Changing Patterns (41 page)

‘Children only need to be loved,’ Peter said simply. ‘I think Jean is learning to do that.’ He hesitated. ‘I did not mean to … but I heard her say to your brother that she would take care of Jack, but only if Patrick promised to change his ways. He said that he would promise if she could forgive him.’

‘I hope it works out for them, Peter, I really do. Jean has had a lot to put up with. I hope she can forgive him but it might not be that easy.’

They exchanged glances.

If Peter asked for her forgiveness now she didn’t know if she could reject him again.

He didn’t. He left the room in silence.

She couldn’t let him go. ‘Peter,’ she whispered.

He must have been standing just outside the door because he appeared immediately.
‘Liebling?’

‘I love you,’ Mary said simply. ‘I love you.’

He stood for a second, shock etched on his face. Then he crossed the room in slow steps and knelt by her bedside. ‘
Ich liebe dich auch Schatz.
I always will.’ Slow tears rose and fell. Peter brushed them away with his arm.

‘Don’t, love,’ Mary said, ‘don’t cry. It will be okay.’ He lay face to face with her on her pillow. She closed her eyes, listening to his breathing. It matched her own, almost as if he’d done it on purpose, as though they were breathing as one.

There was no noise through the open sash window. They were alone in their own world.

‘It will be all right?’ Peter kept his voice low.

‘It will.’ Mary gently ran the tips of her fingers through his blond hair, longer now than the last time they were together in Llamroth. She quickly closed her mind to the memory. If they were going to move on, if they were going to make a success of their lives together she had to shut away those feelings. Forgive, she told herself, if not easily forget.

‘Now, will you help me to get up? If I stay in this bed much longer I’ll go mad.’

‘
Nein Leibling
. Please.’

‘I want to sit out in the yard in the sun. I have to get up. I’m hot, I need a wash and I’m bored. If I have to read any more of Ellen’s Penny Dreadfuls I’ll scream. They’re absolute tripe.’

‘You must promise to rest?’

‘I will.’

He helped her to shuffle to the edge of the mattress and stand. Her stomach pressed against him, firm and unyielding and she was glad of the comfort, of the baby safe between them. He put his palm under her chin, lifted her face and kissed her. ‘I have missed you so much, Mary Howarth.’

‘Me too … oh me too.’ She revelled in the taste of his lips, again felt the stirring of desire for him. Even at this stage, she smiled inwardly, even being a fat lump, you’re still fancying him. She gently pulled at his hair at the back. ‘You could do with a haircut.’ It felt so good for them to be back on such easy terms.

‘Ted has said there is a barber shop on a street in town … Yorkshire Street?’

Mary grinned. ‘I believe so. It’s called
Herr Cutz
.’

‘At first I did not understand but then Ted explained it to me.’ Peter looked thoughtful. ‘Ted says the man was a prisoner at the camp at the end of the war, was the barber there for a short while, that I might know of him. Perhaps he is the one I remember.’

‘You should go to see him?’

‘Ja.’
He rested his forehead against hers. ‘Mary?’ His voice sounded too loud in the quiet room. He faltered, opened his mouth and then closed it again. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. ‘About Shuttleworth. About Tom.’

‘Hush.’ She stopped him. Now wasn’t the right time.

‘We should talk.’ He watched her anxiously.

‘No. Not here, not now. When we go home.’ She saw it all in his face, the sudden odd mix of apprehension and happiness.

‘We will go home?’

‘Yes. I think I’ve been away long enough, don’t you?’ Mary took hold of his hand and placed it over her breast.

‘Too long.’ He took his hand away from her, laughing. ‘And I think you are the wanton woman, Miss Howarth.’

‘Soon to be Mrs Schormann?’ She looked quizzically at him.

‘
Ja
,
Liebling.
I would like that; I would be a proud man if you were to be Mrs Schormann.’

She saw the relief on his face. Mary pointed at the mound of her stomach. ‘And I think we should hurry up, don’t you?’

‘As soon as we are home we will go to see the minister.’

