Pattern of Shadows (4 page)

The room was filled with muted sounds until, amid groans from the others, one of the men playing cards laughed loudly and thumped on top of the barrel. With one sweep
of his arm he gathered the pile of pennies towards him. There was a general shuffling and scraping as the bar stools were shifted and the men stood up. One of them stretched his arms out to the side of him and yawned irritably, raising his flat cap above his head between his thumb and forefinger and rubbing his scalp with the heel of his hand. ‘Bloody sick of all this hanging about night after night,’ he declared.

There was a general murmur of agreement.

‘Well, Jim, nothing we can do about it.’ The landlord sat up, his head cocked to one side. ‘Shurrup a minute, I can hear something.’ They listened. Someone was banging on the pub’s front door. Then, from above them, on the trap door, there was a loud thumping and a male voice shouted urgently, ‘Hello, is there anyone down there? Landlord? We need to use your shelter.’

Sighing, Stan struggled to his feet and, with the side of his boot, pushed the tin box he had been sitting on towards his wife.

‘Here, look after this, Betty, and watch it, I’ve counted it all.’

‘Cheeky bugger,’ she said.

They listened to him cross the floor of the bar and pull back the heavy rasp of the bolts on the door, suddenly aware of the louder drone of aeroplanes.

‘They seem pretty close tonight,’ one woman whispered and was instantly hushed. Everyone waited, glad of a diversion to the boredom, curious to see who would come down the steps.

A young couple clattered down, followed by Stan, shaking his head in disapproval. ‘Mary?’ he called to her, indicating the girl with his thumb.

‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, ‘Ellen.’ Her instinctive reaction to protect her sister was swamped by mortification. The man, a GI, was supporting her, his arm around her waist. She lolled against him, giggling softly. The American removed his cap and confidently greeted his silent audience. ‘Sorry folks. We’ve been dancing in Bradlow and I was walking my girl here home when the sirens went. I don’t know these parts too well, so a warden pointed us in the right direction. Anyway, we’ll just sit down over there, out of everybody’s way.’ As he guided Ellen, he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Thanks again, landlord. I’m sure grateful to you.’

Stan grunted. The man called Jim spoke loudly, ‘You should be bloody ashamed of yourself, flashing your cash and getting the lass in that state. Bloody ashamed.’ There were murmurs of agreement.

The landlord’s wife folded her arms under her sagging bosom. ‘Disgraceful,’ she said through pursed lips.

Unconcerned, the American half-carried Ellen towards the far end of the room to where the dusty crates were stacked. She stumbled over the two young women and shrieked with laughter. ‘Whoops, mind out.’

They pushed her away angrily.

‘Just watch it, stupid cow.’

‘Clear off.’

Ellen lurched sideways and grabbed a barrel. It tilted, the contents sloshing and the two girls yelled in alarm.

The soldier reached out and steadied it. ‘Come on, honey, let’s get you sitting down.’ She fell against the wall and slid down on to the floor.

‘Just settle down, now,’ Stan said. He gave Mary another glance; he obviously thought she should do
something about Ellen. When she didn’t, he shrugged and raised his voice. ‘They seem to have hit Manchester badly, again. It’ll be a rotten morning for that lot.’

Mary stared at her sister, anger vying with shame. She saw the soldier stroke her sister’s face with a forefinger, lifting her chin so he could kiss her whilst his other hand came slowly to rest over Ellen’s breast. ‘Ellen!’ Shocked into action, Mary now launched herself across the cellar. ‘You dirty beggar, that’s my sister.’ The American lifted an arm above his head as Mary lashed out at him. ‘She’s eighteen, not old enough to drink and look at her. Get your hands off her.’

‘Bloody Yanks!’ Frank, using the wall for support, struggled to his feet, but Stan was there first.

‘Now, now, Mary, enough of that.’ He held on to her arm. ‘I said enough, lass.’

‘It’s OK, Mr Green.’ Mary shook him off. ‘I’ll see to her.’

Ellen opened her eyes. ‘Mary, what are you doing here?’ She squinted upwards. ‘Al?’ Between them Mary and Frank dragged the protesting girl to her feet. Everyone watched, enjoying the drama. ‘Get off me, Mary, give over.’ She glowered at Frank, ‘Take your hands off me. Al?’

