Living in the Shadows (34 page)

‘Bit cold. We could call in at the Crown.’ Ellen fastened the buttons of her coat and looped her headscarf around her neck.

‘Rubbish. And no.’ Mary was adamant she wasn’t going to let Ellen get drunk. ‘Anyway, they’re closed. We’ll have a walk in the park.’ She banged the door shut and set off at a brisk pace down Henshaw Street with Ellen trailing behind.

‘I’m bored with Skirm.’ Ellen dug her hands into her pockets.

‘Okay, then. Along the canal?’ Even as she said it she didn’t know why she’d suggested that. She hadn’t been on the canal path for years – since that day.

As though she understood, Ellen said, ‘We could walk Mossbridge way instead of … the other. It’s a nice walk, so Linda tells me. Her and Martin used to walk that way a lot … before.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I thought she had more sense, our Mary. Being a nurse and with the pill … you know.’

‘These things happen, love. She’ll be okay. She’s strong.’

‘Not like me, eh? I couldn’t manage on my own.’

‘Things were different, Ellen. She’s got you and Ted behind her. He’s nothing like our dad was.’

‘Thank God…’

They linked arms. ‘You wouldn’t have married Ted if he was even a bit like Dad.’

‘I married him for all the wrong reasons though; you always knew that, didn’t you?’

‘Mmm. But you’re okay now,’ Mary said. ‘Aren’t you?’ Was this the right moment to talk to Ellen about her drinking?

Ellen didn’t answer.

They reached the steps of the canal without talking. When Mary moved off the last step she winced, refusing to glance towards the bridge nearby. She wouldn’t look; didn’t want to see where it had happened. Didn’t want to think about Frank Shuttleworth – alive or dead.

‘This way.’ Ellen tugged at her arm. ‘I’m worried about Linda. I have no idea why she’s finished with Martin. Especially now. A baby needs a dad.’

Apparently the subject of her drinking was off-limits. Later, then, Mary thought, determined not to let Ellen ignore it. ‘And he or she will have one in Martin.’ Mary kept quiet about his lack of interest but there was no fooling Ellen.

‘I’m not sure he’ll be bothered. Linda said he was so angry that she finished with him, you know. And what about her job? She’s always said she wants to get on in the hospital. Now what?’ Ellen demanded. ‘What happens to her career now?’

‘It’s not like when I had the twins,’ Mary said. ‘They take married women and mothers back now. Things will work out. You’ll see.’

They strolled on. The path was rutted; a pattern of holes gouged out by footsteps and filled with shallow rainwater, the reflection in them like scraps of sky where shadows of cloud drifted across the surface.

‘I still miss you, you know, our Mary. I do wish you’d come home.’

It was a refrain that had echoed down the years.

Chapter 73: Peter Schormann & Ted Booth

Ashford: Monday, October 20th

‘Good evening, I’m Brian Baines and that was the weather for the next twenty-four hours. It’s six o’clock. And now, “Look North”, giving you the latest news from the Manchester area. Here are the Headlines.’

‘Turn it off,’ Ellen grumbled. ‘I hate this programme – it’s boring.’

‘Come on, then, let’s see if that stew’s ready,’ Mary said. ‘I haven’t had tripe and onions since we were last here. I liked that new UCP shop in Bradlow – lovely and clean.’ She peered out of the window at the rain before she drew the curtains. ‘Looks set in for the night.’

Ellen shivered. ‘Turn the fire up, Ted.’

They closed the door behind them, leaving the men in comfortable silence.

Ted settled back on the settee, watching the flames of the gas-fire turn from blue to red and yellow with satisfaction. ‘Much easier than a real fire – no messing with coal and what-have-you.’

‘Mary, she likes a real fire. But I can see it is good.’ Peter stretched his arms over his head and yawned.

‘The Museum of Science and Technology at Grosvenor Street was opened to the general public today…’

‘Tired?’ Ted looked across at him.

‘A little.’

‘You’re still not on top form?’

‘I will be fine.’ Peter smiled. ‘I am well enough to go for a beer tonight…’

‘Sounds good.’

‘Eric Bainbridge, former Labour M.P. for Littleton, died today aged eighty-nine…’

‘How is business?’

‘So-so.’ Ted joined his fingers behind his neck and stretched his arms back. ‘I’m struggling to compete with the big commercial companies.’

‘Oh? That is hard.’ Peter nodded.

