Living in the Shadows (31 page)

‘That’s it, then.’ Jackie stared for a moment at the large black ‘Ban the Bomb’ signs daubed over the front of the large Victorian house. She turned on the top step to look at the terrace of three-storey houses on the opposite side of the road. All were in the same state of disrepair, all covered in graffiti and boarded up. ‘That’s the last place around here.’ She crumpled the piece of paper in her hand and stuffed it into her pocket. ‘Just that church on Ancoats Road left.’

Hunched into their coats against the chilly wind, her aunt and uncle looked desolated. ‘I’m sorry,’ Jackie said.

‘It is not your fault.’ Peter hugged Mary.

‘You’ve done your best, love,’ Mary’s smile looked forced but still she repeated her husband’s words. ‘It’s not your fault.’

They hadn’t been allowed into the last two buildings, both houses on the same street. ‘I suppose you can’t blame the people in there. They must be scared of being thrown out. They looked in a bad way.’

They looked stoned, Jackie thought. And filthy. ‘I can’t see Vicky in either place, to be honest, Auntie, can you?’ She glanced back at the house. Her cousin wouldn’t be seen within a mile of anywhere they’d looked at so far, she thought. Too fond of her home comforts to slum it this much. What was left of the guttering sprouted weeds and grasses, there were missing tiles off the roof and, except for one window on the top level, all the others were boarded up. The man who had pulled the corrugated sheet open a few inches and sworn at her minutes earlier now watched them from that window. Without warning, it was opened and two bottles were thrown out.

‘Watch out!’ Jackie seized hold of her aunt and uncle and pulled them to the middle of the street just as the glass hit the pavement and splintered in all directions. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

They didn’t stop until they were a few streets away. She could tell they were badly shaken. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘How about waiting until I can come with you to the last place, that church? Have a couple of days off? I really need to get back home now; my shift starts in an hour and I don’t want you going anywhere on your own.’ Jackie looked at each of them, she was worried. Her uncle looked particularly tired.

‘I think Jacqueline is right, Mary?’ Peter said.

‘Yes, I think so.’ Her aunt’s smile was sad.

‘So that’s settled? I’m free on Saturday,’ Jackie said. ‘I’ll come to that old church with you then.’

‘And then we stop looking?’ Mary sounded firm.

‘And then we stop.’ Peter agreed.

‘Okay.’ Jackie was relieved; if she knew anything about her cousin, she’d go running home as soon as wherever she was now didn’t suit. And her aunt and Uncle had gone through all this searching for nothing.

Chapter 64: Mary & Peter Schormann

Manchester: Friday, 17th October

‘Jacqueline will be cross when she finds out we didn’t wait until tomorrow,’ Mary said. ‘You could have had another day’s rest.’

‘I am fine.’ Peter cautiously pushed opened the heavy door of the old Tabernacle church. Shouts and giggles greeted them. They could see children running around. ‘I do not want to wait until tomorrow.’

‘Can I help you?’ A young man, dressed in flared jeans and a red-beaded loose smock, blocked their way. His face was difficult to read but Mary didn’t feel threatened.

Peter held out Victoria’s photograph. ‘We are looking for our daughter?’

Instantly the man smiled and turned away from them ‘Karl? Someone here you might like to talk to.’ He opened the door wider. ‘Come in. I’m Col.’

Did this mean they knew Victoria? Mary wondered. She felt as though her heart was thumping so loud Peter would hear it as he held her hand and led her inside. ‘This Karl,’ she whispered, ‘do you think he knows where Victoria is?’

‘Let us wait to see,’ Peter said.

A youth appeared, smiling and tucking his long blond hair behind his ears in a self-conscious gesture.

Col gave him a friendly shove on his shoulder and said, ‘One of your lot to chat to, I think. Same accent anyway.’

The youth tilted his head in question. ‘
Ja?
Yes?’

Mary saw the way Peter’s face lit up.

‘Hallo. Ich hoffe daß Sie mir helfen können?’
he said.

Apart from his friend in Ashford, Heinz, a man who used to be a barber, it was a while since Peter had spoken to anyone in his own language and it was strange to hear him now, Mary thought. In a way it separated him from her. Even though she had long ago learned to speak some German with him it wasn’t the same as him talking with someone so easily.

