Living in the Shadows (9 page)

Folding down his shirt collar and knotting the new narrow blue tie, Richard grimaced at himself in the wardrobe mirror.

The last few weeks had been no different. She’d been impossible to live with; if she wasn’t sulking, she’d been trying to pick a fight with him. It was one reason he’d come up to Ashford so many days before his interview.

But not the only reason. And he felt guilty. He couldn’t stand the tension, the unspoken questions, the inability of his father to understand why he didn’t want to go to Pont-y-Haven. Dad didn’t realise that he wanted – needed to train at a proper university hospital; the one in Manchester was new, the first of its kind and he had to go there. If they’d have him. What he’d do afterwards, he hadn’t decided. And he knew his father wouldn’t understand why he didn’t want to join the Llamroth practice when he did qualify. If asked, he doubted that he could have answered the questions anyway. Except that he needed to make his own way in life. He didn’t want to hide behind his father: to be safe, secure in the knowledge that there’d always be a job for him. He had to prove his deafness wouldn’t hold him back in whatever he wanted to do.

Still, all the justifications didn’t make him feel better right at this moment. Any more than transferring his anger from himself to Victoria helped.

Where the hell was she? Richard shrugged on his jacket and looked around the bedroom, checked he had his wallet.

‘
Next on Radio Luxembourg, a track from the brand new album, ‘Play On’ from Fleetwood Mac, released only today. But first a word from Horace Batchelor …’

He peered through the net curtains. No sign of Karen yet. He should really have gone back home; he could have checked with all Vicky’s mates. Mum and Dad wouldn’t know everybody she mixed with in college.

‘That’s K- E –Y- N- S –H-A- M, Keynsham, Bristol. I’ll spell that again …’

‘T-H-A-T,’ Richard muttered, grinning as he switched the radio off and picked up his boots. ‘Stupid bloody ad.’ Frowning again, he remembered his mum’s last words when he’d spoken to her earlier. And how distraught she’d sounded.

Calling Richard downstairs, Uncle Ted had shaken his head and patted him on the shoulder. ‘She sounds a bit worked up,’ he’d mouthed. And he wasn’t joking.

‘Nobody has seen her anywhere, Richard. Your father and I are beginning to think she’s not around here any-more.’ His mother’s voice was shrill. ‘I wondered if she’d met someone. You don’t know if she’d met anybody, do you?’ she repeated. ‘Somebody from away?’

‘No, Mum, I don’t. I would have told you by now, isn’t it.’

There was a muffled crackling on the phone, some hushed whispers. Richard strove to hear. The next voice he heard was his father’s.

‘Sorry, Richard, I asked that your mother would not telephone you before your interview but she is very worried…’

‘I know, Dad. But like I said to Mum, I would have told you if I’d known anything.’

‘I know.’

There was a pause. Richard concentrated on listening.

‘Good luck for Monday.’ His father said, eventually.

‘Thanks.’ It didn’t help the guilt he felt to hear the earnestness in the words.

Richard heard the toot of a horn. Karen. He closed the bedroom door and dashed down the stairs.

His aunt and uncle were in the living-room, listening to the calm tones of a presenter on the radio. At least Uncle Ted was.

Even so, he glanced at Richard. ‘You all right, after your mum’s call?’

‘Yeah, thanks.’ No point in saying anything else.

‘Your dad?’

‘Yeah, he sounded A1.’

Ellen shifted restlessly in her chair and twisted around to face Richard.

‘We’re going to watch that new programme on the telly. What’s it called again, Ted?’

‘I’ve got to go. Karen’s here.’ Richard tapped his new parka coat pocket. ‘I’ve got my key.’

‘What’s it called, Ted?’

His aunt was tetchy again. Richard felt sorry for his uncle. She needed help for her drinking but, like his mum said, she wouldn’t admit she had a problem. Was it selfish to hope she didn’t kick off the night before his interview? He’d feel obliged to help Linda and her dad.

‘Right, lad.’ Ted nodded. He gave a small sigh and rustled through the
Radio Times,
which was resting on his knees. ‘Um,
Randall and Hopkirk Deceased
, it says here. Something about ’em being private detectives but one of ’em is dead. Rum title. Even more rum idea, if you ask me.’

‘I didn’t.’ Ellen looked irritated. ‘How long is this on for?’

‘
Dwi’n mynd nawr.
Going now.’ Richard hovered in the doorway. ‘Bye then.’

