Changing Patterns (8 page)

Since Tom’s death she’d dreaded night times. Mostly she just dozed, coming to with a sudden frightening start that jerked her whole body upright and covered her with sweat. And when she did finally sleep the dreams were horrific: broken bodies strewn across a road, blood running into gutters; Ellen, Peter, Jean, Jacqueline, all the members of her family, staring sightlessly at an ominous yellow and purple bruised sky, their arms somehow outstretched towards her. And then the road changed into a canal and she was pinned against a stone wall, unable to move, still helpless to help them. The same nightmare made her wake night after night.

‘Peter?’ She moved closer, his steady breathing calming her. She rested her hand on his shoulder and reached across to hold him, her fingers firm until she felt him throb and grow hard. He rolled over and gently lifted her nightdress over her head, wiped the tears with the pads of his thumbs. ‘I love you,’ she whispered, ‘I need you.’ She sat astride him, revelling in the closeness. From the dim slant of light under the door she saw him smile as he cupped her breasts.

‘I love you too,’ he said. ‘My Mary,
ich liebe dich
.’

His hands slid from her breasts, settled for a moment on her stomach and hovered before gently grasping her hips. He let her take the initiative and she was grateful, she wanted to feel in control. Slowly, slowly, she started to rise and fall, keeping her eyes on his, a slight smile on her open lips. As she felt the urge in him she responded, rocking her hips, swaying from side to side. She tightened herself on him and they moved together, slowly at first, their breathing synchronised, and then with more urgency. ‘
Ich liebe dich, mein Schatz
,’ Mary gasped. Then words became impossible.

‘Auntie Mary?’

Mary opened her eyes. ‘Jacqueline?’ The bedroom was in darkness, the little girl outlined in the doorway by the nightlight from the children’s room.

‘I can’t sleep.’

Mary heard the sob in her voice. ‘Okay.’ She threw back the covers and fumbled around for her dressing gown. ‘Okay, love, wait a minute.’

‘Mary?’ Peter lifted himself up on one elbow. ‘What is wrong? What time is it?’

‘Three o’clock,’ Mary answered in a whisper. ‘It’s all right. It’s Jacqueline. She can’t sleep. I’m taking her downstairs.’

She peeped into the bedroom where the other children were sleeping and gently closed the door. Taking hold of Jacqueline’s hand she said, ‘Let’s go and get a drink of warm milk.’

‘Dad shouts a lot, Auntie Mary.’ Jacqueline hiccupped after the long bout of sobbing. She rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes. ‘And Mum shouts back. I don’t like it.’

‘Grown-ups quarrel just like children do. Even you and Linda fall out sometimes, huh?’ Mary took the glass from her after she’d drained the last drops of milk.

‘Sometimes.’

‘And then you make up and everything’s okay again. And that’s what your Mum and Dad do. They love one another but they like a good squabble as well. You mustn’t worry about it. They talk and laugh too, don’t they?’

Jacqueline nodded.

‘Well then!’ Mary tucked the glass between the cushion at the side of her and the arm of the sofa and pulled Jacqueline closer. ‘Let’s have a
cwtch.
’

‘What?’ Jacqueline laughed, craning her head back to look at Mary.

‘
Cwtch
, it’s Welsh for a cuddle but it’s better than a cuddle.’ She gave her niece a squeeze. ‘See? It magics nightmares and worries away.’

Jacqueline snuggled closer and closed her eyes. Mary wrapped the skirt of her blue quilted dressing gown over the little girl as best she could. The grandfather clock marked each minute with its plangent tick.

When Jacqueline spoke again, the chill rippled Mary’s skin.

‘Dad punched Mum,’ she said.

‘Did you hear Jacqueline last night?’

Mary sprinkled a few flakes of Lux soap into the bowl of warm water in the sink and furiously swirled them around to make bubbles. She dropped a black cardigan into the bowl and pushed it under the surface.

‘No. Why?’ Ellen scraped the last of the boiled egg from the shell and put the spoon on the plate in front of her daughter. ‘There you are, love, finish it off.’

Linda crammed the egg and the last of her toast in her mouth. ‘Please may I leave the table?’ She slid off the chair and gave Mary a tight squeeze around her waist.

