Broken Rainbows (25 page)

‘Eddie was my brother. And despite everything I think he loved her. I'll tell her.'

Elizabeth pushed the bolt across the front door, dropped the blackout and switched on the light. She walked slowly down the flagstoned passage into the kitchen. Her brain was pounding inside her skull, throbbing unrelentingly as though it was about to burst free.

Resignation and acceptance of God's will. That was the lesson that had been drummed into her from birth by her minister father and, after his death, by her uncle. How often had both of them warned her never to question the wisdom of the Supreme Being? That her life was significant only in that it was an infinitesimal part of a greater plan she could neither begin to understand nor question, because to even attempt to do so would jeopardise her immortal soul.

She laid her hand on the latch of the kitchen door and pushed it open. This was
her
home. She had cleaned every corner of this room more times than she could remember. Polished every inch of brass rail in the range, blackleaded every corner of the ironwork. She had sewn plain, serviceable, grey cotton curtains, and chair covers that had been discarded. And in their place was evidence of Evan's whore's work. In
her
home.

She knew she should pray for guidance and above all forbearance. But for the first time in her life, the words refused to come. Why was she being put to the test? Why had God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, yet allowed the filth of those cities to live on, here, in her home?

Her
home –
she
would never have sewn patchwork curtains, or patchwork covers for the chairs. She would have put the hours it had taken to make those garish patterns out of rags to better use. She ran her fingers above the door frame, disappointed when she found no dust.

She stepped inside the room. She had a right to remain here, but she couldn't stay, not with Evan. Never again would she allow a man to do such filthy things to her. The fruit of his loins – their children – stared back at her from a photograph on the mantelpiece.
Her
children – not the whore's. But Evan's whore had put the small posy of artificial flowers next to the frame. An offering commemorating their father's vulgar, morbid grief. In His infinite wisdom God had chosen to take their younger son and daughter, and for their sins, He had given them no grave in their home town, no marker, where they could be mourned by their family. So why make a memorial here? In the house their mother had been ousted from by a whore.

She continued to stare at the smiling faces. Bethan, with her arm around Maud; Haydn and Eddie standing behind the girls. Suddenly sweeping her arm across the mantelpiece she sent the frame and the china ornaments surrounding it crashing to the hearth. Still the photograph stared up at her. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled the broken glass, shard by shard, from the frame, heaping the fragments into the coal bucket. Opening the door on the range she pushed the photograph and the frame on top of the coals. She sat back on her heels and watched it burn. When it was no more than a smudge of white ash on the glowing coals, she opened the dresser cupboard and took the first photograph album. When she had transformed it into a pile of curling, flaking, black ash, she took the next … and the next … until the cupboard was bare. Then she turned her attention to Evan's books. Books she would never have allowed in the house. Marxist filth, Russian novels penned by degenerates who wrote about things decent people would never think of, much less study.

She pulled down the curtains, ripping the pole from the wall; the covers from the chairs, the rag rugs, the pictures from the walls. Looking down at the pile she'd made on the floor, she realised it would take for ever to burn it all. Picking up the workbox she reached for the scissors and attacked the cloth, not only the loose covers but the chairs themselves. Emptying the shelves on the dresser she dropped the plates, cups and saucers that had belonged to Evan's grandmother on to the flagstones where they shattered into slivers too small to mend. She looked at the dresser itself, big, solid and heavy. There was an axe in the coalhouse. She glanced up at the clock. She had until midday. It would be time enough. Then Evan could have his precious house back. If he still wanted it.

Bethan had prepared herself for an outburst of grief, but Jenny sat, dry-eyed and white-faced. There were no tears, screams, or protestations of anger, only a calm acceptance that sent shivers down Bethan's spine.

‘Alexander survived the fall but he died before the rescuers could reach him. He saved Luke's and my father's life with his suggestions for rationing the food. He even made jokes to keep up their spirits.'

‘He would have.' There was no bitterness or rancour in Jenny's voice. Leaving the sofa she walked to the window and pulled back the curtains.

‘The blackout,' Bethan warned.

‘I forgot.' Dropping the curtain she glanced at the clock. ‘I have to be in work in an hour.'

‘They'll understand if you take the day off.'

