Living in the Shadows

Living in the Shadows

by

Judith Barrow

HONNO MODERN FICTION

For David

Acknowledgements

I would like to express my gratitude to those who helped in the publishing of
Living in the Shadows
.

My thanks to all the staff at Honno for their expertise, to Helena Earnshaw for her advice and help, and to Caroline Oakley for her supportive and thoughtful editing.

And again, a special thanks to my dear friend and fellow author, Sharon Tregenza, for her constructive criticism and support.

Lastly, as ever, to David: for keeping the faith and encouraging me to continue with my writing. Oh, and for taking on the weekly grocery shopping.

1969

Chapter 1: Linda Booth

Ashford, morning: Tuesday, September 16th

She’d always been afraid of the dark. The shadows along the corridors of the hospital, the blackness of corners, the sounds, source unseen, on the maternity ward were the stuff her nightmares were made of.

She kept herself busy by checking on the sleeping mothers in each bed and by visiting the nursery, where the babies snuffled and whimpered. She told herself she was nothing if not professional, even as she picked up and cuddled a crying infant, something forbidden by the ward sister.

Now, standing in one of the small private side wards, Linda Booth watched with relief as the sky lightened with shades of pastel blue and gold above the buildings on the opposite side of the hospital grounds.

Behind her the woman in the bed shifted and moaned. Linda moved to her side. ‘How do you feel, Mrs Worth?’

Harriet Worth moved her head on the pillow and pushed herself up in the bed, a small action that made her grimace. Linda felt a wave of sympathy. It had been a difficult and protracted labour and, at forty-four, the woman was too old to be having another baby; her records showed that her last child was now a teenager.

‘My mouth is dry.’ The woman spoke in an apologetic tone.

Linda poured her a glass of water. ‘Here, drink this.’ She waited, studying her; she was very pale. And so small and frail it was hard to believe she had given birth to a robust baby boy the day before. ‘Let me just check everything’s okay?’ Harriet Worth nodded. Linda moved the covers and examined her. The woman was still bleeding quite a lot; she’d tell the day-staff to keep a close eye on her. But, after changing the sanitary-pad, she smiled at Harriet as she washed her hands in the small basin in the corner of the room. ‘Everything seems to be all right. Let me check your blood pressure.’ It was low. Linda scribbled on the chart. ‘Try to get some sleep. It’s only five o’clock. Ring your bell if you need me.’

For the rest of her shift Linda was glad to be kept busy writing up reports. Except for answering an occasional bell rung by a restless mother she didn’t move until she heard the sounds of the day shift arriving.

Thank goodness for that, she thought; she was ready for her bed.

Before she left Linda decided to check on Harriet Worth one last time. She peeped into the side-ward. ‘Morning again,’ she whispered. ‘You okay?’

‘Thank you, yes.’

‘Good,’ Linda said. ‘Try to rest today.’

The main ward came alive with the sounds of trolleys and wailing babies. The door crashed open and a nurse pushed past Linda. ‘This little chap wants a feed, Mother, want to try again? Didn’t have much luck last night did we?’ She spoke conspiratorially at Linda. ‘Always the same with mothers with small nipples.’ She unwrapped the whimpering baby from the blanket and held him out. ‘Still, we’ll give it a go. Yes?’

‘I’ll try.’ Harriet Worth squinted against the brightness of the abruptly-lit corridor and slowly sat up, taking the child in her arms.

The nurse turned to Linda. ‘I know it’s the end of your shift, Nurse Booth, but if you could just help mother? We’re rushed off our feet out there.’ Without giving Linda a chance to say anything, she left.

‘I’m sorry.’ Harriet spoke apologetically. ‘You should be going home.’