Mary bent down and kissed the top of her head. ‘Good girl.’

‘Go in the parlour,’ Ellen said. ‘It’ll be your programme in ten minutes.’ She gave William the last spoonful of cake and walked over to the sink. Putting the plate and spoon down on the draining board, she peered over Mary’s shoulder. ‘Grief Mary,’ she said, ‘you’ve nearly put some soap in that.’

‘Soap’s still rationed.’ Infuriated that Ellen hadn’t noticed how angry she was, Mary started to knead and squeeze the cardigan. ‘You should have washed this days ago. You knew you’d need it.’

‘Soap rationing finishes in a couple of months, you didn’t need to be so stingy with it.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Mary slammed her hands into the water. It sloshed over the edge of the sink.

‘What?’ Ellen looked bewildered. ‘What’s wrong?’

Mary drew in a long breath. ‘Patrick’s hit Jean. And from what I can make out Jacqueline saw it.’

‘What?’ Ellen said. ‘No.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The bastard.’

‘Like father like son,’ Mary spoke grimly. She’d been unable to sleep afterwards, angrily thinking about all the times Mam had been battered by their father, remembering the confrontations she’d had about it with him. She felt sick. ‘He can’t get away with it.’

‘What will you do?’

‘If it was any other time I’d go up there and tell him just what I thought of him.’ Mary clenched her teeth. ‘As it is I can only talk to Jean. Tell her what Jacqueline’s said. And ask her what she is going to do. If it’s true, I’ll tell Jean to get out from there as soon as possible. Patrick can’t just get away with it,’ she repeated.

She knew that Tom would have had no hesitation in tackling Patrick. But he wasn’t here anymore, and she had no choice but to deal with this on her own. Ellen would be no use.

‘You don’t think Jacqueline’s making it up?’

‘No! Why would she make something up something as horrible as that?’

‘I just can’t believe Jean would put up with it.’

‘Well, no, nor me. That’s why I need to talk to her, ask her why she’s keeping it a secret.’

‘Do you think it’s just the once?’

‘Just the once is once too often, don’t you think?’ Mary raised her eyebrows. ‘Jean’s my friend as well as our sister-in-law. I’m not just going to stand by and let Patrick think it’s okay to hit his wife.’

Mary leant her hands on the edges of the bowl and breathed in deeply, trying to calm down. Eventually she asked, ‘Where is Jean, anyway?’

‘She said she needed a walk to clear her head.’ Ellen rolled her eyes. ‘Anything rather than stay in the same room as me, I think. She took Jacqueline with her.’

Mary looked out of the window. The greenhouse door was open and, beyond the line of washing, the potato patch where Peter was working was empty. For a moment she thought about asking him to help her but just as quickly appreciated it would make matters worse; Jean would hate him knowing. ‘Did Peter say when he’d be back?’

‘No, only that he had to see the minister about some arrangements for tomorrow.’

‘Oh.’ Mary drew in a ragged breath, guiltily realising that for a few hours she’d closed her mind to her grief. All at once she was consumed with hostility that Ellen and Jean had brought their troubles with them when they should be helping her; mourning the loss of Tom alongside her.

Not trusting herself to speak she rinsed the cardigan and rolled it in a towel to take off the excess water.

‘Well, there’s nothing you can do until she comes back,’ Ellen said.

‘No.’ Mary resigned herself to the fact that her sister was accepting none of the responsibility of trying to help Jean. She obviously thought her own troubles with Ted more than enough.

When Mary came back from hanging out the cardigan, Ellen was trying to wipe William’s hands as he dabbed at crumbs of cake on his tray and ate them.

Her sister was right on one thing. There was nothing Mary could do until Jean came back from her walk.

‘What about you? You’ll have to make some decisions, you know,’ she said, in a low voice, keeping an eye on the little boy. ‘The house for a start. You’ll want Ted and Hannah to move out if you’ve decided to end the marriage. Do you want that?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’ It was as though the idea had only just occurred to Ellen. ‘No, but why should he get away with it?’

‘You don’t know that there is anything he’s getting away with, do you?’

‘Something’s going on,’ Ellen whispered. ‘I know it, I know Ted.’

