Pattern of Shadows Read online

  Pausing twice while Ellen heaved up the result of her night out, they made their way through the park. Mary tried to ignore the occasional stifled sounds of lovemaking in the darkness. When Frank joked, ‘God, they must be desperate in this cold,’ she felt her face grow hot and didn’t answer him and there was no more talk between them until they reached the back alleyway at the top of Greenacre Street.

  ‘I can manage, now,’ Mary said. ‘I don’t know how I would have got her home if you hadn’t been there.’ The thought entered her mind that under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have been in the pub either. She shuddered. Who knows what would have happened to Ellen then. She had a lot to thank Frank for.

  ‘Good job we were, eh?’ It was almost as if he’d read her mind.

  ‘I’m very grateful, thanks.’ She held out her hand.

  He propped Ellen against the wall as though she was a sack of coal, took hold of Mary’s fingers and then kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sure you can manage her?’

  ‘Yes, sure, thanks again.’ She could tell he was watching them as they trod cautiously over the cobbles. At the gate, she glanced backwards. She could just make him out, his shoulders level with the top of the yards walls on either side of him. ‘Goodnight.’ He didn’t reply but raised one hand. Mary shoved the Ellen between the shoulder blades. ‘Get in, you.’ A small bank of cloud drifted across the face of the moon and the terraced houses on both sides closed in on her.

  Mary grabbed hold of the crossbar on the gate and lifted it open. Swinging her sister by the arm towards the lavatory, she said, ‘Get in there and have a pee. I’m not coming back out here again with you. And if you think you’re going to be sick again, stop in there until you’ve finished.’ She pulled at the door.

  ‘Don’t close it, our Mary. I can’t see what I’m doing.’ Ellen’s voice wavered and, for a second, Mary felt sorry for her, but then remembered the humiliation she had put her through.

  ‘Just get a move on, I’m freezing, thanks to you.’ She leant against the yard wall, tucking her hands up into the sleeves of her coat and ignoring the snuffling coming out of the small building. Above her, the sky imperceptibly lightened. The yard was half in blackness. Next door’s wall cast a long straight shadow and on the divide of the muted light and darkness Mary could see water pooled around the grid, a layer of scum around the edges: the residue of Winifred’s washing day. ‘Have you done?’

  Ellen appeared, holding onto the doorframe. ‘I’m sorry, Mary, I don’t know what …’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s get you in the house.’

  She heard the click of the latch on the back door. A pale flickering light filtered out onto the flags.

  ‘Is that you, Mary? I’m worried, Ellen isn’t home yet.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mam, we’re both here. Just close the door before the warden sees; he’ll be on his rounds now. We’ll be in, in a moment.’

  When the two girls crossed the yard. Mary held the door open just enough for her sister to get through into the kitchen.

  ‘I’ve been ironing, I couldn’t sleep.’ Winifred had her back to them and was standing on the small three-legged stool as she unscrewed the connection of the iron from the flex on the ceiling and re-fitted the light bulb. Holding onto the edge of the table, she stepped down awkwardly on to the floor. ‘I was worried when the sirens went and you both were still out. You said you’d be home by ten, Mary.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry.’ Mary flicked the switch and blinked against the brightness. A thin stream of black smoke rose upwards from the old-fashioned gas mantles above the fireplace. She crossed the kitchen and turned them off. ‘You could damage your eyes trying to iron by the light of these things.’

  ‘Well, at least I don’t notice the creases.’ Winifred turned around as she spoke. ‘And Ellen, you’ve got work in the …’ A tired frown trammelled her forehead. ‘She’s drunk!’

  ‘She is,’ Mary said shortly.

  Ellen swayed, attempting to take off her coat. Failing, she flopped onto the kitchen chair by the back door and pushing against the heel of one shoe with the toe of the other, she forced it off her foot. All three women stared as it flipped up and then skidded across the kitchen floor.

  ‘How did she get like this? She’s eighteen. She’s not even old enough to go in a pub.’