The soldier shrugged, holding out his hands in defeat. ‘Sorry, babe.’

The noise woke up the old woman and she broke wind. There were groans all around and one of the men who had been playing cards shouted at her, ‘Oi, behave Martha, the air’s bad enough in here without your help.’ Frank manoeuvred past her and they sat down next to the publican.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Mary said, mortified. ‘Mam’ll go spare when she sees her.’

‘As long as she knows she didn’t get like that here, love,’ the woman said. ‘We don’t want any trouble. It’s hard enough making a living out of the business these days without the bobbies coming down on us.’

Mary glared over at the American, who tipped his cap over his eyes, folded his arms and slouched against the wall.

Frank touched her arm. ‘I’ll help you to get her home.’

She nodded. Ellen’s snores prevented more conversation. Eventually, one arm around her sister, Mary also fell asleep. When the all clear siren howled it was turned midnight.

They stumbled out of the cellar into the darkness supporting Ellen between them. ‘I’ll see you two home before I go to work,’ Frank said. ‘They’ll understand why I’m late with that lot going on tonight.’

‘Thanks, I’d appreciate that.’

The roads were quiet, blackly damp from the earlier rain. Musky smoke wafted through the air. They heard the rattle of bells and, in the distance, a dull orange glow contrasted against the dark clouds that had reappeared. A dog barked, a frantic yapping that culminated in a howl. Soon its call was picked up by another and another until the night was filled with canine distress.

‘Listen to those dogs,’ Mary said, glad to break the awkward silence between them. She stopped, the weight of her sister dragging on her arm.

‘Here, give her to me.’

‘I could murder her. I bet you wish you’d just gone for a pint on your own.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

Mary relinquished the sagging figure as Frank bent down and scooped Ellen up into his arms.

‘Can you manage?’

‘Course.’

The noise from the dogs rose into a crescendo. ‘Poor things,’ Mary said.

‘Like dogs?’ Frank’s words were clipped with the pain in his knee.

‘Yes, we’ve never had one, though. Dad hates them.’

‘I had one when I was in France. Skipper, I called him.’ Stopping to hitch Ellen closer to his chest, he
half-turned
towards Mary. ‘Little black and white spaniel. Brought him back with me hidden under my blanket on the stretcher. When we landed back in Southampton they took him away. Told me they were going to put him in quarantine but I found out they’d put him down in case he carried rabies. Bastards!’

‘That’s awful!’

‘Aye, well, it was only a dog.’ They fell silent as they walked past the large shadow of the church.

Mary pointed across the road. ‘There’s a short cut just past the cemetery, through Skirm.’ They entered the local park, gateless since the early days of the war, and slowly made their way along the paths. The moon, previously hovering behind the skein of clouds, now hazily revealed itself and the stark branches of the trees were etched against the fuzzy disc of pale lemon. Mary gazed upwards. ‘Good job the moon wasn’t out when the raid was on.’

When they reached the park lake, she could hear the small rowing boats rubbing together as they swayed and
the water slapping against the wooden platform where they were tied up. ‘Tom, my elder brother, used to take me on the boats all the time when I was a kid,’ she said.

Frank looked surprised. ‘He’s not at home now, though?’

‘No.’ Mary wavered. She almost told him about Tom, then didn’t. She wasn’t ashamed of her brother but she didn’t know Frank. He seemed kind enough, despite his earlier cockiness; look what he was doing for her now. But still…

‘How old is he?’

‘Thirty-four, twelve years older than me.’

Frank raised his eyebrows.

‘Mam was … Mam was married before.’ So? she thought, a white lie, so what?

He pointed to the wooden bench at the side of the path. ‘Do you want to sit there for a minute?’

She glanced at Ellen whose head rested against his shoulder. A strand of blonde hair had fallen over her face and Mary tucked it behind her ear.

Ellen flailed a hand in the air and wriggled irritably. ‘Stop it.’

Mary sighed. ‘No, it’ll still be wet from the rain. Anyway, we’d better get her home. Put her down now, Frank, let’s see if she can walk.’ Although in the shadows, she could still see the strain on his face, the tightness of his lips, and Mary fumed at the situation Ellen had put her in. She spoke sharply, ‘Come on you, try walking.’ She patted her sister’s arm. ‘Come on, stand up.’