‘Yeah. Got harder o’er the years – ever since ’61 when they invented the new-fangled method of making bread so it doesn’t go stale so quick. You know, the white sliced stuff?’

‘Ugh. I know. Tastes as cotton wool.’

‘Yeah, and filled with chemicals and bigger amounts of yeast, which I don’t like. But it’s cheaper and quicker to make, so it’s cheaper to buy which seems to be what folk want these days. Can’t compete with it, and it’s got harder and harder to make any profit. I know of three other bakeries in the area that have gone bust.

‘Will you?’

‘Not if I can ’elp it. We’re making more cakes these days, which seem to go down well with the customers.’

The silence between them drifted on.

‘This news of Linda’s has upset Ellen.’

‘Yes. But it happens, Ted. Has Linda decided what she will do?’

‘She’ll keep the baby, of course. She’ll manage. We’ll make sure of that.’

‘Good. It is good when a baby is wanted.’

They shifted their attention back to the television

‘The Headlines again.’

Ted sat forward. ‘Think we’ve heard it all.’

The announcer shuffled his papers and looked into the camera.
‘In yet another raid, police have raided a disused corn-mill in the Longsight area of Manchester and evicted squatters who have occupied the building for the last six days.’

Peter held out his arm to prevent Ted from reaching towards the television set. ‘Would you leave it on for another moment?’

‘What is it?’

‘Listen.’ Peter pointed at the screen.

‘It took just five minutes for the police to storm the four-storey building. The first cordon of about 50 police officers had to break through a large boarded-up door to get in. As they attempted entry, they were bombarded by water-filled plastic balls, roof-slates and pieces of wood thrown through windows on the upper floors.’

Ted stared at the television. Peter twisted his head around to watch his brother-in-law’s response to the announcer’s words.

‘The operation involved over 100 policemen and there was little resistance once the police were inside.

‘A spokesman for the Commune, calling himself “Father Paul”, said the squatters were attempting to establish a home for many of Manchester’s homeless people. This is the third mill in the Manchester area to be taken over in the last six months.

‘Negotiations have been going on to allow the Commune to leave peacefully, but the squatters ignored a High Court Order issued a week ago ordering them to get out, and the police were brought in to evict them by force from the old mill.’

‘A mill, Ted.’ Peter breathed. ‘They say about a mill.’

‘What about it?’

‘Where do we know where there is a mill?’

They stared at each other.

‘You and Mary were so sure that Victoria would be in Manchester…’ Ted slowly fingered the faint scar on his cheek. He shook his head. ‘No, it’s too close to here. She wouldn’t…’

‘Still, we should look.
Ja
?’ Peter’s voice shook. ‘We must go there.’

Chapter 74: Victoria Schormann

Ashford: Tuesday, October 21st

‘What’s the big deal?’ River leant against the kitchen door-frame. He took a long drag from his spliff, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. ‘It’s only a shag.’ His voice was strained as he held onto the smoke before letting it trickle out of his nostrils. ‘Or two.’

He threw the tab-end onto the flags, ground it beneath his sandal and took a couple of steps into the room, pulling the door behind him and wedging a chair under the handle.

Victoria dropped the tie-dyed skirt she’d been washing into the sudsy water in the tin washtub, and whirled around to face him, wiping her hands on her purple chiffon kaftan . ‘Take one step towards me and you’ll be sorry,’ she said. She cursed inwardly in disbelief; she’d spent the last few days making sure she was never alone. Ignoring the snide whispers behind her back that she’d been ‘let go’ by Seth, she made herself stay with the other girls, whatever they were doing. But this morning she’d made the mistake of assuming River would still be in his bed.

His face was impassive as he watched her glancing around for something she could protect herself with. The only thing that looked any good was the thick rounders bat that someone had once found and brought to the commune to be used to pummel the washing in the large metal tubs.

He moved closer. She could smell his odour; the mix of sweat and bad breath made her want to heave. She inched sideways, feeling with her hand along the draining-board whilst still keeping her eyes on his. The sunlight from the window behind her lit up his greasy hair and the grime in his lined features.

He moved again, this time so close he was almost touching; Victoria turned her head away from him but could still see him from the corner of her eye. He was a tall skinny man but deceptively strong, she guessed; there would be no way she could fight him. She had to get hold of the bat. Her fingers scrabbled for it.

Then his hand came down on hers. ‘No you don’t, missy.’ His voice was gruff, his breath hot on her ear.