‘There's no need.'

‘Jenny, you have to give yourself time to get over this.'

‘There's nothing to get over,' she murmured flatly. ‘It wasn't as if we were married. It's not like losing Eddie. Alexander wasn't my husband, only my lover. I'll find another.'

Bethan laid her hands on Jenny's shoulders, forcing her to look into her eyes. ‘Give yourself time to grieve. If you don't, you could have a nervous breakdown.'

‘I'm fine.' Jenny smiled, but her blue eyes remained cold, dead. ‘You see. I'm fine, Bethan. There's nothing to get over. Nothing at all.'

Chapter Fourteen

Kurt Schaffer buttoned his greatcoat as he waited in Station Yard. Winter was slowly but surely giving way to spring, but it was a cooler spring than he was accustomed to, and in early evening the damp air still had the power to penetrate layers of uniform. When he saw the blonde head he'd been waiting for, he took a deep breath and stepped forward.

‘I was hoping to see you.'

‘Were you?' Jenny stood back and watched the crowd of girls she'd travelled with walk on without her.

‘Some people get all the luck,' Maggie shouted.

‘Don't eat all of him, Jenny,' Judy called back over her shoulder. ‘Leave some for me.'

‘I wanted to tell you how sorry I was about your boyfriend,' Kurt murmured, glad when Jenny's companions moved out of earshot.

‘Alexander wasn't my boyfriend, Lieutenant Schaffer, He was my lover.'

Kurt stared at her completely lost for words.

‘I've embarrassed you?'

‘Not exactly. It's just that I've never met anyone quite as direct as you.'

‘And?'

He continued to gaze at her blankly.

‘Is this an accidental meeting, or did you meet my train to offer your condolences?'

‘I've been hoping to see you for some time.'

‘Let me guess – ever since Alexander was killed, because you'd like to move in and take his place?'

He whistled under his breath. ‘Ma'am, there's honesty and then there's brutality.'

‘Let's settle for the unvarnished truth, shall we? My guess is that you want a girl to sleep with while you're in town. Someone who's willing, able, not too demanding, and won't make a scene when you wave goodbye?'

‘No,' he protested hastily. ‘I don't want that at all.'

‘That's a pity, Lieutenant Schaffer.' She took his arm and led him across the road towards the White Hart. ‘If you had, you might have been in luck. And then again you might not have been. I'm looking for a lover, you've already presented and proved your credentials, so as far as I'm concerned you fit the bill. But, I'd be very careful what I was getting myself into if I were you. My price may prove to be a high one.'

‘Price?' He glanced back at the professionals standing outside the booking office. ‘I don't understand.'

‘My husband was killed at Dunkirk, and now Alexander's body has been shipped back to his parents. You've heard of the kiss of death?'

‘Come on …'

‘I'm deadly serious, Lieutenant. Some women are cursed. Ask any RAF pilot if you don't believe me. Make love to me again, and it may be the last thing you do.'

‘I don't believe all that superstition bullshit,' he retorted irritably.

‘No? You'd be a fool not to.'

He pushed open the door of the Hart, and stood back to allow her to walk ahead of him. ‘Can we start by forgetting what you've just said and have a drink?'

‘Don't ever say I didn't warn you.'

As he watched her enter the back room he wondered if she'd had some kind of a breakdown following Alexander Forbes's death. After what had happened to her husband it would be understandable. All he knew was, no other girl had ever made him feel the way Jenny Powell did, and he wanted to put a smile on her face. Just like the one she had worn when he had first met her in the café.

‘Home.' Bethan stopped the car, turned off the ignition and looked across at her father in the passenger seat.

Opening the car door awkwardly with his left hand, he stepped outside. Phyllis was standing on the doorstep, waiting, an apprehensive smile on her face.

‘Daddy!' Brian shouted. Charging out from behind his mother he ran down the steps to meet them.

Evan turned back to Bethan. ‘There's no party?'

‘No, Dad, I promised there wouldn't be, and there isn't,' she reassured him. ‘Maybe we'll organise one later when you've had time to settle in.'

‘To life as a cripple?'

