Living in the Shadows Page 27

  ‘Linda?’ Ted opened the door at the end of the hall. ‘I thought it must be you. We heard the front door. You’ve been ages out here. Are you okay, love?’

  ‘Is it our Linda, Ted?’

  Did she sound drunk? ‘Course it is, Mum. Who else were you expecting?’ Linda followed her father into the front room.

  Her mother seemed sober enough. She was flicking through the Radio Times. She sighed, flinging the magazine onto the seat next to her. She curled her legs up under her on the settee. ‘There’s not a thing on the telly tonight,’ she complained. A shout and then giggling came from upstairs. ‘And I’m not happy with them being up there on their own.’

  ‘Richard’s a sensible lad.’

  ‘Our Mary will go mad if he brings trouble to their door on top of everything else he’s managed to do.’

  ‘It’s not his fault Karen’s got George Shuttleworth for a stepfather.’ Ted spoke mildly but Linda heard the worry underneath the words.

  ‘Yes, well…’ Ellen stood up. ‘Either of you two want a drink? A brew,’ she said, defensive against her husband’s steady stare. ‘A brew, that’s all.’

  Linda waited until her mother closed the door behind her. ‘Is there anything in the house, Dad?’

  ‘Sherry. But I’ve hidden it in the pantry.’

  ‘She’ll sniff it out.’ Linda‘s stomach was knotted. Her news was going to tip her mother over the edge again, there was no doubt about that. She felt sorry for her dad. He bore the brunt of all that went wrong in her mother’s life.

  ‘Nowt I can do about it if she does, love. You know that.’

  ‘I know.’ Perhaps it would be better if she told him now, while they were on their own. Linda cleared her throat. When she looked at Ted, he was waiting for her to speak.

  ‘What is it, love?’

  She should have known; he could always read her like a book. She folded her hands over her waist. ‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ she said.

  Chapter 70: George Worth/Shuttleworth

  Ashford: Sunday, October 19th

  ‘If you think I’ll go you’re bloody mistaken, woman.’ George glared at Harriet; what the hell had got into the stupid bitch now?

  ‘This is my house, George.’ Her voice quavered, but she met his eyes.

  His tongue moved rapidly against the inside of his cheek. He’d known something was wrong the moment he came home. She’d taken the baby into his room and put him in his cot. Closing the door, she’d said, ‘I want you to leave.’

  ‘If you think I’m leaving you to bring up Frank,’ he repeated stabbing his finger towards her face, ‘you’re bloody mistaken, you soddin’ idiot. You’d turn him into a right mardarse!’ He took off his overcoat and threw it over the back of the chair before sitting down and unfolding the newspaper he’d carried in with him. He turned to the sports pages and feigned reading but was aware she stood in front of him, refusing to budge.

  ‘Karen came home the other day,’ Harriet said, twisting the top button of her cardigan. ‘She had Richard with her.’ She hesitated, then, with a rush, continued. ‘They had his sister with them as well. Linda. Linda Booth.’

  George didn’t move. The headline on the back page wavered: United: 1—1 against Nottingham Forest. George Best not on top form.

  He snapped the pages together, pretended to turn them, pretended to read.

  Harriet didn’t move. ‘She told me you’d kidnapped her when she was a little girl—’

  ‘Load of crap.’ He kept his eyes on the newspaper.

  ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Course it’s soddin’ not.’

  ‘I don’t really know you, do I, George?’ He heard her take in a long shaky breath. ‘Your name’s not even really Worth, is it? It’s Shuttleworth. George Shuttleworth.’

  ‘Fuckin’ hell. Give me some bleedin’ peace, you stupid bitch.’ He stood up and, crumpling the paper, threw it at her.

  Harriet gasped and fell back against the settee.

  Satisfied, he grabbed his coat and strode to the door. He needed to clear his head. One thing was sure; he wasn’t going to leave this cushy number. Or Frank. His son was the one good thing to come out of being married to the stupid cow. That and the money, of course. He wasn’t going to give it all up just because of those bastard Howarths.

  He’d sort it one way or the other; he’d sort them out once and for all.

  Chapter 71: Mary Schormann

  Manchester, morning: Monday, October 20th

  ‘Well, this is it.’ Mary stepped forward to give her son a hug and then stopped, glancing up at the rows of windows along the front of the large building. She gave a short laugh that she hoped hid the sudden pangs of anxiety. ‘I won’t kiss you, Richard. Who knows who’s watching? I wouldn’t want to damage your image before you start here.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Mam.’ He enfolded her in a bear hug. ‘Who cares?’

  But when she leaned back to study his face he looked apprehensive.

  ‘Look after yourself, son.’ Mary touched his cheek so he was watching her mouth. She spoke softly so Peter wouldn’t hear. ‘And don’t worry about anything. Karen will be all right. George Shuttleworth won’t bother you. He’ll keep his distance, I’m sure of that.’ She raised her voice so Peter would hear. ‘Keep in touch. Ring us at the weekend; let us know how you’re going on.’

  He nodded. ‘Will do.’

  Peter shook hands with Richard and then gave him a quick hug. ‘Work hard, son.’

  ‘Look after yourself, Dad.’ His gaze took them both in. ‘Look after one another.’

  ‘We will,’ they chorused.

  Mary gave Richard’s arm one last squeeze before getting into the car. ‘You look so smart,’ she said.