Mary crossed her arms. ‘Then stop stewing on it and talk to him. Find out what’s going on. If anything.’

Ellen’s face crumpled. ‘I wish you’d come back to Ashford, our Mary.’

‘Why? So I can sort out every little mess you get into? Even without our Tom…’ The skin on the back of her neck tightened. She hated putting her loss into words. ‘Even without Tom, I still have a life here. Peter, Gwyneth. This is where I belong now.’

‘I miss you. I just wish…’

‘What was it our Mam used to say? If wishes were horses—’

‘Beggars would ride.’ Ellen gave a faint smile.

‘That’s right,’ Mary said, ‘so think on.’ Ignoring the clamour of worries in her head she took a small flat-sided bottle from a cupboard, measured thick syrupy orange juice onto a tablespoon and tipped it into a beaker. Letting the cold water run into the kitchen sink for a few seconds she topped up the drink. ‘Come on, bring William, it’s time for the kids’ programme.’

In the parlour she switched on Tom’s Alba wireless. ‘Come on, love, sit down,’ she said to Linda, ‘it’s nearly quarter to two.’

Linda kneeled on the rug, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, faster and faster until it was a tight band.

Crouching, Mary slowly turned the dial until the red line covered the words ‘LIGHT PROGRAMME.’

‘This is the BBC Home Service for mothers and children at home. Are you ready for the music? When it stops, Catherine Edwards will be here to speak to you.’

There was a pause. ‘Here you are.’ Mary handed the orange juice to Linda. ‘Careful with it.’

‘Ta, Auntie Mary.’ The little girl put her doll on the floor next to her and took the beaker with both hands, smiling her thanks.

Music crackled through the horizontal slats on the front of the wireless.
Ding-de-dong. Ding-de-dong, Ding, Ding!

Linda wriggled excitedly.

‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.’

There was a loud bang outside on the road. Ellen hitched the baby higher on her shoulder, twisted round in her chair by the window and peered around the curtain. ‘Oh bugger, it’s Ted. I thought I recognised the sound of that old banger. What the hell is he doing here?’ She stood up, took the drink from Linda and grabbed hold of her hand. ‘Come on, you, upstairs.’ Carrying William, she led the complaining little girl through the kitchen. ‘Obviously this is your doing, Mary,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Well you can deal with him.’

Mary opened the front door as Ted, his raincoat crumpled and creased, climbed stiffly out of the cab of the baker’s van, trilby perched on the back of his head. He stretched while gazing miserably at the vehicle. There was a whistling noise and steam escaped from under the bonnet, first a trickle of white vapour, then a noisy gush until both Ted and the van were enveloped. He appeared, flailing his hands and shaking his head. ‘That’s beggared it,’ he said flatly.

Without speaking, Mary moved to one side to let him in.

She
had
telegrammed him to come to Llamroth. It had been a curt request:
ELLEN AND CHILDREN NEED YOU HERE STOP MARY

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, Mary.’ He looked around the parlour, turning the rim of his trilby in his hands. ‘Is Ellen okay?’

Oh, for goodness sake, Mary thought. ‘No, she’s not, Ted. How could you think she would be? Tom is – was – our brother. You let her come on the train with the two kids on her own. Didn’t you realise what a state she was in?’

He coloured. ‘She wouldn’t wait.’

‘For you to close the shop? Isn’t your wife worth more than a few pounds takings?’

‘It wasn’t just that.’ Ted protested. ‘Mother…’

‘Oh, yes, don’t get me started on your mother.’ Mary stopped. This really wasn’t her business, however much her sister tried to drag her into it.

‘What do you mean?’ Ted stared at her. ‘What has Ellen said?’

Mary walked away from him into the kitchen. She’d said too much.

He followed her. ‘Mary?’ He took off his raincoat and slung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, balancing his trilby on top.

‘You need to talk to Ellen, Ted. All I can say is she’s at the end of her tether with Hannah.’ The hot tears were unexpected. Angrily, Mary brushed them away and turned, staring unseeingly out of the window. ‘I can’t deal with anybody else’s problems at the moment,’ she said huskily. ‘Tom was my brother too. I saw what happened to him. It doesn’t go away. I see it all the time.’