‘It’s no trouble.’ Linda smiled, unfastened her cape and draped it over the chair near the bed. However tired she was she could see the distress in the woman. ‘Right, let’s see what we can do, shall we, Mrs Worth?’ She washed her hands. ‘Sometimes, it’s difficult to get them to start feeding.’ She glanced over her shoulder, as the baby’s whimper grew more insistent, and smiled again. ‘He’s hungry, so that will help.’ She pulled out one of the paper towels from the container. ‘Nothing to worry about, I’m—’ Her next words were cut off by the door opening so forcefully it crashed against the wall.

The man who filled the doorway was short but stocky, his thinning curly hair a mixture of grey and ginger. Wearing slacks and an open-necked shirt to show off a heavy gold sovereign and chain around his neck, he had an astrakhan coat slung over his shoulders. He was what Linda’s dad, in his old-fashioned way, would call a bit of a spiv.

‘I’m sorry, no visitors at this time of the day.’ Linda dried her hands and dropped the used towel in the bin under the basin.

‘I’ve paid for a private room, she’s my wife, and I’ll visit when I want.’ He didn’t look at Linda; his eyes fixed on the woman in the bed who was ineffectually jiggling the now screaming baby.

Linda flushed at the abrupt rudeness. ‘I’m sorry, but no. Your wife needs some privacy and anyway the rules are the same for everyone. Visiting time is—’

‘When I say it is.’ Still he didn’t turn towards her, but his ruddy cheeks reddened even more.

It was the anxiety on Harriet Worth’s face that made Linda step between the man and the bed. She was the same height as him and met his glare. But there was something about him that caused her throat to tighten. She stared at the scar on his cheek, shaped like a half-moon, at his nose, crooked from an old break, and she sucked in a shocked breath, suddenly aware that she was on her own in a room with a man that, for some unknown reason, she was afraid of.

‘You’re in my way.’ Narrowing his eyes, he gripped her arm, his fingers pinching.

‘George, please…’ Harriet’s voice shook as she raised her voice above the crying. ‘I’m sorry, Nurse. Just this once?’

Linda took another jagged breath, held it, let it go, forced herself to sound calm. ‘Okay. But that baby needs feeding. I’ll be back in five minutes.’ The man released his grasp when she stepped to one side.

Holding on to the bedrail he bent towards his wife. The baby quietened as though listening. ‘Don’t apologise for me, do you hear? Never apologise for me.’

‘I’m sorry, George.’

‘Think on, then.’

The threat stopped Linda at the door. She looked back at Harriet, who fixed her gaze on her and gave a small shake of her head. Walking stiffly from the room, Linda willed her legs not to give way under her. Sweat prickled her hairline; she thought she would vomit at any moment. She mustn’t be seen in this state; there was no way she wanted to, or even could, explain the unwelcome and strange terrors that seeing the man bullying his wife had dredged up. Diving into a nearby linen-room she slid down against the closed door to the floor. Pulling up her knees, she rested her head on them and closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. When she opened them it was pitch black inside the cramped room. With a small cry she struggled to her feet and fumbled for the switch. The light was momentarily blinding, but relief coursed through her. She’d always been afraid of the dark.

Chapter 2: Linda Booth

Ashford, evening: Tuesday, September 16th

The bus station was crammed with people making their way to work in Manchester but there wasn’t a queue for the Ashford bus. When it arrived, Linda sank gratefully onto a seat by the door, thinking back to the last few minutes in the ward.

Harriet Worth’s husband had gone by the time Linda went back into the side ward. Neither woman spoke about what had happened but it seemed the fractious baby had sensed the tension and steadfastly refused the breast. In the end Linda had made up a bottle of milk and given it to Harriet, glad to get away, aware that, to her own mind, she’d failed the woman, both professionally and personally.

The glass was cool on Linda’s forehead as she leaned on the bus window, reliving the incident with George Worth, unable to rid herself of the instinctive dislike and fear. When the bus squealed to a halt on Shaw Street, she was glad to be almost home.

The streets were quiet. Even so, as she turned the corner onto Henshaw Street she collided with her neighbours, the two elderly Crowley sisters.

