Chapter 45: Mary Schormann

Llamroth, morning: Tuesday, September 30th

Mary clipped the hedge in the back garden, breathing in the sharp lemony smell of cut privet. In the last two weeks everything had been neglected: weeds had taken over the vegetable patch, the sparrows had decimated the beetroot and the greenhouse badly needed clearing out for the winter. Tom would be furious if he could see the state I’ve let everything get into, she thought. Yet, even as the easy tears came, she knew she was wrong. Her brother would have understood; he was one of the calmest men she’d ever known.

She let the shears dangle at her side, gazing across the fields towards the churchyard wreathed in the early morning autumn mist, where Tom had lain for such a long time in a grave next to those of Iori and Gwyneth. And near to their own mother. Four people gone from her life. And now Victoria. Her shoulders shook with the effort of stopping herself wailing out loud. She forced deep mouthfuls of air into her lungs and lifted the front of her cardigan to wipe her eyes with. Pull yourself together, she told herself. Don’t fall apart again; she’d done enough of that in the first days of Victoria running away. Peter had been strong for her then; she’d be strong for him now. Another convulsion ran through her; what if she’d lost him as well? What if, on that morning last week he’d – she couldn’t even think of that word – if he’d … gone, lying on the road by the sea?

She turned her back on the fields and surveyed the cottage, her eyes lingering on the curtained window of the bedroom where Peter lay, hopefully still asleep this early in the day. What would he say when she told him about Linda’s revelation? The thought was so fleeting it was dismissed before it was even acknowledged; she wouldn’t tell him. This was something she would deal with on her own. Well, almost. Out of an age-old habit her silent questions were directed to her brother and she wondered what he would have advised her to do about the present situation; Richard bumping into George Shuttleworth’s stepdaughter, falling in love with her. It took only seconds for Mary to know. A great believer in being true to himself, Tom would tell her to face up to what had to be done.

She thought back to yesterday. She’d been so shocked by what Linda had said she’d let silence be her answer when her niece had asked her if she was all right. The news that Shuttleworth was once more in their lives was too much. Fear had taken over, but she’d waved away Linda’s concern. Now Mary felt ashamed of her reaction; her niece had confided her own fears, her own nightmares and hadn’t been comforted. Instead Mary had avoided being alone with Linda for the rest of the day.

A movement through the kitchen window caught her attention. Linda was up. They waved to one another. Evidently there was no resentment, and Mary let the relief settle her troubled mind. At one point in the night she’d had a sudden thought; if she knew that George Shuttleworth was a danger, how much more did Linda know? Had Ted and Ellen told her the whole story, the whole truth of what happened twenty-five years ago? Mary needed to find out.

Linda came to the back door. ‘Tea?’ She lifted a mug.

Mary nodded. ‘Please.’ She kept her voice low; she didn’t want to wake Peter. And it was better that Richard didn’t hear what she and Linda had to talk about.

She put the shears inside the door of the small garden shed, throwing down her gloves next to them.

When her niece finally walked along the path towards the bench on the small patch of lawn, Mary had formed the questions in her mind. She shielded her eyes against the low sun and smiled as she took the tea and leaned back. ‘Sorry about yesterday, love,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry about it, Auntie, I could tell it was a shock. And I know how I felt when I found out.’

‘You know then?’

‘About who he is? Yes. I think I almost knew it the first time I saw him at the hospital. Well, I realised he scared me for some reason and eventually I worked out why.’

‘No, I mean do you know all of it?’ Mary held the mug near her chin, breathing in the steam, watching tea-leaves floating on the surface. Her attention was pulled back by Linda’s quiet words.

‘Mum and Dad told me. I don’t know if it was everything, but enough to know there could be trouble.’ Linda took a tentative sip of the hot tea and grimaced as it burnt her lips. She balanced the mug on the arm of the bench. ‘Not just for Richard and Karen, for all of us. She’s staying with Jackie by the way … Karen I mean. She’s left home.’

‘Oh good grief, it gets worse.’ Mary couldn’t stop the words. ‘Okay.’ She looked towards the house. Still no sign of anyone stirring. ‘You tell me what you know … and I’ll fill in the rest.’ Now she’d decided what to do, maybe she could think of her next step. For now, her anxiety about Victoria’s whereabouts would have to be pushed to the back of her mind. For now, it was Richard she needed to protect.

