‘You have to go back to your husband, my girl, that’s what you need to do. Go back to your husband.’
‘What’s it got to do with you, you interfering old bag?’
‘He needs you in the shop. Patrick says you—’
‘Patrick says, Patrick says – he might rule your life but what makes you think I care what he says? The only brother whose opinion I cared about was—’
‘Tom’s? Well, m’lady, you kept that a good secret. From what I saw, you had no more time for him than the man on the moon. You’ve only ever done what you wanted. You’ve driven Mary mad in the past and here you are again. She’s enough to cope with living with that man in there. She’ll have the life of hell and all you can do is heap more trouble on her.’
‘That’s it!’ Mary flung the bedclothes off and felt around in the dark for her dressing gown.
Peter held her arm. ‘No, Liebling, it is of no matter.’
But it was. They’d listened to the strident voices of Jean and Ellen for the last five minutes and Mary sensed the growing tension in him.
‘No matter?’ The dreadful apathy that had protected her since Tom was killed was shattered by the triviality of Jean and Ellen’s squabbles. As always she was being forced to be peacemaker between them. ‘Of course it matters, Peter. They’re in our home and I won’t put up with it.’
The door opened and a ripple of light from the landing revealed the silhouettes of the two little girls. Although Linda was a few months older her head only just reached the shoulder of her cousin. She stood, thumb in her mouth, twiddling a lock of her hair around her finger of the other hand, cheeks wet with tears; the image of Ellen as a child, Jacqueline held on to her protectively, her solid square figure a miniature of Jean as she stood, feet placed firmly on the floor, fist on hip.
‘Our mummies are falling out.’ The words were accusing.
‘I know.’ Mary fastened her dressing gown. ‘They’re very naughty.’ She picked up Linda, feeling the quivering sobs as she held her close. Her hand firmly on the flat of Jacqueline’s back, she ushered them into their room. William, still asleep, looked so tiny in what had been Tom’s bed and for a moment there was a catch in her throat. ‘Come on now, settle down. Look after your brother, Linda. Jacqueline, I’m relying on you to see to both your cousins?’
Jacqueline nodded, her dark curls bobbing vigorously as she scrambled into bed. ‘I will.’ She stretched her plump little arms as far as she could past William and across the pillow, stroking the top of Linda’s head with her fingertips.
Such an old-fashioned little thing, Mary thought, stopping by the door to look back at the three children, so protective of Linda, always looking out for her. In spite of her anger she smiled. The two girls had their eyes screwed tightly as if in determined sleep.
Inside the other bedroom, where Ellen and Jean were forced to share the bed in Peter’s old room, the quarrel continued. Mary held the palm of her hand against her chest and took a deep breath before lifting the latch.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Mary closed the door behind her, forcing herself to whisper.
The curlers in Jean’s fringe wobbled as she lifted her head above the eiderdown. Her face glistened with the cold cream she used religiously each night.
‘Oh do come in, why don’t you?’ Ellen raised her arms above her head, fingers spread wide. ‘That’s all we need, the bloody cavalry.’ Grabbing the covers she flung herself over onto her side, her voice muffled when she next spoke. ‘Whatever you have to say, our Mary, it’ll have to wait till morning. I need my sleep.’
‘And so do your children,’ Mary said. ‘You woke both girls with your stupid row. They heard everything you said and so did we.’ She let that sink in. ‘Now, you need to go and make sure they’re all right.’ She held out the copy of My Naughty Little Sister that she’d picked up from the children’s room. ‘Perhaps one of you could read to the girls for a bit. And if you can possibly bear to stop thinking about your own feelings, maybe you could also tell them you’re sorry and explain how you had a silly little falling out?’ There was no answer and no movement. ‘As for your opinions about me and Peter, Jean, I’ll thank you to keep them to yourselves or, if you can’t do that, at least talk about it when we’re not here to listen.’ Jean didn’t answer. Mary hesitated. From the minute her sister-in-law had stepped off the train, there had been a sense that she was holding something back. ‘Jean?’
Jean turned her head away.
Mary opened the door. ‘You might have forgotten,’ she stifled the crack in her voice, ‘but we have a funeral to go to on Monday. So if you could keep off one another’s throats for the next two days, I’d be grateful. If not, I promise you this – both of you – either of you cause any bother and you’ll be sorry.’ Cold fury made her fingers clench the door handle, her knuckles white under the skin.
‘Sorry.’ Ellen did sound contrite but Mary was in no mood to hear it.
‘Just think on.’
Jean said nothing.
Mary left the overhead light on and the door open as she crossed the landing and went back into her room. ‘I can’t stand this,’ she said, tight-lipped. ‘I can’t…’
‘Try not to think about them, Liebling, try to sleep.’
‘They’re always the same. You’d think at their age…’ She left it unsaid. Both women had brought their troubles to her door when she had enough of her own. Sooner or later they would expect her to help them. Nothing changes she thought, slipping under the covers and fitting her body to his.
Since Tom’s death she’d dreaded night times. Mostly she just dozed, coming to with a sudden frightening start that jerked her whole body upright and covered her with sweat. And when she did finally sleep the dreams were horrific: broken bodies strewn across a road, blood running into gutters; Ellen, Peter, Jean, Jacqueline, all the members of her family, staring sightlessly at an ominous yellow and purple bruised sky, their arms somehow outstretched towards her. And then the road changed into a canal and she was pinned against a stone wall, unable to move, still helpless to help them. The same nightmare made her wake night after night.
‘Peter?’ She moved closer, his steady breathing calming her. She rested her hand on his shoulder and reached across to hold him, her fingers firm until she felt him throb and grow hard. He rolled over and gently lifted her nightdress over her head, wiped the tears with the pads of his thumbs. ‘I love you,’ she whispered, ‘I need you.’ She sat astride him, revelling in the closeness. From the dim slant of light under the door she saw him smile as he cupped her breasts.
‘I love you too,’ he said. ‘My Mary, ich liebe dich.’
His hands slid from her breasts, settled for a moment on her stomach and hovered before gently grasping her hips. He let her take the initiative and she was grateful, she wanted to feel in control. Slowly, slowly, she started to rise and fall, keeping her eyes on his, a slight smile on her open lips. As she felt the urge in him she responded, rocking her hips, swaying from side to side. She tightened herself on him and they moved together, slowly at first, their breathing synchronised, and then with more urgency. ‘Ich liebe dich, mein Schatz,’ Mary gasped. Then words became impossible.