Putting both hands on his chest Victoria shoved him, grabbed the bat and, with a shout, brought it down on him. It missed his head and landed on his shoulder. She thought she heard a crack beneath his shout of rage and pain. She lifted her weapon again, enjoying the surge of anger in her.

This time he caught hold of her hair and dragged her head back, wrenching the rounders bat from her and flinging it across the room.

Flailing out at him, Victoria was forced to her knees. ‘Let me go!’ The anger dissipated just as quickly as it had come. She heard the tremor of fear in her voice. Not this, she thought, not this.

Somewhere there was chattering and laughter, somewhere a guitar played, somewhere outside birds sang.

She should have hit him harder. Even as she thought it, Victoria knew it was hopeless; he was too strong. She tried to stand but he forced her back down, crushing the bones in her wrist with his grip. He tugged at the back of her woollen waistcoat, her kaftan. She wrenched her neck from side to side, held on to the front of her clothes with her free hand, trying to stop him pulling them over her head.

He let go of her wrist and gave a last pull until the sleeves of the waistcoat and kaftan were bunched over her arms pinning them together in front of her. Victoria was naked except for her knickers. Panting, she kicked out at him, twisting and turning, aiming for his crotch but he avoided her feet, dropping to his knees at the side of her and forcing her arms upwards until, wrapping her clothes around the iron legs of the sink, he tied them in tight knots.

Victoria didn’t scream; she knew there was no point. It hadn’t taken her long to see that the girls were scared of River, that they were glad he wanted her and not them. Nobody would come to help her.

He got hold of her legs and dragged her onto her back. The grit on the stone flags burned her skin. She put her feet flat on the floor and tried to push herself back into a sitting position but he knelt astride her hips, holding her down with his legs and, at the same time, whipping his grubby kaftan over his head. He wore nothing underneath and he was ready for her.

When he forced her legs apart Victoria closed her eyes and let her body go limp. His weight held her down as he pushed himself into her. She tried not to hear the grunts of each thrust, the regular scrape of the toe of his sandals on the floor. The tears slid sideways off her face as she stared at the dirty floor, the mouse-droppings, the pile of clothes and worn blankets waiting to be washed.

After the final groan River was silent except for the quick drawing-in and letting-go of his breath. Victoria felt him loosen the knot that tied her to the sink, heard the rustle of clothes, the scuffle of his feet, the squeak of the chair being pulled from the door, the click of the handle.

When she was sure he’d left, she opened her eyes and scrambled to her feet. Then she stepped into the washtub and squatted down into the cold water.

Chapter 75: Jacqueline Howarth

Bradlow: Tuesday, October 21st

‘No, Uncle Peter.’ Jackie rested her arms on top of the police station counter, winding a pen around her fingers.

‘But why?’ Peter held out his hands. ‘She could be there! And it was not on the list that you gave us. Why was that?’ In his agitation, his accent became more pronounced.

Jackie closed the door to the telephone exchange where the two telephonists were listening in silent curiosity. ‘Because I’ve already checked the Granville out myself.’ She watched him carefully. Hesitated. ‘I went with two colleagues and my sergeant the week Vicky disappeared,’ she said. ‘We’d been before, when they first arrived. The sergeant was all for getting an Order to move them on, but they did a deal of some sort with the Council and they’re being allowed to stay. For the time being.’ She put her hand on his arm, stilled him, hating to see the pain in his eyes. ‘The place will eventually be demolished.’

‘That is good.’ Peter groped in his pocket for his handkerchief and dabbed at the sweat on his brow.

‘The Council have been talking about putting houses on the site.’ Jackie spoke softly, watching for a reaction, knowing she wouldn’t want a house there. Not in a place where there’d been so much misery.

But Peter only nodded to show he’d heard her and stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket.

‘The people there … it’s some sort of commune … they seem pretty harmless.’ Jackie glanced at the closed door. The low murmur of voices and clicks of the metal covers on the switchboard told her the telephonists weren’t listening any more. She relaxed. ‘Anyway, they let us look all around the buildings; we took ages. Believe me, Victoria’s not there.’ She went to one of the four-drawer metal cabinets and pulled out a file. ‘I’m not supposed to show you this, but the sergeant’s giving evidence in court this morning and I’m on my own, so I will.’ She ran her finger down the page until she got to the paragraph she wanted. ‘See?’ She turned the file round so he could read the words with her.