‘To consider your options,' she countered, as he crouched down to hug Brian. He wasn't the only one having difficulty in adjusting to his injuries. The calm, even-tempered man she had trusted and relied on all her life had been supplanted by a bitter, self-pitying amputee capable of seeing offence in the most innocuous remark.

She took a steadying breath before following him and Brian up the steps. Standing back, she watched Phyllis hold out her arms, but her father only kissed her cheek, before stepping into the house. Bethan saw Brian looking at the pinned up, empty sleeve on his father's coat as they walked down the passage. Wanting to comfort him, she took his hand.

During the past month she had studied every textbook she could find that documented reactions to amputations, but nothing she read had helped. If her father had been simply another patient she could have chivvied him along in the standard, brusque, professional manner. But he wasn't just a patient. He was the guiding force she counted on to solve her problems. The one person who had always been there when she, or her brothers and sister, had needed someone; and now, when she needed him most, she couldn't turn to him.

Before the accident she hadn't realised how much of his strength stemmed from his physical fitness. Since the moment the anaesthetic had worn off he had seen himself as a useless cripple. A burden on his family and friends. A man with nothing more to offer.

He hadn't threatened suicide. He hadn't needed to. She had recognised the signs. The lethargy, the indifference to people and life. He had barely spoken to Phyllis on her twice-weekly visits. And when she had seen the ward sister giving orders for her father's food to be cut up on his plate before serving, and the nurses to shave him rather than entrust him with a razor, she knew she was not the only one to have considered the possibility that he might try to kill himself.

Even as they were leaving the hospital, Dr John had called her back to warn her to dispense her father's painkillers carefully when she got him home, giving him no more than a single day's supply at a time.

Phyllis pushed open the door to the kitchen and hesitated, waiting for an outburst. It came.

‘What the hell's happened here?' Evan demanded furiously as he looked around the room. Ever since he could remember there had been far too much furniture. A massive Welsh dresser and long table and chairs that his father had inherited from his farming grandparents. Victorian easy chairs that his mother had been given as a wedding present. A sideboard she had been bequeathed by an elderly aunt, and that had never really fitted in.

Now there was only an impractical, delicate china cabinet Phyllis had been left by her landlady. A small round table and three spindly-legged chairs that belonged in a parlour, not a kitchen, and two dainty upholstered chairs in place of the substantial, comfortable easy chairs that had stood either side of the range. The familiar ornaments had gone, as had the pictures and photographs from the walls. Phyllis's dainty blue and white shepherdesses stood on the mantelpiece instead of his mother's dogs. Even the patchwork cushion covers and curtains had been replaced by a print that looked suspiciously like Bethan's dining room curtains.

‘We had a bit of a clear-out,' Phyllis confessed nervously, looking past Evan to Bethan.

‘Clear-out! All the furniture's gone!'

‘Sit down, Dad, and I'll tell you what happened.' Bethan virtually pushed him into the chair that stood where his had been. ‘Mam came back.'

‘When?'

‘When you were trapped underground. Unlike the rest of us, she thought you were dead, and decided to claim the house.'

‘I made a will. She had no right to walk over the doorstep.'

‘Unfortunately she did. In law, apparently even an estranged wife has the right to live in the matrimonial home. Haydn checked with a solicitor. In his opinion, as your legal wife, Mam was entitled to a share of your estate. If she'd gone to court the chances were she'd have got everything and Phyllis nothing.'

‘So you let her walk in and take what she wanted?' He glared at Phyllis who murmured something about tea, took the kettle, and retreated into the washhouse with Brian.

‘It wasn't Phyllis's fault, Dad. Put yourself in her position. Whichever way you look at it, without you, she has no right to be here.'

‘She's my wife in all but name.'

‘I agree, she's more your wife than Mam ever was. But the courts wouldn't see it that way.'

‘Or your mother,' he muttered grimly. ‘I can imagine some of the things she said.'

‘It wasn't just her. Uncle John Joseph came with her. Haydn was still here, he tried to stop them but they ordered all of us out.'

‘And you went like sheep?' His face was dark with anger.

‘What choice did we have? The situation was impossible for Phyllis. And Haydn and Jane wouldn't stay without her, even if Mam had invited them to, which she didn't.'