‘I should think we’re in his bad books already for cancelling the wedding. What he’ll say when he sees the size of me now I dread to think.’

‘He is a nice man, Mr Willingham, he will not judge. See how kind he has been to me already.’

‘I know, love. It was my idea of a bad joke.’

‘Ah.’ Peter gave her a wry smile. ‘But still, we will go home soon?’

‘Hmmm.’ Mary pretended solemn consideration. ‘Yes, I think everybody can manage without us now. So, perhaps by next week we’ll be back in Llamroth. But for now…’ She turned him around and rested her hands on his shoulders. ‘For now, you can get me down those stairs.’

Peter walked in front of her, her stomach bumping gently on his back.

In the kitchen he encircled her waist, his hands just about reaching around her, and lowered her onto one of the kitchen chairs. ‘Sit here, I will carry the armchair out to the yard and then you can relax outside in the fresh air.’

‘No, I’ll be fine on one of these.’ She patted the edge of the seat she sat on. ‘Put me in that thing.’ She wafted her hand at the armchair. ‘And I’ll never get up.’

‘Stay a moment.’

She waited while he decided where the best place was in the yard. ‘It is good here?’ he asked, looking up towards the sun and rearranging the chair for the tenth time.

‘It’s perfect.’ Mary hauled herself up. ‘Perfect.’

‘You must rest.’

‘I will.’ Mary sat on the wooden chair and shifted uncomfortably. Now she was out of bed she realised how exhausted she actually was. ‘Thanks.’

‘Do not move,’ Peter added sternly. In the kitchen the clock struck six times.

Mary couldn’t believe how early it still was. ‘I will not move,’ she laughed, imitating him.

He kissed her. ‘
Gut!
There is tea in the pot. I will make a cup to you. And I will telephone Gwyneth. I must tell her we will
both
,’ he stressed the word, ‘be coming home to Llamroth.’

Mary smiled. ‘She will be pleased.’

‘It is what she has been wishing for all these months. So, stay still. I will come back with the tea. And then I have something to tell you. I have news of my own.
’

There was a burnished hard-edged radiance to the morning. The kind that makes you feel glad to be alive, Mary reflected. She sat, nursing the cup of tea between both palms, savouring the stillness around her. Six o’clock in the morning and the sun already warm on her face when she closed her eyes and tilted it upwards to the sky.

Thank you Tom, she said silently, for watching over Linda, for bringing her back to us. She squeezed her eyes tight and swallowed. And helping me to forgive Peter. It’s what you would have done – did. She believed that now. Tom had known it was Peter who’d killed Frank and kept quiet. ‘Because that was the kind of man you were, Tom,’ she murmured, ‘our happiness meant more to you than anything else.’ She felt a split second of shame and guilt. She held up her hands as though in supplication, the cup between them, and rested her forehead against the warm smooth surface.

Peter came out of the house and leant on the yard wall next to Mary. He was grinning. ‘Gwyneth sends her love.’

‘Go on then,’ Mary said, smiling, ‘tell me your news.’ She waited, unable to read his expression.

‘I have a job.’ He took a long slurp of tea, savouring the moment. ‘I have a job at the doctor’s.’

‘But…’ Mary’s stomach lurched. ‘Will they let you…?’

‘No, not as a doctor,’ Peter said quickly. ‘Not yet anyway. Doctor Grimstead has offered me the job as caretaker for the surgery. The last one has left.’ He squatted down resting his clasped hands on her knees. ‘We will not any more have to do the…’ He tapped his fingers on her leg impatiently. ‘The – what do you call it? The scrapping around for money.’

‘Scratting.’ Mary smiled. ‘Scratching around for money.’

‘That,’ Peter agreed. He laughed in triumph. ‘Now I can provide for you, for my family.’ He sat back on his heels, watching her reaction.

The fact that they would have regular money coming in was like a great weight lifted from her shoulders, one that she didn’t even know was there. But then something struck her. ‘You said,’ she spoke slowly, ‘as a doctor “not yet”?’