  ‘It’s a long story, Mam.’ Mary hauled Ellen out of the chair and took off her coat, throwing it on top of the pile of ironed clothes on the table before pushing her towards the stairs. Ellen wobbled as she ducked through the curtain. ‘Let me get her to bed.’

  ‘Try not to make a noise; Dad’s having a bad night. That do with Patrick’s upset him more than he’ll admit. Anyway I don’t want him down here. We’ll never hear the last of it if he sees her.’ She paused. ‘And make sure the throne’s on her side, in case she’s sick.’

  Hanging onto the wooden banister, Mary pushed Ellen up the narrow staircase. ‘Watch the last step,’ she hissed. ‘Mind the creaky one.’

  Ellen took an exaggerated long stride to pass the loose tread, avoided it, but collapsed onto the landing with a yelp. Mary clutched at her but, unable to hold on, fell and they lay side by side, breathing heavily. Both froze as their father coughed harshly. They heard his muttered curse, the twang of the springs on his bed as he rolled over and then the rush of urine on the china chamber pot. Ellen giggled.

  ‘Shush.’ Mary placed a hand over her sister’s mouth and hauled her upright. They tiptoed into their bedroom.

  Before long Ellen’s laughter had turned to tears. She held on to Mary until the paroxysm had halted. ‘I’m sorry, Mary.’

  ‘Come on, it’s all over and done with and no bones broken: you’re home safe now.’

  ‘I think I love him, you know.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ She unbuttoned the girl’s dress and pulled it down around her waist, wrinkling her nose at the smell of vomit.

  Ellen fell back on the bed, content to be undressed.

  Mary tucked the covers around her. ‘Now, get some sleep,’ she said. ‘Work in the morning, remember.’

  Ellen groaned and huddled down under the bedclothes.

  Mary unhooked her dressing gown, grabbed Tom’s letter and crept downstairs.

  Winfred was stirring the embers of the fire, coaxing the last heat from the cinders. ‘I’m worried about that girl,’ she said, ‘she’s far too flighty.’

  ‘She’s young, needs some fun.’ Even as she reassured her mother Mary felt a twinge of resentment. Sometimes it seemed they were always making excuses for her sister. The four years between them might as well be forty for all that their father’s illness and the family’s poverty had affected Ellen.

  Mary pulled on her pyjamas; goosebumps prickled her arms and legs. She unfolded Tom’s letter it and held it out to Winifred. ‘Do you want to read it now, Mam?’

  Winifred’s fingers hovered over the sheets of paper. Then, smoothing the front of her flowery wrap-around pinafore, she pulled her chair closer to Mary and sat down slowly. ‘You read it, love.’

  ‘OK but I’ll have to have a wash first.’ Mary dropped the pages on the table and hurried into the scullery. When she came back her mother hadn’t moved. ‘It’s a long letter, for once,’ Mary said, fastening her dressing gown.

  Dear Mary,

  I hope you are keeping well and everyone else is all right. Thought I’d let you know I’ve had a new cellmate since last month and we’ve become great pals. His name is Iori Griffith and he’s a CO as well.

  Winifred looked up. ‘What did you say his friend was called?’

  ‘Iori. I don’t think I’ve said it right. Welsh, I think. I’ll ask Tom how to say it when I see him next.’

  He’s doing his first stretch but he’s so passionate about our cause that he seems to see it as a challenge and he says that one day people will see we were right to oppose this war. He writes for the ‘Peace News’. He smuggles pieces out and he’s told me if I want to write an article h
e will see it gets printed. He’s also promised to ask his Mam to post this letter for me.

  Winifred gave a low moan. ‘He’s going to get in awful bother. If he carries on like that he’ll get caught and he’ll get extra time again.’ She rolled the hem of her pinafore round her fingers. ‘They’ll kill him before they’re done.’

  ‘He’ll be careful, I’m sure Mam, try not to worry.’ But Mary knew neither of them believed that Tom would back away from any danger his beliefs brought to him; he’d come too far for that. She’d waited outside the Courthouse in Bradlow every time he’d been prosecuted for refusing the compulsory fire-watching duties the authorities kept allocating to him. Three times she’d seen him dragged out of the building and thrown into the prison van, each time she’d had to go home and tell her mother he wouldn’t be coming back. The last time Winifred had taken to her bed for a week. And she’d lost count of the number of times she’d turned up to visit him and been refused because he was in solitary or being punished in some other way.