His anger began to subside when he realised that his children had rallied around his common-law wife, not their mother. ‘So, where did Phyllis and Brian go?'

‘They moved in with me, as did Jane, Haydn and Anne. Jane and Anne are staying for a while. It's easier for Maisie to look after two toddlers than one,' she added tactfully, hoping he wouldn't realise that she and Jane had decided on the new arrangements to make things easier for Phyllis, now she had him to nurse as well as the house and Brian to look after.

‘I'm surprised you found room.'

‘We managed.'

He leaned wearily against the back of the chair. ‘That still doesn't explain the furniture.'

‘The night they found you, Uncle Huw and I came here to tell Mam you'd survived. We mentioned you were injured, but she assumed you'd be back the next day. We didn't disillusion her. It was the middle of the night, she said she'd move out by midday. Giving her those few hours' grace was a mistake. She, or Uncle John Joseph, took an axe to the furniture in here.'

‘The china?'

‘Smashed, but worst of all was the photographs.' Bracing herself for another bout of rage, Bethan decided that her father might as well hear all the bad news at once. ‘She burned them.'

‘All of them?'

‘And smashed your camera.'

‘All the pictures I took when you were children? Maud … Eddie …'

‘Mam destroyed everything in here, but I got together with Ronnie and Jenny. Between us we had quite a few copies. I've put them into an album for you.' She opened the china cabinet, removed a book and handed it to him. He flicked through its pages without really looking at the photographs it contained. ‘Before we left, Haydn carried Phyllis's furniture around to Mrs Richards. If he hadn't, you'd be sitting on the floor right now. It's practically impossible to buy furniture these days.'

‘This is going to take some getting used to.' He glanced at the corner shelf where he'd kept his books.

‘The good news is, Mam didn't do anything to the bedrooms, or Alexander's room, so we were able to box his things up and send them on to his parents.'

‘That must have been a comfort to them.'

She chose to ignore his caustic tone. They'd all been fond of Alexander, but since the accident, concern for the living hadn't given them much time to mourn his, or Mr Richards's passing.

‘But she did empty the parlour, and she must have arranged to take the furniture with her. There was no wreckage left like here.'

‘Everything in the parlour was hers, she had a right to take it.' He glanced up at the mantelpiece. ‘Even my pipe?'

‘I tried to take it. Mam wouldn't let me.'

‘I've been a fool, Bethan. A bloody fool. When Phyllis moved in I thought everything would be all right. But it won't be. Not until this mess is sorted once and for all between your mother and me. We can't carry on the way we have been, not after this. Can you take me down to the solicitor's?'

‘Now?'

‘Right now. I'm going to divorce your mother and marry Phyllis. She needs security. She has a right to know that this can't ever happen to her ever again. I won't have her relying on charity from you and Haydn.'

‘Phyllis is family so it's hardly charity, and, Dad, I hate to say this, but you may find it difficult to divorce Mam when you're the guilty party.'

‘Your mother left me.'

‘Whatever, but the one thing I do know is that a divorce will cost a lot of money.'

‘Thank you for reminding me I've no way of earning any more.'

‘Yet,' she said, refusing to get involved in a discussion on his prospects straight after dropping the bombshell about the damage. ‘Haydn and I talked about this before he left. We made an offer to Mam for the house. She wouldn't sell it to us. But you could. Your name is on the deeds. You're the sole owner, so how about it? We'll give you a fair price.'

‘More charity?'

‘More like a good investment for us. House prices will go up after the war.'

‘And you two can afford it?'

‘We can, and we'd put a clause into the contract that will give Phyllis the right to live here as long as she wants. Brian too if you like.'

‘Brian will have to make his own way when the time comes, just like the rest of you. But I won't take handouts, Bethan. Not from you or anyone. If I sell you the house, Phyllis and I will move out and find a smaller, cheaper one to live in.'

‘Was it charity when you kept us when we were children?'

‘Everyone looks after their children.'

‘Not everyone.'

‘If we stay we'd have to pay you rent.'

‘We'll ask the solicitor to fix a fair one,' she suggested, wondering if she could have a word with him first. ‘And perhaps he could give you some advice on investing the money. You might be able to buy an annuity that would give Phyllis and Brian an income if anything happened to you.'