Living in the Shadows (26 page)

‘Melody—’

‘My name’s Christine—’

‘Melody,’ he interrupted her, ‘I think you need to go and lie down. It is obvious you are distraught today … not thinking what you are saying … what you truly believe. You know we have welcomed you with open arms … open hearts.’

‘So long as I gave up everything.’ She threw the words out. ‘I was … persuaded … to sell everything I had. It wasn’t a lot but I gave all my money to Seth—’

‘So he could share it with the group. We have all shared in the largesse from our former lives.’ The man, Om – Victoria had been trying to remember his name ever since he first spoke – wasn’t someone who often came to the meetings of the younger members, but he’d joined them today. Now she knew why.

‘You need to silence the questions.’

Victoria heard the warning from Amber but it was as though Christine – Melody, Victoria corrected herself – hadn’t heard.

‘You think the outside world is meaningless. But that’s all rubbish. Admit it.’ Melody spread her hands out in front of her.

Victoria closed her eyes, focussed on the darkness of her eyelids. She breathed in through her nose. Held the air inside her – a trick she’d picked up from Richard.

‘What do you think, Summer?’

Let the breath out slowly through open lips.

‘Summer!’

With a start Victoria heard the plea in Melody’s voice. Keep me out of it, she thought, please keep me out of this.

‘Summer?’ Now it was Amber speaking.

Victoria heard the impatience. ‘I … I’m not sure what you mean.’ She’d learned quickly not to question anything. She was trying to not listen to the quiet voice that challenged Seth. Cut off from the world, with no newspapers or anything, his beliefs, and those of his group, were all she had. She had to believe what he’d said to her: that she was special to him and she had to be patient, wait, before he announced it to the others. There was no going back now. He’d convinced her that her family, her other family in Wales, would have rejected her now, as she’d rejected them. She’d hurt them too much.

‘He keeps control of us by giving us the rewards he thinks we should value.’ It was as though Melody couldn’t stop. ‘Like he makes us all strive for and rely on one another’s friendship, affection. It’s almost like having to depend on everyone else just to survive.’

Now, no one was looking at her. They were exchanging shocked gazes, tight-lipped, narrow-eyed.

‘I’m sick of it.’ Melody moved as though to stand.

Victoria rested a hand on her, gave a small shake of her head. She felt chilled, frightened for the girl.

‘I want out.’

No one spoke.

‘Shut up.’ Chrystal broke the moment.

‘The longer we stay here,’ Melody insisted, ‘the harder it will be to leave.’

‘You can’t leave.’ Chrystal’s voice was calm.

‘You’re all in on it, the entire lot of you … all taken in by Seth. Or
the Master
, as he likes to be called,’ Melody shouted. ‘Well, I’m not. And I’m leaving … I’m—’

Before she could finish Chrystal stood, walked over to her and hit her. The woman’s face was white, except for two bright red blotches on her cheeks. ‘Don’t ever speak about our Master in that way.’ She hit Melody again as she said her next two words. ‘Ever again.’

It all happened so quickly. Victoria was stunned. She’d seen girls fight in school a couple of times but she’d never seen anything like this. She saw one or two of the others look at one another, but most of them kept their heads lowered. She didn’t know what to do. But when Melody ran from the room, Victoria started to get up, intending to go after her.

‘Stay where you are, Summer.’ Chrystal’s voice was calm. There was no doubt it was an order.

Even though the anger bubbled inside her, Victoria sank back to the floor. It was minutes before she felt the pain of her fingernails digging into her palm. And saw the tiny crescents of blood on the skin.

Chapter 52: Mary Schormann & Jean Howarth

Ashford: Saturday, October 11th

It’s glorious up here.’ Mary had to shout against the stiff breeze that whipped up the waters of the reservoir and rocked a line of sailing boats tied up on the far side. ‘I love Stonebridge; I’d forgotten how much heather comes out at this time of year.’ She squinted upwards at the purple-covered rocky hills and moorland that surrounded them. ‘So … so open, so exhilarating.’

‘So cold,’ Jean grumbled. ‘I don’t know why you wanted to come up here. It’s so cold.’

‘You were the one who suggested we got out of the house.’

‘I didn’t suggest coming here. It’s freezing.’

‘Oh, don’t be a wimp. Look around, we’re not the only ones with the same idea.’

‘Oh, yes. At least four other people,’ Jean said.

