Chapter 16: Richard Schormann & Karen Worth

Ashford, evening: Friday, September 19th

Richard was furious with Victoria for driving Mum and Dad mad. She always caused trouble when things weren’t going her way, kicking against everything, taking anyone and everyone on just for the fun of it: at home, in school. Mae hi’n dwp. Stupid. Always jealous of him. And she didn’t need to be, she was welcome to all the attention – leave him out of it.

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.’