‘So, Ted arrived then?’ Jean stood by the parlour window looking out at the front garden.
‘Yes, while you were out with Jacqueline.’ Mary dried the last plate and piled it on top of the others in the wall cupboard. Exhausted by the sleepless hours, the sick worry about the little girl’s revelation, she pressed her fingers to her temples. Folding the tea towel she came out of the kitchen. ‘Let’s sit down. I need to talk to you.’ How to start asking Jean about Patrick? She resented even having to think about him but she wasn’t going to ignore what Jacqueline had said.
‘What about?’ Jean pushed the net curtain to one side and settled on the windowsill. ‘Peter’s drawn a game of hopscotch on the path for Jacqueline,’ she said, filling in the pause. ‘I have to say he’s good with the kids.’
‘What did you expect? He’s the same man who looked after you when you lost your baby,’ Mary said, immediately defensive. ‘He’s just a man, Jean.’ She paused. ‘No, actually, he’s not just a man. He’s the man I love and I’ll thank you to remember that.’ Just as Patrick’s the one you’ve always loved, she thought, and Peter’s worth a million times more than him.
‘I was only saying.’
‘Like you did last night? What was it? Oh yes, I remember. “She’s enough to cope with living with that man. She’ll have the life of hell.” Something like that?’ Frustrated by the diversion yet unable to ignore her hurt, she spoke sharply.
At least Jean was mortified enough to redden. ‘I’m sorry. I’m only thinking of you.’
‘Even after all these years you still think you’re entitled to try to organise my life.’
‘I’m trying to get you to think about what you’re doing.’
‘I know what I’m doing, thanks.’
‘I doubt that. Look, there are plenty of jobs. Since Bevan opened the Park Hospital in Manchester they’ve been crying out for nurses. With your experience you’d have no trouble getting in.’ Jean took off her glasses and cleaned each lens with her handkerchief. ‘With Tom … gone there’s nothing to stop you coming home now.’
‘This is not what I want to talk about. Jacqueline—’
‘Is really upset about Tom,’ Jean butted in. Mary had a sense that she was being warned off. ‘She’s having all sorts of nightmares. Sometimes she’s mixing bad dreams up with things that have actually happened.’
She knows what I’m going to say. Mary was determined to keep calm but her voice still trembled when she spoke. ‘Is that what’s she’s doing when she tells me Patrick’s hit you?’
There was a silent plea in Jean’s eyes. ‘Mary…’
‘Is she mixing that up?’ Mary stressed the words. ‘Or has he actually hit you?’
Jean slid off the windowsill and stood motionless. ‘Mary…’
‘Has he?’ She knew the answer, saw the humiliation in her friend’s eyes. She moved swiftly from the sofa and grabbed Jean’s arms. ‘You have to tell me. Is it true?’
Jean lowered her head.
‘Oh Jean.’ The distress merged with the rush of rage. ‘I am so sorry.’ She gathered her in her arms, frightened by the ferocity of her friend’s sobs. ‘It’ll be all right. We’ll sort something out. You can stay here as long as you want.’ Mary ignored the sudden vision of Peter’s reaction; he’d understand when she explained. ‘As long as you want,’ she said again.
‘I can’t. I can’t leave Mother.’
‘Then move back in with her.’ The solution came with a sense of relief that shamed Mary. ‘You have to. You can’t stay with him.’
Jean shrugged her away and turned back to the window. ‘It’s not that easy. Jacqueline…’
‘Is frightened.’
‘I’ll make it right with her. Tell her she was mistaken.’
Mary gave a cry of derision. ‘Mistaken?’
‘It was only the once. He was upset about Tom.’
‘He thumped you because of Tom? I don’t believe that. He hated Tom.’
‘He didn’t. You should have seen him, Mary, he was heartbroken.’
‘Huh!’
‘He was.’ Jean spun around to face her. ‘I should have left him alone.’ Her face crumpled. ‘I should have left him alone but I didn’t. I wanted to comfort him. I tried to hold him.’
‘So he hit you.’ Mary dragged out the words.
‘It was the first time.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Jean flushed. ‘Then don’t, but it’s true.’ She looked out of the corner of her eyes at Mary. ‘Please don’t tell the others.’
‘Ellen already knows, I’ve told her.’ Mary folded her arms, angry her friend wanted to cover up what Patrick had done.
‘How could you? You know what she’s like about me.’
‘She has a right to know, he’s her brother too.’
‘She’ll tell all and sundry,’ Jean muttered, leaning on the windowsill.
‘She won’t … and if she did, it’s not you who should be ashamed. It’s him.’
‘I pushed him into it. I should have left him alone,’ Jean said again.
‘Leave him, Jean. You have to.’
‘No!’
‘Then you’re a bloody fool.’