Chapter 23: Mary & Peter Schormann

Llamroth, afternoon: Monday, September 22nd

‘So, Richard is through the first interview and is happy. And you have spoken to Jacqueline.’ Peter knew Mary had hardly slept since Victoria left. It worried him; there were dark shadows under her eyes and her skin sagged with weariness. ‘Do you feel better now?’

‘Perhaps. I’m not sure.’ Mary stood up, the action making her slightly light-headed. Even though it was mid-afternoon she was still not dressed. Her dressing-gown was tied tight around her waist. She clutched the collar of it close to her neck with one hand. ‘He did sound happy, didn’t he?’ He hadn’t mentioned Victoria at all. Did he really not know where she’d gone? She dismissed the thought. Richard had always been an honest lad, even when it got him into trouble. She bit her lip. ‘Jacqueline said she’d ring later.’

‘Did you tell her I have talked to the police in Pont-y-Haven? That they are looking for her here?’

‘Yes.’ There was desperation in Mary’s eyes. ‘You heard me … I said that. But I do think Victoria might be making her way to Ashford for some reason. Where else does she know except around here and Ashford, Peter? She’s been nowhere else without us, has she? That’s why I wanted to speak to Jacqueline.’ Mary twisted her fingers together. ‘I can’t think of anything else to do.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She wasn’t able to talk; I think there was someone there.’ Mary moved to be close to him, trying to take strength from his warmth. He folded her in his arms, resting his cheek on her head nestled against him. Mary could hear the ectopic beat of his heart and silently counted in the pauses between the rapid flutterings and the stronger single beats. She increased her grip, aware how much she still needed, depended on him. Loved him. He didn’t deserve all this extra worry.

‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ she whispered. ‘We’ve tried everything … everywhere – her college, the friends we know about.’

‘We can only hope, Liebling.’ Peter looked over her shoulder to the window. The sky was a steely grey. ‘Would you like to go out for fresh air?’

‘In this?’ Mary shivered. ‘Where’s the summer gone all at once?’ She’d listened to the unusually strong wind develop overnight and there was still no sign of it subsiding. Across the road the branches of the trees whipped against each other.

‘You haven’t been outside for almost a week.’

‘I need to be here, in case Victoria telephones.’

‘A short walk along the sea-front?’ Peter said. ‘Before the evening surgery? Gelert needs the exercise.’

At the sound of his name the dog came out of his basket.

‘See…? He is ready.’ Peter went into the porch and took Mary’s coat and scarf from the stand. ‘Run, get dressed. If you are wrapped up, you will be warm.’

When she came back downstairs he helped her into her coat and waited until she fastened her scarf before taking the lead from the hook on the back door. ‘We will be only a little while.’

‘Ten minutes?’

‘Ten minutes,’ he promised.

The tide was in; waves rose high, roaring fast towards the shore, dragging and churning the pebbles, rolling small boulders. Further over, they crashed against the cliffs where seabirds huddled in the crevices and ledges.

‘This is ridiculous, Peter.’ They were following the curve of the road leaning into the wind. The cold spray stung Mary’s face. ‘Let’s go back.’ She worried they might be missing a call from Victoria. ‘I can’t tell where the sea ends and the sky begins.’ They stopped. Mary peered past him to stare towards the horizon.

‘It is a stronger wind than I thought it was.’ Peter pulled the collar of his raincoat higher and clamped his hand down on his trilby, taking short wheezing gasps of breath that hurt his throat and jaw. ‘This was not so good an idea. We should turn back.’ He coughed and wiped his hand over his eyes.

In that moment the wind took his hat. Mary snatched at it but it scudded along the wall in a kind of dance before whirling high in the air until, squinting against the torrent of rain, she couldn’t see it any more. ‘Damn!’

Peter coughed again.

‘Peter? Are you all right?’ Mary searched his face. He was grey, a thin line of white around his mouth.

It began to rain, long heavy spurts of water.

‘Peter?’

Peter staggered, the wind battering him. Then then he bent forward and vomited, falling to his knees, palms flat on the floor.

‘Lie down.’ Mary supported him as he rolled onto his side. She took off her scarf and pushed it under his head, then loosened his collar. His eyes were closed, he was moaning. ‘You’ll be all right, love. Look at me.’ He didn’t. She pulled her coat off, covered him with it. ‘Peter?’

‘Es ist Zeit?’

‘Time for what, sweetheart?’ She couldn’t make out his next words. ‘Bleib ruhig, Peter,’ she said. ‘Stay still.’ Holding on to him, she looked around; there was no one in sight. She cursed their stupidity in being out in such atrocious weather. Why had she agreed to it?

For the first time in years, she prayed.