By the time Linda had finished there was little that Mary needed to add. What she did say involved Linda’s gran. ‘What did Nelly say when you first told her about seeing George at the hospital?’

‘Nothing. But I saw a change in her,’ Linda said. ‘I’d told her that one of the husbands was horrible and he scared me.’ She gave a quiet chuckle. ‘You know what Gran’s like, I think she was ready to go in guns blazing. But when I described him … when I said what he looked like, she got upset. And then she wouldn’t tell me why. She said I had to ask Mum and Dad.’

‘I don’t want you to ever blame your gran for not telling you.’

‘I don’t.’ Linda said. ‘She told me a long time ago that Mum didn’t want her talking about her family…’

‘She did.’ Mary chewed on the inside of her cheek, waiting, feeling the change in the air as the sun broke through the mist.

‘I didn’t understand … then … but Gran seemed okay with it, so I let it go.’ Linda looked down, picked at her thumbnail. ‘I understand now…’ she glanced up at Mary. ‘For her own son to do that … she must have always felt so bad.’ Linda closed her eyes. ‘Poor Gran.’

‘You’re a good girl, Linda.’ Mary hugged her. ‘You’ve always understood how other people feel.’ Unlike Victoria, lost in her world of grievances. ‘So you know … that it shouldn’t have been you … that he kidnapped … that he took you by mistake …?’

‘That it should have been Jackie, you mean?’ Linda said. ‘Yes, they told me that as well.’

Mary sighed. ‘It’s a bad business all round.’ She leaned back against the bench, leaving her arm across Linda’s shoulder. Somewhere in the village a dog barked, followed by a volley of answering barks from other dogs.

‘Yes…’ Linda’s voice trailed away.

She must know what Frank did, Mary thought. I should say something. But what if she doesn’t? What if I tell her and she didn’t know? ‘What is it, Linda?’

Linda put her hands in her lap, twisted her fingers. ‘I’ve always known who my real father was, Auntie Mary. Mum and Dad have always been honest about that.’ She sighed. ‘I mean, I knew he was called Frank and he was Gran’s eldest son.’ She glanced up and smiled at Mary. ‘I don’t know how she would have explained Gran to me otherwise.’

Mary returned the smile but she felt sick; she knew what was coming. The open door of the greenhouses swung gently, every now and then the glass catching the glint of the sun. ‘I’ll just close—’ she’d taken her arm off Linda’s shoulders and almost pushed herself up from the bench when Linda’s words stopped her.

‘I didn’t know what he’d done to you, Auntie.’ Linda’s face had taken on an odd colour. She looked queasy.

I wonder if I look as bad as she does. The thought ran through Mary’s mind as her legs gave way. ‘Oh.’ It was all she could say. She closed her eyes, sat down on the bench. Clasping Linda’s hands in hers, she whispered, ‘It was a lifetime ago, love. I don’t think about it much any more.’ She fought against the panic. Everything about her life that she’d carefully built up since that day was threatening to crumble in the effort of protecting Linda. Would they ever escape from the evil of the Shuttleworth brothers?

A seagull startled her as it landed with a screech and flurry on the path and strutted around, its yellow eyes watching them.

A thought made Mary shiver; she didn’t want the relationship between Nelly and Linda to be ruined. ‘It was never your gran’s fault. Nothing either of her sons did was her fault. She thinks the world of you, you know.’

‘I know, Auntie Mary.’

Mary sighed. ‘And I also know she feels she needs to make it up to both of us for what they did. Frank to me and George to you,’ she added. ‘She’ll never forgive herself for giving George an alibi. She must feel even worse now. If she’d given him up to the police there’s no way we be in this situation. Richard would probably never have met Karen.’

‘But, in a way, that would be a shame, Auntie Mary.’

‘I suppose.’ Or would it? They’d only known each other a couple of weeks. Plenty of time for mending broken hearts. There was little remorse in Mary at the thought; to have George Shuttleworth back in their lives was dragging up horrendous memories she’d believed they’d left behind forever.

They didn’t hear the sound of Richard’s footsteps.

‘That was quite a story, Lin.’ The words might have been addressed to her, but Richard’s eyes, cold and resentful, were fixed on his mother. ‘When were you going to tell me?’

The directness of his question took Mary aback. He couldn’t possibly have heard.

He answered her unspoken question. ‘Finally came in useful being deaf. I was watching you from my window.’ He tapped his mouth. ‘I can lip-read – remember?’