Only Ted answered. ‘Bye, son.’ He lifted his chin at Richard and smiled before peering over his reading-glasses at his wife. ‘It’s nearly finished. I told you I wanted to listen to this. It’s an interview with John Spencer. He’s the World Snooker Champion—’

‘I want the telly on, I…’

Their voices were muted as Richard quietly closed the living room door. He was fond of both of them but his aunt sometimes drove him round the bend.

‘Pictures?’ he asked Karen, folding himself into the passenger seat. ‘There’s a new film just out showing at the Apollo in Manchester.
The Italian Job
. William says it’s brilliant.’

‘Okay.’ Karen glanced in the mirror and put the car into gear. ‘Sorry, I was just going to come in,’ she said. ‘I hope they didn’t think me rude not doing.’

‘I don’t think they even noticed.’

‘Any news on your sister?’

‘Nope.’ Richard put his arm along the back of her seat and studied her. She was gorgeous. He pushed the worry and the guilt to the back of his mind. ‘Let’s go.’

Chapter 17: Linda Booth

Ashford, evening: Saturday, September 20th

‘It’s usual to stay in for ten days after you’ve given birth.’ Linda helped Harriet Worth into the armchair by the side of the bed. ‘You only had the baby last Tuesday. You’ll have to tell your husband you won’t be going out yet.’ She looked at the clock on the wall, almost quarter to seven. ‘He’ll be here soon.’ If he didn’t push his way in before visiting time. ‘Tell him then.’

‘He gets a bit … you know … impatient.’ The woman winced as she settled in the chair.

That wasn’t how Linda would describe the man. But she kept her mouth closed and shook the pillow into the case with more vigour than she would normally have done before sliding it behind Harriet’s back.

‘He just wants me home.’ Harriet settled back with a faint sigh, her arm resting on the small cot next to her, her fingers stroking the baby’s hand.

So he can control you, Linda thought. She straightened up. ‘You need to stay in until we’re sure you’re going to be well enough to manage. It’s hard work to cope with a young baby but—’

‘But worse when you’re an older mum?’ Harriet Worth smiled, wryly.

‘I was going to say, when you’re not on top form.’ Linda ran her hand over the sheet before lifting up the corners of the mattress to fold it in. ‘You had a hard birth with this little one.’ She unfolded a white open-textured blanket onto the bed. ‘Give yourself a chance to rest. It’ll be all go once you’re home.’

‘I’ve got my daughter to help me. She’s seventeen and a sensible girl.’

‘Well, that’s good; you’ll need all the help you can get. But, like I said, I’m sure your husband can manage for a few more days—’

‘And what would you know about that?’

Linda’s stomach heaved. She didn’t understand why this man had such an effect on her; in her job she’d come across some rough types before. But there was something about him that made her skin crawl. Actually made her afraid, she admitted to herself. She forced herself to carry on making up the bed, not even looking at George Worth when he came to stand close behind her.

‘I said what do you know about it?’

She moved sideways to get away from him, pretending to smooth the folded down sheet. ‘I was only saying—’

‘I heard.’

Linda forced herself to look at him. His grey eyes were bloodshot but it was the way he’d narrowed them that made her swallow hard before saying, ‘Your wife needs all the rest she can get.’

‘Well, missy, I suggest you keep your neb out of our business.’ He stroked the side of his nose with his forefinger.

There was movement behind him and a young girl appeared. She glanced apologetically at Linda before leaning towards Harriet and kissing the top of her head. ‘Mum,’ she murmured, ‘how are you feeling?’

‘Karen.’ Harriet reached up to touch her cheek. ‘I’m fine, dear.’ But she kept her eyes on her husband. ‘George? Don’t. Please. The nurse was only trying to help. It’s her job.’

‘It’s her job to know her place and stop pokin’ her soddin’ nose in where it’s not wanted.’ He kept his eyes on Linda. ‘Trying to tell me what to soddin’ do.’

‘I wasn’t.’ Linda kept her voice level even though she knew her hands were trembling. She clasped them behind her back. ‘If you’ll let me pass?’

He stayed in her way. ‘I’m not stopping you!’ But still he didn’t move.

She had to shuffle past him; the skin on her arm where it touched his seemed to tighten. Angry with herself, she closed the door with a firm click and stood next to it, breathing deeply. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself, she wouldn’t, aware of her heartbeat thudding in her ears. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands. The coolness of the wall eventually steadied her.