Pausing twice while Ellen heaved up the result of her night out, they made their way through the park. Mary tried to ignore the occasional stifled sounds of lovemaking
in the darkness. When Frank joked, ‘God, they must be desperate in this cold,’ she felt her face grow hot and didn’t answer him and there was no more talk between them until they reached the back alleyway at the top of Greenacre Street.

‘I can manage, now,’ Mary said. ‘I don’t know how I would have got her home if you hadn’t been there.’ The thought entered her mind that under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have been in the pub either. She shuddered. Who knows what would have happened to Ellen then. She had a lot to thank Frank for.

‘Good job we were, eh?’ It was almost as if he’d read her mind.

‘I’m very grateful, thanks.’ She held out her hand.

He propped Ellen against the wall as though she was a sack of coal, took hold of Mary’s fingers and then kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sure you can manage her?’

‘Yes, sure, thanks again.’ She could tell he was watching them as they trod cautiously over the cobbles. At the gate, she glanced backwards. She could just make him out, his shoulders level with the top of the yards walls on either side of him. ‘Goodnight.’ He didn’t reply but raised one hand. Mary shoved the Ellen between the shoulder blades. ‘Get in, you.’ A small bank of cloud drifted across the face of the moon and the terraced houses on both sides closed in on her.

Mary grabbed hold of the crossbar on the gate and lifted it open. Swinging her sister by the arm towards the lavatory, she said, ‘Get in there and have a pee. I’m not coming back out here again with you. And if you think you’re going to be sick again, stop in there until you’ve finished.’ She pulled at the door.

‘Don’t close it, our Mary. I can’t see what I’m doing.’ Ellen’s voice wavered and, for a second, Mary felt sorry for her, but then remembered the humiliation she had put her through.

‘Just get a move on, I’m freezing, thanks to you.’ She leant against the yard wall, tucking her hands up into the sleeves of her coat and ignoring the snuffling coming out of the small building. Above her, the sky imperceptibly lightened. The yard was half in blackness. Next door’s wall cast a long straight shadow and on the divide of the muted light and darkness Mary could see water pooled around the grid, a layer of scum around the edges: the residue of Winifred’s washing day. ‘Have you done?’

Ellen appeared, holding onto the doorframe. ‘I’m sorry, Mary, I don’t know what …’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s get you in the house.’

She heard the click of the latch on the back door. A pale flickering light filtered out onto the flags.

‘Is that you, Mary? I’m worried, Ellen isn’t home yet.’

‘It’s all right, Mam, we’re both here. Just close the door before the warden sees; he’ll be on his rounds now. We’ll be in, in a moment.’

When the two girls crossed the yard. Mary held the door open just enough for her sister to get through into the kitchen.

‘I’ve been ironing, I couldn’t sleep.’ Winifred had her back to them and was standing on the small three-legged stool as she unscrewed the connection of the iron from the flex on the ceiling and re-fitted the light bulb. Holding onto the edge of the table, she stepped down awkwardly on to the floor. ‘I was worried when the sirens went and
you both were still out. You said you’d be home by ten, Mary.’

‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry.’ Mary flicked the switch and blinked against the brightness. A thin stream of black smoke rose upwards from the old-fashioned gas mantles above the fireplace. She crossed the kitchen and turned them off. ‘You could damage your eyes trying to iron by the light of these things.’

‘Well, at least I don’t notice the creases.’ Winifred turned around as she spoke. ‘And Ellen, you’ve got work in the …’ A tired frown trammelled her forehead. ‘She’s drunk!’

‘She is,’ Mary said shortly.

Ellen swayed, attempting to take off her coat. Failing, she flopped onto the kitchen chair by the back door and pushing against the heel of one shoe with the toe of the other, she forced it off her foot. All three women stared as it flipped up and then skidded across the kitchen floor.

‘How did she get like this? She’s eighteen. She’s not even old enough to go in a pub.’

‘It’s a long story, Mam.’ Mary hauled Ellen out of the chair and took off her coat, throwing it on top of the pile of ironed clothes on the table before pushing her towards the stairs. Ellen wobbled as she ducked through the curtain. ‘Let me get her to bed.’