‘Breathe in all this lovely air.’ Mary opened her arms, threw her head back, and took a deep breath. She sobered. ‘I needed to get away from everything, just for an hour, Jean. And I want to talk to you.’

‘What about?’ Jean tied her fur bonnet tighter under her chin and turned her head away.

Mary frowned; her sister-in-law had been unusually quiet from the minute she’d opened the door of the house. ‘Richard, mainly. There’s something—’

‘Oh.’ Jean started to walk along the gravelled path that skirted the reservoir, her short, squat body rolling from side to side. ‘So when does he start at the university?’

Strange – was that relief in her voice? Mary tried to look at Jean but the fluffy fur edging of her bonnet hid her face. ‘Not until the twentieth, but there are a few things to sort out first. Like I said, I want us to talk—’

‘Where are you staying?’ Jean interrupted. She quickened her pace, starting to pant with the exertion.

‘Richard’s back at number twenty-seven with Ellen and Ted for the time being. He’ll go into the Halls of Residence in a few days. We’re staying in a bed-and-breakfast place in Manchester. I’ve left Peter there to have a rest, he insisted on driving part of the way. It was too much for him.’ She was talking to her sister-in-law’s back. ‘Jean!’ What was the matter with her? ‘If you don’t stand still right now, you’ll be making your own way back home.’ Mary stopped, determined to make her sister-in-law listen. It didn’t make any difference; Jean carried on walking.

‘You could have stayed with us, you know.’ Jean threw the breathless words over her shoulder.

Becoming more exasperated by the minute, Mary caught up with her. ‘I think we pushed our luck in summer, staying with you then, Jean. I don’t think that would have been a good idea so soon again. Patrick isn’t a big fan of Peter’s.’ And her brother had been as odd as her old friend when she’d walked into their house – even more surly than normal.

‘He wouldn’t say anything.’

‘No, probably not.’ Mary agreed, if only to keep the peace. ‘But it’s better for us to be in Manchester. There’s a good chance that’s where Victoria is.’

‘You’ve only got that one letter to go by, though, haven’t you?’ Jean tugged her coat collar further up the back of her neck. ‘What else makes you think she’s in Manchester?’

‘Nothing. It’s a long shot,’ Mary admitted, ‘but that’s more than we had before. And Jackie’s given me a list of the police stations and of some of the squats.’

‘Is she…’ Jean put her hand to her throat and coughed even as she hurried on. ‘Is she allowed to do that? Give a list of where people are squatting?’

‘Stop. Stop. This is stupid.’ Mary held on to Jean’s arm. A man with two sheepdogs ambled past them, gave them a cursory glance before whistling to one of the dogs who’d stopped to sniff at a small rhododendron bush.

‘Is she allowed to do that?’ Jean’s face was red, her mouth open to take in more air. Holding on to her side she bent forward until she lost her balance and stumbled.

‘Steady.’ Mary caught her and took her weight. ‘I’ve no idea if Jackie is allowed to give us that information, but who’s going to tell on her?’ She led Jean to the small stone wall at the side of the path. ‘Lean against this until you feel better.’ She kept her arm around Jean’s plump shoulders and stared across the steely grey water towards the skyline, where craggy rocks met the overhang of pearlised clouds. ‘This isn’t what I came to talk to you about, but it’s clear there’s something wrong with you and Patrick.’ She gave voice to the niggle at the back of her mind. ‘He’s not up to his old tricks again, is he?’

‘What do you mean?’ Jean’s voice rose an octave.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Of course not. He hasn’t touched me for years.’

What did that mean? He hadn’t hit her? ‘Other women, then?’

Jean faced Mary, pulling her chin back until the ties of her bonnet disappeared in the folds of flesh. ‘No. No. He’s kept his hands to himself and, as far as I know, or care, there’s been no other women.’ But misery crossed her face.

Mary gave an inward sigh. The business about George Shuttleworth was going to have to be put to one side for a while. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘What’s the problem?’

‘It’s Jacqueline.’ Jean pushed at the bridge of her glasses, refusing to look at Mary. ‘She’s … she’s a lesbian.’ She pursed her lips.

‘Yes, I know. There’s nothing you can do about that. She’s still your daughter and—’

‘A lesbian. She does horrible things with the girl she lives with,’ Jean shouted. A small boy, running past, holding the end tip of a kite above his head, stopped and stared, his eyes wide. Then he turned and ran back into the arms of a woman.

