Changing Patterns (7 page)

‘Ellen?’

‘She’s struggling.’

‘Hmmm. I went to see Ted. He was really upset about Tom. He couldn’t come – his mother had a turn and he couldn’t leave her.’

I’ll bet she did, Mary thought. ‘It’s a shame he couldn’t find someone to stay with her,’ she said. Holding onto the back of Jacqueline’s seat as the bus driver changed gears with a grind and stutter of the engine, she had to raise her voice above the rattle. ‘Ellen could do with him here.’ She stopped, not wanting to talk about Ellen’s problems.

Jean wagged her head. ‘Ted’s going mad without her in the shop. He told Patrick his bread orders have gone right down – right down.’

‘I thought the girl who’s moved into Mrs Jagger’s house was helping him?’

‘Doreen Whittaker? Hmm, yes, well, she’s neither use nor ornament as far as I can see. And a right flighty piece if you ask me.’

‘Flighty? How do you mean?’ Mary tried to sound unconcerned.

‘What I said. She’s not been in the town much above six months and from what I hear she’s worked her way around quite a few of the local men.’

‘Ellen says she’s married.’

‘Doesn’t seem to stop her. He’s in the Territorial Army and in Nottingham a lot, so they say.’

The bus picked up speed and the noise made it impossible to talk for the next few minutes. They swayed in their seats as the vehicle swung around the bends and twists of the narrow, hedged-in road.

When the bus stopped accelerating and quietened slightly, Jean spoke again. ‘How Ted puts up with that mother of his I’ll never know. Twice last week he didn’t open the shop because she said she was having a funny do and couldn’t be left. He says only Ellen can deal with her when she’s like that.’

Perhaps it was as Ellen said. Perhaps Ted didn’t want to know what problems his wife had with his mother. Mary kept quiet.

‘I offered to look in on her but she was having none of it. It had to be Ted or nobody with her,’ Jean said. ‘She’d do better if she didn’t eat as much. She’s enormous now – just sits all day in that corner like a great fat spider, watching everything that goes on.’ She leant forward as the bus stopped and a line of people scrambled up the steps. ‘Jacqueline, come and stand by your Auntie Mary.’

The little girl squeezed onto Mary’s knees instead and Mary gave her a cuddle as the bus lurched forward. ‘All right, love?’ She savoured the way the little girl snuggled trustingly against her but was troubled by the sadness in her eyes. ‘You okay?’

‘No Uncle Tom, Auntie Mary?’ Jacqueline’s chin quivered. ‘I wish he was back from Heaven.’

‘Me too, sweetheart, me too.’ She kissed her. ‘Linda’s really looking forward to seeing you. She’s so bored with her little brother. She said we had to hurry up so she could have someone proper to play with.’

Jacqueline giggled. ‘I’ve brought my John Bull printing set with me, Auntie Mary.’

‘Oh, she’ll love that. Did Mummy buy you that for your birthday?’

Jacqueline nodded, her thumb tucked into the corner of her mouth.

Jean pulled at her daughter’s hand. ‘No thumb sucking,’ she said. ‘I can’t stop her doing that.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Mary smiled at Jacqueline.

‘Linda missed Jacqueline’s birthday party because Ellen brought the kids down here,’ Jean said.

‘Then we’ll have to have another party, won’t we?’ Mary hugged her niece. ‘Two birthday parties, all thanks to Auntie Ellen. Not bad eh?’

Jacqueline cuddled closer. ‘Smashing!’

Mary watched the conductor making his way towards them, stopping at each passenger and leaning against the metal poles as he turned the handle of his ticket machine and dropped the fares into his leather satchel. She searched in her handbag for her purse. ‘Ellen sent a telegram to Ted to say she was staying here for a while to help me.’ Holding up a shilling she said, ‘Two and a half, please,’ and waited until the man gave her two pink tickets and a blue one and moved past them before she said, ‘but, to be honest I’m not sure she should stay. Peter and I don’t think it’s doing her any good being here. She cried all the way through the inquest and now she says she can’t go to the funeral, even though Gwyneth’s offered to have the kids.’

‘Some support.’ Jean’s mouth twisted. She didn’t acknowledge the mention of Peter. ‘How is Gwyneth by the way?’

