Chapter 76: Mary Schormann

Ashford, morning: Tuesday, October 21st

Mary rested her hand on the lichen-covered pillar at the end of the drive and stared towards the large grey stone house, a whole range of conflicting emotions rippling through her: fear, anger, apprehension. She took in a long quivering breath. It looked like an old rectory with the large bay windows. Three long steps led up to a porch and double doors. Ironic that such an evil man was now living there.

A car passed behind her on the lane and she jumped, glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the black Jaguar again. Putting her hand to her throat she steadied her breathing, looking down at the ground. There were curved marks in the gravel as though the large gates were often closed, but today they were pushed back against the low walls that separated the lawns from the drive. George Shuttleworth could be out. What if his wife answered the door? Mary hadn’t prepared for that. Stupid, she berated herself; what would she say?

She looked back at the house, studying each window. There was no sign that anyone was at home but the thick white net curtains could have hidden anyone behind them.

The gravel crunched under her feet, echoed in her head as she marched to the front door. If he was inside, if he was watching her, if he even recognised her after all this time, she was determined to show no fear.

She needn’t have bothered; the slack-jawed shock on his face told her she was the last person he expected to see standing in front of him. His expression tensed, his eyes narrowed.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

Mary had practised what she was going to say from the second she knew this moment would come. She’d gone over and over it as she drove from Henshaw Street, parked the Hillman Minx further down the lane and pulled on the handbrake. Each time she stopped to read the names of the large houses she recited her speech.

But now, faced with the man she’d hated for so long she couldn’t get the words out.

‘Well? What do you want?’

‘I’ve met your step-daughter, Karen,’ Mary said, her voice husky.

She saw him half turn to look behind him, ‘Where is she?’ His voice was abrasive, coarse ‘Where’s she hiding?’

‘She’s perfectly safe.’ Mary swallowed; that wasn’t how she’d intended to start. ‘I hoped I’d never see you again,’ she continued, ‘but it was inevitable you’d crawl out from under your stone sometime.’

The skin of his face blotched; his top lip drew back over an uneven row of teeth.

Mary forced herself to speak again. ‘My son and Karen are seeing one another.’

‘Over my dead body.’ The knuckles on his fisted hands whitened.

Mary raised one shoulder, ignoring the threat. ‘It was as much as a shock for me and Peter to find out who she was—’

‘Where is the Kraut then?’ George Shuttleworth cut in, peering over her head, balancing on his toes and moving from side to side in an exaggerated fashion. ‘Oh, I see, nowhere,’ he jeered. ‘Too much of a coward to come with you?’

‘He doesn’t know I’m here.’ As soon as she spoke Mary realised her mistake. He took a step towards her, locked his bloodshot eyes on hers. She didn’t move, even though she could feel the panic tighten her scalp. ‘Think yourself lucky he’s not with me,’ she managed to say.

He smiled, casually leant against the wall of the porch, his thumbs jammed into his trouser-pockets. ‘I’m scared!’ He pretended to shiver. ‘So fuckin’ scared.’

‘I’ve come to tell you…’ Mary lifted her chin. ‘You hurt one hair on Richard’s head and I will make sure you go to prison. I will tell the police how you killed Tom. How I saw you run him down in cold blood.’

‘And how you were the only witness … hmm? Of this so-called killing?’ He looked into the hall of the house behind him and lowered his voice. ‘How long ago? Nearly twenty years? And no proof?’ he mocked. ‘I don’t think they’d be interested, somehow.’

He straightened up and, with the flat of his hand, pushed Mary, following her as she stumbled backwards down the steps. The heel of her shoe turned on the gravel, twisting her ankle. Despite the sudden pain she kept her face impassive, instinct telling her he would do no more than this – not in front of his own house.

‘Your fuckin’ brother died because he murdered Frank.’

‘Tom didn’t kill Frank.’ She’d said it without thinking, a subconscious denial. As soon as she’d spoken his eyes became slits. For a moment everything became still and quiet. ‘I mean…’

‘Yeah, what do you mean? Huh?’

She couldn’t think. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. ‘I didn’t…’ she couldn’t breathe for the fear filling up in her.

‘So?’ He stroked his forefinger along the side of his nose. ‘Tom didn’t kill Frank.’ It was a statement, an awareness of the truth. ‘But, looking at you, you know who did.’

‘No, I…’ Mary stepped back as he closed in.

With a slight movement of his shoulders, he said, ‘Don’t matter to me – must have been one of you by my reckoning. Getting rid of one bastard Howarth is one less anyway.’

He caught her arm as she swung her hand towards his face, his grip viciously pinching her skin.

‘What is it they say? “An eye for an eye”? Well, maybe killing one of you isn’t enough. Maybe I’ll want more. Something different, after all your lot did to me.’ Still holding her arm, he was so close his face was almost touching hers. ‘Your niece has grown up to be a looker. Bit different from that skinny kid I last saw. Looks like she could be some fun now. Hmm?’

Mary tried to steady herself by filling her lungs with air. Jerking her arm away, she forced herself to stay so close to him. She gritted her teeth. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

It was as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘And didn’t I hear somewhere you had a girl as well? How old will she be? Seventeen? Eighteen? Oh – now, didn’t I hear you had twins? So same age as that bastard son of yours. Good age to start learning the facts of life.’

‘Leave my family alone.’

‘Well, you see, I can’t do that. Now your son has taken my stepdaughter off me, it’s reminded me of everything else I’ve lost.’

‘Then be prepared to lose more.’ Mary’s breath came in shallow gasps, her head swam. ‘I’m not the only one who knows what you did,’ she said. ‘Your mother has nothing to lose by telling the truth. She knows you killed Tom. You told her. Remember?’

‘The old cow still alive then?’ He looked shocked, but gave a low laugh. ‘Don’t go near that crummy side of town any more so wouldn’t know one way or the other.’ He pulled his mouth into a sneer. ‘Still, I’m bloody amazed.’

‘She is, and, believe me, she’s not afraid of you.’ As soon as she’d said that Mary knew it was a mistake. She listened in dismay to his next words

‘Well, she should be. You tell her that.’

Mary straightened up, lifted her chin and met his eyes. ‘I promise you this,’ she said. ‘Touch my son, harm anyone in my family, any of my friends, including your mother … and I will kill you.’

The silence between them was dense with hatred.

Then George Shuttleworth laughed. He patted her cheek. ‘You can fuck off now,’ he said. ‘Go on, on your way. You’ve had your say.’

Despite the pain in her ankle Mary walked firmly to the end of the drive. She went cold when, as she turned on to the road, he called out, almost casually. ‘But watch your back. That goes for the rest of your bloody family, too.’