn’t been able to fathom any of the board out. They’d been impassive.

She lifted her mouth to his. Her breath smelt of peppermints. ‘How did it go? Was it the same panel that interviewed you the first time?’

‘No.’ Richard pressed his lips on hers, savouring the taste. ‘Had a good interview, though. Fingers crossed.’

‘Everything crossed.’ Karen demonstrated this by crossing her eyes.

‘Idiot.’ He grinned. ‘If the wind changes, you’ll stay like that. Mum always says that to Vicky when she’s sulking.’

‘Does your sister sulk a lot then?’

‘All the time. She can be a right pain but she’s cool mostly. And funny.’

‘Then I’ll like her.’ She ran off, swinging her white shoulder bag and then turned and ran backwards, watching him and giggling.

‘Be careful,’ he called, ‘you’ll fall.’ He chased after her and she turned again, slowing to a trot.

When he caught up with her, he held her to him. ‘I can’t believe we only met a week ago,’ he said, kissing her neck.

‘I know. I feel like I’ve known you all my life.’ She tilted her face, looking at him. ‘So, what shall we do this afternoon?’

‘Haven’t you got college?’

‘No. Monday afternoon next.’

‘Okay.’ Richard loosened his tie and took it off. ‘Need to get out of these threads before I do anything else. Then, if it’s okay with you, I have to go and see someone for ten minutes. It’s her birthday.’

‘Her?’ Karen huffed and pouted. ‘Her?’

‘Think she’s about eighty.’ He grinned. ‘Ancient anyway.’ He looked up as a bus trundled past. ‘That’s ours.’ He grabbed her hand again. ‘Come on.’

‘So, spill the beans.’ Karen hauled herself up the stairs of the double-decker bus and flopped down on the front seat. ‘Whose birthday is it?’

Richard sat alongside her, folding his jacket over his arm. ‘Never mind that for a minute.’ He twisted in the seat and faced her, studying her face. ‘You would tell me if you’d had any trouble from your stepfather because of that lad who saw us, wouldn’t you?’