Chapter 86: Mary Schormann

Ashford: Monday, November 3rd

‘Nelly? It’s Mary.’

There was no answering shout. Mary peered through the pitted brass letterbox one last time, then straightened up, letting go of the flap. She tried one more time, banging on the knocker before going to the old bay window and cupping her hands around her face to look in.

A group of Asian children had gathered in curiosity around the Hillman Minx. One, an older boy of about thirteen, bounced a ball on the ground, skilfully balancing it on his foot every now and then.

‘You okay, missus?’ he called. ‘Missus Nelly okay?’

Mary barely glanced at him. She didn’t answer. ‘I’m going round the back,’ she said to Ted, who stood by the driver’s door. ‘Linda’s probably just lost track of the time.’

‘Want me to come with you?’

‘No.’ Mary looked at the children, who were surrounding the car, touching the mirrors, rubbing their sleeves along the bonnet. She didn’t want one of them damaging Peter’s car. ‘You stay here, I won’t be a minute.’ She hid her uneasiness about the silence from inside the house. ‘They’re probably chatting in the back.’

She needn’t have worried about the car, because the children followed her along the back lane at the back of the houses. At the gate of number four she felt over the top for the bolt. It was already slid back.

She crossed the yard. ‘Nelly? Linda? It’s me, Mary. Linda, we’ll have to get a move on if we want to get to Llamroth before dark.’ Oh, how she needed to be home. How she equally dreaded being there without Peter.

For a moment the vision of Peter’s body being loaded onto a hearse to be driven to Llamroth flashed through her mind. She blocked it out. Don’t think. Don’t think.

At the back door, Mary hesitated, her skin prickled; there was something wrong, it was too quiet. ‘Nelly? Are you there?’ She glanced back at the open gate. The children were crowded around, the tallest lad was peering over their heads. For a moment Mary and he had eye-contact and then he looked back along the lane.

‘I’ll get someone,’ he said.

Mary gave a brief nod then stepped inside the kitchen.

‘Nelly?’

She listened. Nothing. She crossed to go to the stairs but something was wrong in the room. She looked around. That was it: the cellar door was open. The prickle on her skin increased. She walked slowly towards it.

It was too dark. At first she couldn’t see anything beyond the first three steps. Then her vision cleared and she saw them. The scream stuck in her throat. She grabbed the door-frame. ‘Linda? Nelly?’ Her voice came out as a croak. There was someone else there, lying half under Nelly, but couldn’t make the figure out.

‘What’s happened?’

The voice behind her made Mary jump. She fell against the wall, turning away from the cellar. Two Asian men stood in the middle of the kitchen. By the back door were three women in saris. One of them was holding back the crowd of children.

‘I’m Arun.’ The man nearest to Mary spoke. ‘I’m a neighbour. Is it Nelly?’

‘Yes.’ This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after … Peter’s still form imprinted itself on her mind. Mary squeezed her eyes tight, forcing it away.

‘She’s hurt?’ Arun’s face was anxious.

‘I think she’s dead.’ Mary heard her voice from far away, her mouth dry, sour.

One of the women screamed, held her hands over her face. Some of the smaller children began to cry.

‘My niece … Linda … is there as well. And someone else. They’re all so still. I don’t know what’s happened.’

‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ the other man said. ‘But we need to go down there. See if we can help.’

‘No, I can’t.’ Mary stumbled backwards but she couldn’t let go of the door-frame.

Gentle hands prised her fingers from the wood. ‘Not you,’ Arun said. ‘We’ll go. You need to sit down.’

She was led to Nelly’s armchair in front of the old range, a woman at each elbow.

A glass was pushed into her hands. The water spilled over, cold in her lap. She stared blindly at the spreading stain. On her red coat it looked like blood.

Sounds hurt her ears: the grit under the feet of the men going down the cellar steps, the sobs of the woman, the muttering of the children, the soft shifting of coal and ashes in the fireplace.

‘Mary?’ Ted pushed his way through the increasing crowd in the back yard, followed by the boy with the football. He wasn’t carrying the ball any-more. Mary vaguely wondered where he’d dropped it.

‘Ted.’ She half stood. But he gently pushed her back and knelt at the side of her.

‘What’s happened?’ He looked bewildered, stared around at all the neighbours. ‘The boy says Nelly’s hurt? In the cellar?’

Linda. She had to tell him about Linda. But even as the thought came to her, Arun and the other man were struggling up the steps supporting Linda between them. They shouldn’t have moved her, Mary thought, even as she gasped at the sight of her niece. The vomit rose up in her throat and she clamped her fingers over her mouth. Ted launched himself from the floor to catch hold of his daughter.

Linda’s face was so battered it was almost impossible to recognise her. One eye was closed. A long cut on her forehead sliced across her eyebrow. Blood congealed around her nose and cheeks. Blood and saliva bubbled from her swollen lips. She groaned as Ted laid her carefully on the carpet, grabbing the cushion Mary handed to him and putting it under Linda’s head.

‘Who did this?’ He didn’t attempt to brush away the tears as he looked around.

‘There is a man down there as well. I think he’s dead.’ Arun had taken off his coat and was carrying it towards the cellar. ‘Nelly’s still alive though. But she’s in a bad way. I’ll cover her with this.’

‘A man?’ Mary stared at Ted. As soon as the confusion cleared on his face she knew he was thinking the same as her.

‘George Shuttleworth.’