‘Wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?’
Karl grinned, seemingly as delighted as Peter. But he frowned and shook his head as he scanned the photograph. ‘
Nein.’
There was regret in his voice. He looked up at Peter.
‘Wo ist Ihre Heimatstadt in Deutschland?’

‘
Sachsen.
Saxony,’ Peter said, glancing at Mary.

She smiled, concealing her disappointment that the youth hadn’t seen Victoria. ‘You stay here for a minute. Have a chat,’ she said to Peter.

‘
Danke
. Thank you.’ He squeezed her hand.

Col grinned at Mary. ‘Right, let’s ask the others if they’ve seen your daughter. What’s she called?’

‘Victoria,’ she said, following him.

Inside, the church was beautiful. High arched ceilings were ornate with sculptured cornices. Rugs were scattered over black-tiled floors. Now devoid of pews, the room held an assortment of tables and chairs, covered with knitted blankets. And though some of the small panes of glass were missing in the windows and had been boarded up, those that were left cast multi-coloured light over the walls.

‘Okay. If she’s been around this way, someone will know. We’ve come from all parts of the north here.’ He swung his arm around to indicate the clusters of people. ‘Drink? Sal here…’ one of the girls, barefoot, wearing a bright blue kaftan and bouncing a baby on her hip, smiled at Mary. ‘Sal makes a brilliant nettle tea.’

Mary looked back at Peter, who was engrossed in conversation with Karl.

‘I think we should leave those two to chill out,’ Col said. ‘Nobody here speaks German so Karl will be in his element, having your husband to himself. Come on, then, let’s see what we can find out about Victoria.’

A line of laughing, children, each clutching the one in front, were following a tall red-headed man who sang tunelessly to the conga song: ‘
Dah dah dah dah dah da da, dah dah dah dah dah da da, la la la lah.’
They waved at Mary as they passed her, kicking out their legs. She felt the ready burn at the back of her eyes; when had she been so easily moved to tears? Even as she thought it, she knew; she felt she was on the edge all the time.

If Col noticed he didn’t say anything. As they crossed the large room he introduced her to each person and showed them the photograph of Victoria. There were too many names for Mary to remember but she thanked them all, comforted by their warmth and genuine sympathy.

They stopped at a table where a woman was weaving on a frame loom. She looked up and smiled at them, quickly threading green woollen thread through the warp yarn. A tiny sleeping baby was in a sling on her back. She scrutinised the photograph of Victoria but shook her head, her eyes compassionate as she looked up at Mary. ‘Sorry, no.’

‘Thanks anyway, Nina,’ Col said.

Carrying the nettle tea, which, to her surprise, Mary found delicious, they went from table to table with no success. By the time Peter and Karl joined them she was having a second cup and sitting on a bench alongside Col and Sal.

‘No luck,’ Col said. ‘But we’ll keep a look out for her.’

‘Excuse me?’ It was the woman, Nina, who Mary had watched weaving. ‘I wonder if I could have another look at the photograph. I’ve just remembered something.’

Mary’s fingers trembled as she handed it to her. Is this it? She thought. Is this when we find out where our daughter is? She glanced at Peter, but his expression was unfathomable.

‘Hmm. I think I have seen her. Perhaps. Once.’ She looked puzzled. ‘I think it might have been at that festival on the other side of town, in summer; the one we took the kids to because they wanted to see Herman and the Hermits. Remember?’

Col nodded.

‘Well, I think she was there.’ The baby on Nina‘s back woke with a squeal. She unhitched the sling and, opening the front of her tie-dye shirt, put the baby to her breast.

‘No, she couldn’t have been.’ Mary smiled as the baby latched on and, snuffling, began to feed. ‘We live in Wales and we’ve only been here once this year.’

‘It was in the summer,’ Peter reminded her. ‘When we came with Richard.’

‘But she was with us all the time.’

‘Except for the one day,’ he said. ‘The day we took Richard to see the hospital.’

‘The day when she wanted to go to the shops in Manchester.’ Mary spoke slowly. ‘And we let her. And she was late home. There were grass-stains on her dress and legs. She said she’d fallen in the park in her hurry to get back to the house.’ She searched Nina’s face. ‘Are you sure it was her?’

‘Not really. But I noticed her because she looked out of place. She had a red mini-dress on and all the others with her wore jeans, or were in maxis, shawls, gear like that. I don’t know. If it was her, though, she was with a guy.’ She paused while she changed the baby to the other breast before adding, ‘I remember because the guy was sitting near us at first. Then he went away and when he came back with her he sat further away. I think the kids annoyed him. It didn’t take them long to get it pretty full on, if you know what I mean.’