‘Nurse?’ The ward sister called to her from the nurses’ station. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Yes, Sister.’ What could she say? Instinctively she knew it would be Mrs Worth who’d bear the brunt of any fuss Linda made about her husband’s brutish behaviour. Yet she almost succumbed to tears at the concern in Sister Daniels’ voice. Linda pushed herself upright and crossed the main ward, now filled with the babble of visitors. All ten beds had two visitors each, cooing over the babies and chatting excitedly to the mothers, all tucked tightly under taut covers. Looking over the top of the Sister’s head and blinking, Linda said, brightly, ‘I’ll go for my break now, if you don’t mind?’

Sister Lawson checked her watch. ‘Yes, all right. Don’t be late back. The meds will need to be sorted and as soon as visiting is over, I want the babies put in the nursery.’ She bent her head over some papers on the desk. ‘I want the ward settled down for the night earlier tonight. It was chaos until after ten last night.’

‘Yes, Sister.’ Glad to be able to escape, a few words were all Linda could manage. ‘Thank you, Sister.’

The rest-room was empty. She poured herself a strong cup of tea from the large teapot and used the remains of the milk from a bottle in cold water in the sink. The tea was stewed but still quite warm. She sank into the sagging armchair by the window, rested her head against the back and gazed through the glass. It was windy; the sky had that luminous grey quality of a chilly evening and the branches of the beech trees swung away from the shelter of the hospital.

A bluebottle hit one of the panes, crawled around the frame, silent and then frantically buzzing again and again. It was like the nightmare. Just when she thought it had stopped it started all over again. She stood and pulled up the sash window and waited until the bluebottle crawled over the sill and disappeared. If only the bad dream would do the same. She held on to the beige curtains cursing the man who somehow had caused the nightmares to return. She’d dealt with bullying husbands before in her job. For God’s sake, she’d even faced up to Uncle Patrick, when he was in one of his rages that always seemed to come from nowhere. She wasn’t soft. So what was it about Harriet Worth’s husband that upset her so much?

The door opened. Linda turned with a start. Two junior nurses stopped at the sight of her, their laughing trailing away. ‘Sorry, Nurse Booth.’

‘No worries, girls, I was just leaving.’ Linda smiled at them. She rinsed her cup and hurried back to the ward with only a minute before her official break ended.

In the drug-storage room she kept herself busy by preparing the trolley for the evening round of medication. She knew she was really only waiting for the bell to mark the end of visiting-time.

When it sounded she breathed a sigh of relief. She pushed the door almost closed so that she wasn’t visible to the stream of visitors leaving the ward.

But she couldn’t mistake the loud voice. Once George Worth had passed the room she opened the door and watched him leave. He had his arm around the girl’s waist and was chatting to another man.

Just before they left the ward, Linda heard him say, ‘Look at me, walking out of here with such a pretty young lady.’

She saw him look down at his stepdaughter. ‘Now, how about I get you some fish and chips?’ The girl shook her head as she quickened her pace and, shoulders stooped, pushed past the people in front of her.

As though she couldn’t wait to get away from him, Linda thought.

All at once the fear took over. She couldn’t feel her body, only the beating of her heart. Her breathing quickened and her legs buckled. She flailed her arm behind her, feeling for a solid surface to hold on to. Not able to find one – she slumped to the floor; her head drooped between her knees.

The years that had piled one on top of the last, hiding the memory, were swept away.

It couldn’t be. Could it…?

Chapter 18: Linda Booth & Nelly Shuttleworth

Ashford, morning: Sunday, September 21st

On impulse Linda stayed on the bus until it reached the top of Barnes Street.

Hearing George Worth’s words, as he had left the ward, had brought the bitter sourness to her throat. She’d pushed through the flood of people to get to the lavatory, gagging on the vomit, and dropped to her knees over the bowl in the first cubicle, retching.

The horror stayed with her throughout the night shift.
Don’t think about it
, she’d thought, changing bloodied sheets for a new mother.
Don’t think about it,
giving a night feed to a crying new born.
Don’t think about it
, handing out painkillers and filling out reports. But it had been no use. The memories of a wet stinking tunnel, a cold damp stone floor, the smell of a dirty hand over her mouth, a man coughing and wheezing, the rasp of a rusty bolt, wouldn’t go away. And then the sour smell of urine. Her urine. And the pain as her head hit the ground. The shock. The panic of seeing only blackness.