  But it all seemed to make him more convinced that he was right. Mary often thought that if his principles were going to kill anybody it wouldn’t be Tom, it would be her mother. She reached up and stroked Winifred’s hand. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  Mary began to read again.

  He says she lives in a lovely little village near the sea in Wales …

  ‘You were right, the chap must be Welsh; they’re a fiery bunch down there. He’ll get our Tom in trouble.’

  ‘Oh Mam, stop worrying.’

  … and it takes her ages to get here but she comes every month without fail.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Winifred muttered, ‘bet she hasn’t got an awkward bugger for a husband.’

  Outside the wind rattled the tin bath on the wall and the cold draught from under the door swept over Mary. She moved closer to the range and held the letter towards the light of the flames. ‘Where was I?’ She scanned the page, reading the next few lines to herself.

  We talk for hours at night, especially when there’s a raid on – it stops you having to think about what’s going on outside. Lots of the men make a right racket when the sirens sound and the planes come over. They shout and bang their plates and mugs on the bars and the warders go mad. But it’s all right for the screws. We’d be the first to get it up here on this floor. During the raids they hide away downstairs in their own quarters. And to think they call such as me and Iori cowards. Once the all clear goes they’re up here yelling and giving out all sorts of threats.

  ‘Why have you stopped?’ Winifred said.

  ‘Just struggling a bit in this light.’ She should have read this before she came downstairs. Did Tom think before he wrote half of this stuff? Didn’t he realise how much it would upset Mam? She started to read aloud.

  I still hate this place but as least now with Iori it’s bearable – just. I’m sure the stink of it will stay with me forever.

  Winifred rocked gently, her eyes closed and lips pressed tight.

  ‘I’ll skip the next bit,’ Mary said, ‘it’s nothing important.’

  ‘No, read it all.’ Winifred opened her eyes. ‘I want to know what he’s written.’

  ‘I’m a bit cold, Mam. I’m going to put more wood on.’ She poked a couple of sticks into the ashy coals and as she started reading again they began to crackle.

  ‘Come on, love, hurry up.’

  The next bit made Mary heave. ‘OK Mam but it’s not pleasant.’

  The food gets worse – there is a lot I can’t eat. Sometimes we find things in it – fingernails, woodlice and, a lot of the time, hair. One of the chaps saw a guard spit in it the porridge can the other morning, so you can imagine how that made me feel.

  ‘Dirty buggers.’ Winifred scowled.

  Luckily Iori’s mother brings stuff in for us and as long as the warder on our landing gets his share we can have what’s left.

  ‘My God.’ Winifred stopped rocking. ‘They can’t get away with that.’

  ‘Who’s to stop them, Mam?’ Mary said. ‘I can’t read the next bit. Our Tom’s writing gets worse.’ She skimmed over the words, hoping her mother believed her. There was no way she was going to read what he had written next.

  Last night we had our mattresses taken away again for the third time this week and we had to sleep on the boards, so I’m not getting much sleep, either. Half the time we don’t know why they do it.

  ‘I think he’s saying he’s sleeping OK. Hang on.’ She’d leave the next few sentences out as well.

  A lot of the men do wind the warders up but they don’t need much of an excuse to give us a kicking. Some of the screws are OK – most are right nasty beggars.

  The bullying amongst the men seems to be getting worse as well. Or perhaps it’s because I see what Iori has to put up with. He’s only small and they started on him the first day he got here. It makes me so angry. Another of the prisoners who’s singled out is a chap called Sykes – he cries a lot. They make fun of him. At night they call out his name over and over again, louder and louder until the guards make them shut up. They’ve not tried it with me for a long time.