  They didn’t speak as Peter manoeuvred the car into the traffic. There was a huge lump in Mary’s throat and she knew if she started to cry she wouldn’t stop for a long time. All she could think of was that both her children were now living lives that she had no place in. Letting herself glance at Peter, she saw his set profile and knew that similar thoughts would be going through his mind.

  They slowly followed a double-decker bus towards a set of traffic-lights. Mary gazed unseeingly out of the side window, the image of Richard waving to them before turning away and walking through the double doors of the hospital still in her mind. Peter manoeuvred the car into the next lane, alongside the bus. There was a large banner advertisement for Outspan oranges and grapefruit between the lower and upper deck. Above one of the little stick figures between the fruit a young girl stared down at Mary.

  ‘Victoria.’ Mary clutched Peter’s leg. ‘Look, it’s Victoria.’

  Peter ducked his head lower to peer through the passenger-side window. ‘No, Liebling. No, it is not our daughter.’

  ‘I could have sworn… I thought she’d done her hair differently’

  ‘No.’

  The cars in front of them moved forward and left the bus at a standstill.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ Mary said. She took her handkerchief from her handbag, wiped away the quick tears and blew her nose.

  Peter patted her knee.

  The lights changed again and Peter eased up on the accelerator and let the Hillman Minxdrift forward. The line of traffic filtered to turn left hadn’t moved. Peter pulled on the handbrake.

  Pushing her handkerchief back into her bag, Mary glanced sideways at the car they’d drawn up alongside. ‘That’s posh,’ she said, still sniffing.

  Peter studied the long black bonnet. ‘A Jaguar,’ he said. ‘It is very nice but too expensive to run.’

  As both lanes moved forward again Mary peeped at the driver. In a heartbeat she felt cold fear. Even after all these years, even with the heavy jowls, there was no mistaking the profile. She shifted in the seat, turning her back to the window.

  ‘Mary?’

  She heard the concern in Peter’s voice. ‘I’ll miss Richard so much.’ Her voice was a croak. She cleared her throat. ‘I hope he’ll
be all right.’

  ‘I am sure he will.’ Peter smiled and patted her knee again. ‘Now,’ he said, as the traffic moved again. ‘Today? Back to Llamroth?’

  As casually as she could, Mary said, ‘Can we stay on another couple of days? I know you’re as anxious as me to get home but you look tired. And, if you don’t mind, I think we’ll go to Henshaw Street. Ellen keeps asking if we’d stay with them for a day or two and I really do need to talk to her. Linda says she’s right off the rails again with the drinking.’ She didn’t miss the grimace on his face. ‘I know … but it’s for Linda.’

  Just the mention of Linda made him move his head in agreement. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You could spend some time with Ted?’ Mary said. ‘And perhaps see Heinz? You haven’t seen him since he retired. You never know, he might give you a free haircut.’ She ran her hand over the back of his neck. ‘You’ll be looking like a hippie yourself before long.’

  He gave a quiet chuckle. ‘We will stay, if that is what you want, Liebling. But, please, for only two days?’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, love.’

  Seeing George Shuttleworth in that Jag, feeling the fear, had decided her. She wasn’t going to wait to see what he intended to do. She’d go and face up to him.

  Chapter 72: Mary Schormann & Ellen Booth

  Ashford: Monday, October 20th

  Ellen lay on the settee. She raised one hand languidly towards Mary. ‘Sis.’ She was pale, dark shadows circled her eyes. She didn’t bother to wipe away the easy tears. ‘Linda’s pregnant. On top of everything else, she’s gone and got herself pregnant.’

  So that was what was wrong. Mary had known there was something but she’d put it down to the trouble with Ellen’s drinking. ‘Don’t let that be an excuse for you to go off the rails again, Ellen. She’ll need your help.’

  Ellen lifted her head off the cushion, looking aggrieved. ‘Why do you always have to get at me?’

  Mary wasn’t in the mood to pander to her sister. ‘It’s not the end of the world. She’ll be all right.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Ted looked gratefully at Mary.

  ‘She’ll be a single mother. Them two next door will have field day.’ Ellen sank back onto the cushions

  ‘Since when did you care what people thought?’ Mary said, sharply.

  Ellen had the grace to look sheepish.

  Mary put the flowers and chocolates on the coffee-table. ‘A little thank-you for having Richard stay with you,’ she said, determined to change the subject. She wasn’t going to discuss Linda without her being there.

  ‘It was no trouble,’ Ted said, cottoning on to what she was doing. ‘He’s a nice lad—’

  ‘Except for the company he keeps.’ Ellen set her mouth.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Peter spoke for the first time since he and Mary came into the house.

  Mary shot a look at Ted. She’d told him on the telephone she didn’t want Peter knowing who Karen was. At least for now.

  His nod was imperceptible. ‘Nothing.’ He glared at Ellen who rolled her eyes.

  Mary felt the tension inside her lessen. Her brother-in-law would keep her secret. ‘What you need, my lady,’ she said to Ellen, ‘is some fresh air. Come on. Let’s go for a walk.’ She took hold of her sister’s hands. ‘Up!’ She dragged Ellen into the hall, snatched their coats from the stand and flung open the front door. ‘See, it’s a lovely afternoon.’

  ‘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-s
o.’ 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.’