Mary heard Peter’s sharp intake of breath. ‘A man? All the others?’ she whispered. ‘What others? Peter?’ The apprehension curdled inside her. She held her hand out to him. ‘Who would they be?’

‘She has no friends here,’ Peter said, holding Mary’s fingers between his. ‘You must be mistaken.’

Nina shrugged. ‘I’m probably wrong, then.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘Yes, I’m probably wrong and I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.’ Still holding the baby to her breast, she wandered away.

Mary pulled out the note and showed it to Col. It was creased and grubby from the number of times it had been handled in the squats they’d been in. ‘Does this mean anything to you? Do you know anyone called Seth?’

He frowned. ‘No, but I could ask around,’ he suggested.

‘Please.’ She watched Col going around the room, seeing the shaking of heads. Disappointment quenched the sudden revival of hope.

‘Sorry, nobody here knows anyone of that name,’ he said when he came back to them.

‘No,’ Peter said, ‘it is good that you asked. Thank you.’

Mary stood. She had to get out, to leave before she began crying. She shook hands with Col. ‘Thanks, anyway. And thank you for the tea, Sal, it was delicious.’

‘We will see you again?’ Karl asked Peter.

‘That is possible,’ he agreed. ‘But now we must go.’ He could see how distressed Mary was. He took her arm and, amid many cries of goodbyes and giggles from the children, they made their way outside.

The door was shut firmly behind them.

‘That’s it, then,’ Mary said. ‘That’s the last.’ She fingered the folded list of addresses Jackie had given them and shoved it into her coat pocket.

‘We can do no more,
Liebling
. Now we must wait—’

‘And hope nothing has happened to her.’

Peter curled his little finger around hers in the old familiar gesture. ‘Nothing bad has happened to our daughter, Mary. She left home because she wanted to explore the world beyond Llamroth. We must now wait for her to return. We must try to understand.’

‘I know.’ Mary looked back into the depths of the church. ‘I can’t believe anyone would want to evict those people. Col said this place was empty when they found it and now it’s immaculate. Lovely people. They couldn’t have been more welcoming.’

‘Once they knew who we were and what we wanted,’ Peter said. His smile was wry.

‘Well, I suppose they’ve had a lot of opposition to them being in there.’ Mary rested against him. ‘I couldn’t believe how clean and well-organised it all is. They must feel it’s their home now, and they want to protect themselves. Especially the children.’

‘
Ja.
Yes.’

Mary studied the notices in the porch. There was a rota of chores and child-minding duties pinned to the old board. ‘We should have known Victoria wasn’t here,’ she said. ‘She wouldn’t have liked all these rules one bit.’

They laughed. It was good to be able to. They linked arms and walked down the stone steps.

Chapter 65: Victoria Schormann

Ashford: Friday 16th October

It had all gone wrong. Seth had no intention of keeping his promise; he’d become more and more distant each day. In fact, Victoria admitted, she knew he was avoiding her. Except for the other night. She’d hated that. Now she didn’t want to be part of the commune; it wasn’t anything like she’d thought it would be. But how to get away without all the unpleasantness Melody – Christine, she corrected herself – was going through?

She stood by the window at the side of her bed, twisting a length of her hair around her finger until it was knotted. Untangling it, close to her face, she saw how bitten down her nails were. The skin on the sides of her thumbnails was raw.

It seemed like months since she’d arrived, yet it was only about four weeks.

She peeped through the plain grey curtain at her window. Christine was walking stiffly behind one of the men towards the large gates. She was dressed in flared denim jeans and a white tee-shirt, unlike the long flowing dresses Victoria had seen her in before. She carried nothing: no bags, no clothes.

‘They’re sending her out with nothing,’ Victoria murmured, looking hastily around to see if there was anyone else in the dormitory. But all the other girls were in morning prayers, being talked at by the Master.

It was strange, she thought, how easily she’d slipped into calling Seth that, even in her head: how easily she’d managed to stop herself being so mesmerised by him. Two nights ago, when he’d summoned her to his room she’d gone, not knowing what to expect. She’d thought by explaining to him how she felt, that she didn’t fit in and had to leave, he might understand because her time with the commune had been so short. And she’d been determined to tell him that she wasn’t going to be treated the same as Christine; she just wanted out.