  ‘He sounds cheerful enough about his new mate at any rate.’ Mary smiled at Winifred. ‘A bit of good company will make time pass quicker for him. He says:’

  I think I’ve found a soul mate in Iori. I suppose that sounds a bit odd for a bloke to say that but when you’re locked up at half five at night and not let out until seven the next morning, there’s a lot of time to talk. Anyway, when you’re both peeing in the same bucket …

  ‘He didn’t used to be so coarse, our Tom. That place has a lot to answer for,’ Winifred said. ‘He always prided himself on speaking proper.’

  ‘Oh Mam, don’t be daft. Do you want me to carry on or not?’

  ‘Of course I do. I was just saying …’

  … and taking turns to slop out, you can’t really be standoffish, can you? I’m looking forward to your next visit. I hope everyone is OK – I don’t get much news from anyone else but give them my love. Ask Ellen to write, will you?

  ‘Then there’s just the usual stuff about you going to see him sometime.’

  Give my love to Mam, just tell her I’m fine.

  ‘I’d like to, you know that. It’s just …’

  ‘Dad,’ Mary said. ‘Well, perhaps I’ll have a talk to him about it.’

  ‘No, leave it for now. There’s enough bother already in this house. What does Tom actually say?’

  ‘Only,’

  If she could bring herself to come and see me, it would be all I could ask for. Try to persuade her.

  Your loving brother, Tom

  ‘That’s all.’ Mary folded the letter and put it in her pocket. She could see Winifred was near to tears. ‘Don’t get upset, Mam, it’s just that he wants to see you. Perhaps I shouldn’t have read that last bit out.’

  Winifred sighed. ‘No, like I’ve said before, I want … need to know.’ Pressing her hands on her knees, she forced herself to stand. ‘Now I’m away to my bed.’

  Mary watched her as she pushed her chair under the table, took off her pinafore and folded it tidily over the back, before shuffling through the curtain. The cinders were cold and black before she too climbed the stairs.

  Lying next to the snoring form of Ellen three hours later, Mary was still sleepless, cringing by the way she’d felt so easily flattered by Frank’s attention. She’d most likely joined a long line of other girls taken in by his charms. He was a good-looking chap who probably didn’t have to try too hard to get what he wanted and she’d gone from thinking he was a smug beggar to almost hanging on his every word in a matter of hours. Mortified, she tossed around. She wouldn’t have gone to the pub at all if he hadn’t dared her; she’d never been able to resist a challenge. And, to be truthful, Jean’s pettiness had really annoyed her. Not that it was her friend’s fault she’d made such an idiot of herself. No she’d done that all by herself, helped by Ellen.


  She gave up trying to sleep. Propping the pillow behind her she sat up. What if Frank thought she was like her sister? Mary remembered what he’d said about those two girls in The Crown. What must he think of her family anyway? Ellen drunk, Mam smelling of the booze at teatime, her father and Patrick nearly fighting? Patrick!

  Oh Lord, what if Frank tells Patrick about Ellen? He’d be bound to tell their father. Then there would be hell to pay.

  Chapter 4

  The shrill ring of her alarm clock forced Mary out of a restless sleep. It was still dark when she peeped through the curtains, but she knew if she didn’t move quickly, she would be late for her shift. At her side Ellen lay on her back gently snoring, the smell of sick carried on every breath. Mary pushed at her shoulder, her tone curt. ‘Come on, get a move on.’

  Ellen groaned. ‘I can’t. Call in at the factory for me, our Mary. Tell Edith I’m ill.’

  ‘Why should I lie to your forewoman? You got yourself into this state, not me.’

  Ellen attempted to sit up but slumped back, shivering. ‘It’s no good. I can’t.’

  Exasperated, Mary flung the covers to one side and stood staring down at Ellen who curled herself into a tight ball. ‘All right; just this once.’ She pulled the eiderdown over her sister. How many times had she spoken those words to get Ellen out of trouble? From the moment she could walk, Mary was the one who’d followed her around and made excuses for every bit of trouble Ellen landed herself in, even taking the blame sometimes. Her sister might have forgotten the belting Mary had from their father for the time Ellen had thrown her school satchel across the yard in a temper and broken the kitchen window but Mary hadn’t. She’d waited for days for her to own up but of course it never happened.