‘That is what is best.’ He beamed at her. ‘Doctor Grimstead has said he will make enquires to see if I will be able to practice again. I have all my certificates and papers. He says that sooner or later there will be new laws that will enable me to do that.’

In a voice filled with awe, he said, ‘One day, Mary, one day I will become a doctor again.’

‘And, perhaps, one day you will become a nurse again.’ He stroked the side of her face. ‘I know you must miss that as much as I have missed being a doctor.’

His concerned remark gave her a spasm of regret. She’d fought her father to become a nurse. He’d wanted only that she brought money into the house. She’d loved her job, especially being Matron at Pont y Haven. And she wouldn’t have met Peter if she hadn’t worked in the hospital at the camp. But now she had a whole new life to look forward to.

‘I think this baby will be more than enough for me for the time being. One day – who knows?’ She leant forward and, pushing against his shoulder, stood up. ‘I must go to the lavvy.’

‘You must go slowly.’ He steadied her but she pulled him with her, laughing.

All at once she felt a sudden pressure on her bladder. She couldn’t move. ‘Peter?’ Water gushed from between her legs onto the flags. She stared down at her feet, unbelieving. ‘Oh no!’ She doubled over in pain. ‘It’s too early,’ she cried, ‘Peter, it’s too soon.’ She stayed still, trying to catch her breath. ‘Peter, it’s too soon.’

For a second he froze and then he lifted and carried her into the house, inwardly cursing himself. ‘When I was a doctor at home in Germany, I have delivered many early babies. You must not worry.’ He should have known, should have made plans for this. ‘From what you have told me, it is only three or perhaps four weeks early.’ He laid her on the rug and placed cushions around her, anxious to reassure her. ‘Your waters have broken, Mary, so we must be prepared. We must take off your underclothes,
Liebling
. Try to lift yourself up.’

She groaned as she helped him. Her stomach rippled but there was no pain, only a dull ache.

‘We must telephone the midwife.’

His composure stopped her panic. ‘The number’s on the sideboard.’ She pointed upwards, towards it.

‘There is pain now?’

‘No. But—’

‘It will be fine.’

‘It’s too soon. The baby will be too small.’ It was almost a question. She searched his face.

‘No, the baby is fine. I think perhaps he – or she,’ he added, ‘seems impatient to be with us. We should try to get you upstairs on the bed.’ She would be more restful there, he thought.

‘I’m not moving.’

He wouldn’t argue with her. ‘Then we must put the towels under you and make you comfortable here.’ He moved around her as he spoke, tucking towels under her buttocks, arranging the cushions.

‘Peter!’ The ache increased, travelling down her legs and around her pelvis at the same time. ‘Peter.’ She clutched his hand, her eyes wide with terror.

‘Stay calm,’ he said, ‘it will be fine.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘I will telephone.’

‘Don’t leave me.’ Mary rose up on one elbow.

‘I will only be in the hall. Try to relax.’ His prised her fingers gently away from his and pressed on her shoulder until she was lying back on the cushions. ‘Stay still for a moment.’

When he returned he was carrying a sheet and two pillows. ‘The midwife,’ he said, ‘she will be here soon.’

‘When?’

‘Soon.’

As he covered her with the sheet she curled up again, unable to speak until the surge of pain subsided. ‘That was worse.’

‘You did well. It will be fine.’ He bent over the fireguard, putting a match to the newspaper in the grate. ‘It is good that it is always set.’ The flames died down and then began to lick around the wood.

‘I’m too hot already,’ Mary complained. The sweat was beaded on her top lip and over the bridge of her nose.

‘You will need the warmth later. And so will the baby.’ He sat beside her. ‘Stay on your side,’ he said, ‘it will make you feel better.’

‘No, I need to walk around.’ Mary flung the sheet away from her and pushed herself into a half crouching, half standing position. Peter didn’t stop her. Supporting her weight he rubbed the small of her back.

Mary could hear herself grunting. ‘Talk,’ she said eventually, when the next pain receded. ‘Talk to me … anything … say anything.’ She held the weight of her belly in her hands. ‘Where the hell is that midwife?’