‘She’s struggling as well. It’s brought everything that happened to Iori back. She lived for him. All she’s said is that Tom and Iori are together now. She has her faith.’

‘Hmm.’

Mary could tell Jean was embarrassed. Stubbornly she continued, ‘We all knew Tom loved him, Jean. We’re just not allowed to say.’

‘Well,’ Jean faltered. ‘Well, that’s as maybe.’ She sniffed, her mouth turned downwards. ‘That’s as maybe.’ They travelled a while in silence. When Jean next spoke she sounded defensive. ‘I did try to make Patrick come, Mary. He’s not an easy man, you know. He’s a past master of bad moods.’

‘You’re telling me. But you can hold your own on that score, I know. I’ve been on the receiving end of your moods many a time.’ She leant towards Jean, touching her forehead with her own, noticing at the same time a small bruise on her friend’s cheek. ‘What did you walk into this time?’ She smiled. Jean was very short-sighted but sometimes her vanity stopped her wearing her glasses.

‘Cupboard door.’ Jean dismissed Mary’s question with a flick of her hand. ‘Moods don’t work with Patrick, though.’

‘So what does?’

Jean shrugged. ‘Not a lot. You were always the one to handle him, Mary.’

‘Hardly. I’ve watched you with him over the years. You’re perfectly capable of keeping a tight rein on him.’

‘I don’t know about that.’ Jean fidgeted, looked uncomfortable. After a moment she nodded towards the window. ‘I always think how lovely it is round here,’ she said, ‘but not home though, is it? Not home.’

‘I know what you’re getting at,’ Mary said, ‘and even with Tom – even with what’s happened, I won’t be coming back to Ashford.’ She watched Jean. From her sister-in-law’s frustrated expression it was obvious she was struggling not to argue.

Mary held her hand up. ‘I’m glad you’re here. And this little one.’ She stroked Jacqueline’s hair as she dozed against her shoulder.

‘So am I.’ Jean pushed at the bridge of her glasses with her forefinger and settled further into her seat, her hand on her daughter’s knee. ‘So am I. She’s as exhausted as I am.’

‘How’s she been?’ Mary whispered.

‘Upset, not sleeping well. And she’s wet the bed twice since I told her about Tom.’ Jean hesitated, her voice quiet. ‘But that’s been going on a while now, thinking about it. Patrick and me – well, we’ve been arguing a lot lately. I’m hoping she’ll be all right when we get to your house.’

Patrick would argue with the devil, Mary thought but instead only said, ‘It’ll help Linda being there.’

‘Hmm.’ Jean paused. ‘Ellen shouldn’t have come rushing down here. I’m sure it hasn’t helped you.’

‘I’ve got Peter.’

‘Yes, well, that’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.’

Whatever opinion Jean had about Peter Mary didn’t want to hear. ‘Look, here’s our stop,’ she interrupted, gathering Jacqueline into her arms. She reached up and pressed the bell on the nearby rail, waiting for the bus to slow down before standing.

Peter was at the gate watching for them. He took Jacqueline by one hand and the suitcase in the other, in spite of Jean’s protests. When he bent to greet her, she stiffly offered her cheek and murmured, ‘Hello,’ before walking up the path to the cottage and adding, ‘you smell of pipe tobacco. Mary said you’d taken up a pipe – revolting habit.’

Mary and Peter exchanged wry expressions. This was going to be a difficult visit.

‘You have to go back to your husband, my girl, that’s what you need to do. Go back to your husband.’

‘What’s it got to do with you, you interfering old bag?’

‘He needs you in the shop. Patrick says you—’

‘Patrick says, Patrick says – he might rule your life but what makes you think I care what he says? The only brother whose opinion I cared about was—’

‘Tom’s? Well, m’lady, you kept that a good secret. From what I saw, you had no more time for him than the man on the moon. You’ve only ever done what you wanted. You’ve driven Mary mad in the past and here you are again. She’s enough to cope with living with that man in there. She’ll have the life of hell and all you can do is heap more trouble on her.’

‘That’s it!’ Mary flung the bedclothes off and felt around in the dark for her dressing gown.

Peter held her arm. ‘No,
Liebling,
it is of no matter.’