‘Well, we
have
had a night, haven’t we Agnes?’ Tall and thin, the eldest, Ethel, drew herself to full height. She sniffed. As usual, whatever the weather she had a drip balancing on the tip of her nose.

The other woman nodded. ‘The police were at your—’

‘house. Bringing your mother home. She was a—’

‘disgrace. Shouting—’

Shorter than her sister and plump, Agnes Crowley shuffled excitedly from one foot to the other and bobbed her head, almost dislodging the blue turban-hat that covered small pink hair rollers.

‘and screaming at the top of her—’

‘voice.’ Each hitched their baskets further along their arms.

‘Not that we were watching—’

‘We just heard all the noise and looked—’

‘out to see what was happening—’

‘Right under our window.’

‘Right under our window.’

They stopped. More from lack of breath, Linda thought, than running out of gossip. No doubt it would be all over the neighbourhood before lunchtime. ‘You’re out early, ladies,’ she said.

‘Shopping.’ Ethel flushed and sniffed again. ‘We have a lot of shopping to do.’

‘Of course you have.’ And a lot of rumours to spread, Linda thought. She felt that whatever energy she had left was being drained from her body by the malice in these two women. ‘Well, I’ve just finished work, so I’m ready for my bed.’ She moved to get past them.

‘I do hope everything’s all right at home so you can sleep.’ Ethel tutted, recognisably miffed that Linda had shown no reaction.

‘Sure it will be.’ Linda waited until they moved to one side. ‘But if not, I’ll let you know. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on anything, would we?’

The two women looked at one another. ‘Well …’ Ethel said. ‘Well …’

Linda didn’t look back.

Inside number 27, Ted Booth was sitting on one of the tall stools by the breakfast counter, his head in his hands.

‘What’s happened, Dad? Where’s Mum?’

He tilted his head upwards. ‘Sleeping it off.’

Linda pursed her lips. ‘This is the third time this month Mum’s drunk herself into a stupor. It’s always same; why do you let it happen?’

‘She went through a lot when she was younger, love. We have to be patient.’

‘I’m sick of being patient, always tiptoeing around. Why do you think our William spends so much time away from here?’

‘Because he goes to see that woman of his.’ Ted looked shocked, as though the idea of his son being absent from home so often had anything to do with his wife. ‘Doesn’t he?’

‘S’pose.’ Linda sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘So, what was it this time?’

‘Same as last year. Same as every year since your grandma died. I’d forgotten yesterday was the date, but she insisted on taking flowers to the grave. Goodness only knows why she puts herself through it. They hated one another.’

Linda could remember her grandmother: sitting by the fire, always wearing black, with an expression to match and a whinging voice that penetrated every corner of the house. She hadn’t liked the old woman and the old woman hadn’t liked her.

‘Why
does
Mum always go to the grave? Have you asked her? When she’s not drunk, I mean?’

‘It only upsets her.’ Ted Booth covered her hand with his. ‘It brings back too many memories.’

‘Of what, Dad?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Just to put up with, then?’

‘Don’t be so hard, Linda.’

They lapsed into silence. She understood she’d hurt him and regretted it. ‘You look worn out.’ She unpinned her cap and took off her cape. ‘I bet you haven’t been to bed, have you? Do you want a brew before you go up?’

‘I should be at the shop.’

There was a thud overhead and then the sound of vomiting.

Linda sucked on her lower lip. For heaven’s sake. ‘She didn’t make it to the bathroom,’ she said, flatly.

‘I’ll sort it.’ Ted put his hands flat on the table and levered himself up.

‘Not on your own.’ She took off her navy cardigan and flung it over the bannister at the bottom of the open-plan Parana pine stairs. She glanced around the kitchen. Every surface of the bright orange units was covered in dirty crockery and left-over food. Saucepans were stacked untidily on the gas cooker, and wet clothes, piled up on the new twin-tub since yesterday, had dripped water on to the carpet. No doubt it would all be still waiting for her when she got up later. ‘Come on then, Dad, let’s get it over with.’