‘You frightened that child, shouting like that,’ Mary hissed. She smiled apologetically at the mother. ‘Sorry.’ She mouthed the word. ‘Jean, hush.’

‘With that Nicki woman.’ She didn’t lower her voice and the woman, arms around her son, hurried past.

‘I know.’

‘What? How do you know?’

‘Jacqueline told me how she felt a long time ago. I thought the whole family knew.’

‘Patrick and I didn’t.’

‘Then you’re the only ones.’

There was a low growl of thunder. Mary realised the breeze had dropped. She looked around. The heather, higher up on the hills, no longer swayed in one long continuous line of colour; the water was still, reflecting the dark cover of clouds. ‘It looks as though it’s going to pelt down,’ she said. ‘We should get back to the car.’ She turned and walked away, then stopped as Jean shouted after her.

‘Patrick and I didn’t know. And we’ve disowned her. She’s no longer our daughter.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ Mary turned the key and let the engine die before twisting in the seat to stare at Jean. They hadn’t spoken in the whole twenty minutes since they’d left the reservoir. The storm pounding on the roof of the Hillman, the rapid clunk of the windscreen wipers working uselessly against the torrent of rain distorting the road, would have made it impossible to talk even if Mary hadn’t been struggling to stop the rage bursting out in recriminations.

Now she slapped the flat of her hand on the dashboard. ‘I can’t believe what you said. What you’ve done.’

The windows were misting over. The silence from Jean, her back huddled away from Mary was an old one, familiar from the long years of their friendship; she was sulking. Infuriated, Mary clenched her teeth. She turned the handle on her door, winding the window down a fraction, and lifted her face to the damp coolness. The rain was stopping. She looked up to the sky; the light, pale as water, was fading. Glancing at the house she saw Patrick, watching them from the lounge window, his shirt open at the neck, his old-fashioned braces dangling from his waist.

When she spoke Mary kept her voice deliberately low. ‘Our daughter is missing, heaven knows where. We’re out of our minds with worry. Your daughter is a lovely young woman and has been, and still is, helping us to find her. And you two have disowned her because you don’t like how she lives.’

‘She has sex with girls.’ Jean spun around in her seat to glare at Mary. The tiny veins on her cheeks and her nose where her glasses pressed on the bone were flushed red. ‘Sex with girls. Disgusting.’

‘One girl.’ Mary was so angry she felt she was fighting for air. All the benefit she’d had from being at Stonebridge dissipated. ‘The person she loves. What does it matter whether it’s a man or a woman?’

Jean took her hat off. Her short curls were flattened; there was a thin line of grey along her parting that contrasted with the dark brown of the rest of her hair. The furrows on her forehead and at the corners of her eyes deepened.

She’s old, Mary thought, then corrected herself; they were the same age, but her friend, her sister-in-law, looked so old. The surge of compassion was familiar to her; it was an underlying emotion that had been there right from the start of their friendship. Jean couldn’t help what she was; her mother had been one of the most bigoted women Mary had ever had the misfortune to know. She knew exactly how Mrs Winterbottom would have reacted to her granddaughter’s choice of lifestyle. She would be encouraging Jean to have nothing to do with Jacqueline.

‘Don’t shut Jacqueline out of your life,’ she said. ‘I don’t care about Patrick. My brother has done exactly what he wanted to do all his life, whether it’s right or wrong. And he doesn’t give tuppence for anyone else, never has.’ She held her hand up to stop Jean’s protests. ‘And I don’t know why you’re even trying to defend him – you know that’s true as well as me. What I’m saying is that you and Jacqueline have always got along okay. Don’t spoil it.’

‘Patrick says he won’t have her in the house.’

‘Then meet her somewhere else. But go to her, Jean, say you’re sorry. Make things right.’ A sob rose in Mary’s throat and her voice cracked. ‘Just don’t lose her.’

Patrick had left the window and was standing at the front door flicking the ash from his cigarette into the damp air. When he dropped it, half-smoked, the sparks as it flew through the air were extinguished as soon as it hit the path. The impatience on his face told Mary he would be striding to the car any moment to find out why Jean wasn’t getting out.

There was nothing else for it. ‘Jean, I didn’t want to tell you like this. Before, when I said I wanted to talk about Richard, there was a reason … something you need to know—’ Jean opened her mouth to speak. ‘Just let me explain before you ask any questions. When he was up here for the interviews he met a girl. Her name is Karen. She’s staying with Jacqueline at the moment.’