But it was. They’d listened to the strident voices of Jean and Ellen for the last five minutes and Mary sensed the growing tension in him.

‘No matter?’ The dreadful apathy that had protected her since Tom was killed was shattered by the triviality of Jean and Ellen’s squabbles. As always she was being forced to be peacemaker between them. ‘Of course it matters, Peter. They’re in our home and I won’t put up with it.’

The door opened and a ripple of light from the landing revealed the silhouettes of the two little girls. Although Linda was a few months older her head only just reached the shoulder of her cousin. She stood, thumb in her mouth, twiddling a lock of her hair around her finger of the other hand, cheeks wet with tears; the image of Ellen as a child, Jacqueline held on to her protectively, her solid square figure a miniature of Jean as she stood, feet placed firmly on the floor, fist on hip.

‘Our mummies are falling out.’ The words were accusing.

‘I know.’ Mary fastened her dressing gown. ‘They’re very naughty.’ She picked up Linda, feeling the quivering sobs as she held her close. Her hand firmly on the flat of Jacqueline’s back, she ushered them into their room. William, still asleep, looked so tiny in what had been Tom’s bed and for a moment there was a catch in her throat. ‘Come on now, settle down. Look after your brother, Linda. Jacqueline, I’m relying on you to see to both your cousins?’

Jacqueline nodded, her dark curls bobbing vigorously as she scrambled into bed. ‘I will.’ She stretched her plump little arms as far as she could past William and across the pillow, stroking the top of Linda’s head with her fingertips.

Such an old-fashioned little thing, Mary thought, stopping by the door to look back at the three children, so protective of Linda, always looking out for her. In spite of her anger she smiled. The two girls had their eyes screwed tightly as if in determined sleep.

Inside the other bedroom, where Ellen and Jean were forced to share the bed in Peter’s old room, the quarrel continued. Mary held the palm of her hand against her chest and took a deep breath before lifting the latch.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Mary closed the door behind her, forcing herself to whisper.

The curlers in Jean’s fringe wobbled as she lifted her head above the eiderdown. Her face glistened with the cold cream she used religiously each night.

‘Oh do come in, why don’t you?’ Ellen raised her arms above her head, fingers spread wide. ‘That’s all we need, the bloody cavalry.’ Grabbing the covers she flung herself over onto her side, her voice muffled when she next spoke. ‘Whatever you have to say, our Mary, it’ll have to wait till morning. I need my sleep.’

‘And so do your children,’ Mary said. ‘You woke both girls with your stupid row. They heard everything you said and so did we.’ She let that sink in. ‘Now, you need to go and make sure they’re all right.’ She held out the copy of
My Naughty Little Sister
that she’d picked up from the children’s room. ‘Perhaps one of you could read to the girls for a bit. And if you can possibly bear to stop thinking about your own feelings, maybe you could also tell them you’re sorry and explain how you had a silly little falling out?’ There was no answer and no movement. ‘As for your opinions about me and Peter, Jean, I’ll thank you to keep them to yourselves or, if you can’t do that, at least talk about it when we’re not here to listen.’ Jean didn’t answer. Mary hesitated. From the minute her sister-in-law had stepped off the train, there had been a sense that she was holding something back. ‘Jean?’

Jean turned her head away.

Mary opened the door. ‘You might have forgotten,’ she stifled the crack in her voice, ‘but we have a funeral to go to on Monday. So if you could keep off one another’s throats for the next two days, I’d be grateful. If not, I promise you this – both of you – either of you cause any bother and you’ll be sorry.’ Cold fury made her fingers clench the door handle, her knuckles white under the skin.

‘Sorry.’ Ellen did sound contrite but Mary was in no mood to hear it.

‘Just think on.’

Jean said nothing.

Mary left the overhead light on and the door open as she crossed the landing and went back into her room. ‘I can’t stand this,’ she said, tight-lipped. ‘I can’t…’

‘Try not to think about them,
Liebling
, try to sleep.’

‘They’re always the same. You’d think at their age…’ She left it unsaid. Both women had brought their troubles to her door when she had enough of her own. Sooner or later they would expect her to help them. Nothing changes she thought, slipping under the covers and fitting her body to his.