Broken Rainbows (39 page)

‘You want the fountain, sir, is that right?'

‘Please.' Andrew studied the driver. His face was unmarked, unlined, he was too young to have fought in the war. ‘And if you could wait, please, I'd like you to take me up to Penycoedcae afterwards.'

‘I'll wait, sir, but I'll have to leave the clock on.'

‘I expect you to.'

There was a queue of tall, well-built Negroes outside Charlie's shop. They were talking and laughing quietly amongst themselves. All of them looked incredibly fit, healthy, clean and well fed after the people he had tended in the camps. One month – four short weeks – and he had almost forgotten about normality. What must it be like for Charlie who had lived for years in those conditions?

‘Business is good, Charlie,' Andrew said, fighting a lump that had come into his throat.

Charlie nodded and Andrew realised that he wasn't looking at the men. A small boy was sitting on the shop doorstep. There was no mistaking his white-blond hair, or the deep blue eyes.

‘Good God! It's you all over again, Charlie.' The toddler turned his head and gazed at Andrew as he opened the door of the taxi. Extracting Charlie's kitbag from the luggage hold, Andrew stood back and waited. Charlie stepped out and the men in the queue fell silent.

Andrew watched anxiously as Charlie leaned heavily against the cab. The men crowding into the shop moved away from the doorway. Alma walked out from behind the counter. Then, tears streaming down her cheeks, she ran forward.

‘I think we'd better go inside,' Andrew suggested as she embraced her husband as though he were made of glass. He followed them back to the shop. A young girl had already opened the door to the stairs.

‘It's all right, Theo, you can go too.' The girl gave the small boy a gentle push. Andrew held out his hand.

‘Don't you want to come and meet your daddy?'

‘My daddy?' The small boy's eyes grew round in wonder.

‘He's come home, Theo.'

The boy took his hand and they walked behind Alma and Charlie up the stairs and into the living room.

‘Alma, I don't want to intrude …'

‘How could you, Andrew, you brought him home.' She was crying and laughing at the same time. Charlie patted her hand as he fell into his chair.

‘Charlie's on a strict diet, simple foods that are easily digested. Nothing too rich, oatmeal and the like. I'll be at home. Telephone, if you want any advice. If there's a problem, I'll come at once. I'll be down to see you tomorrow.'

‘Andrew,' Charlie looked up at him.

‘Yes?'

‘Thank you.'

Chapter Twenty-five

Andrew closed the door of the living room behind him. Running down the stairs, he walked through the queue of servicemen to the taxi.

‘Your friend looked rough, sir,' the taxi driver commented as he climbed back into the cab.

Andrew nodded, unwilling to elaborate.

The man drove up to the Fairfield, turned the car around and headed back through the town towards the Graig hill. Andrew checked his watch, a new one he'd been given to replace the officer issue that had been confiscated as British military property by the Germans, most likely to end up as loot in one of the guards' pockets.

As the car climbed the hill past the workhouse he noted the changes. The peeling paint on the shops and houses, the worn and mended clothes on the people walking up and down the hill, the shop windows filled with advertisements and empty cardboard boxes. No tins, no sweets, no goods to entice a casual passer-by.

‘Home on leave, sir?'

‘For good, I hope.'

‘There were times when we wondered if it was ever going to end. My brother's in Singapore. We can't wait for that to finish so he can come home.'

‘Let's hope it will be soon.' Andrew looked left up Graig Avenue, wondering if Evan and Phyllis were taking care of his children. Why hadn't he insisted that Charlie stay in London and rest in a hotel last night? He would have telephoned home, and found out that Bethan was there. He could have gone to see her. They might even have passed in the street.

‘Where do you want to go in Penycoedcae, sir?'

‘Do you know Ty Twyfe?'

‘Nurse John's place.'

‘That's it.'

‘You know, Nurse John, sir?'

‘Yes.'

‘Nice lady. She looked after my mother when she got burned when the chip pan caught fire. Pity about her father losing an arm.'

‘I didn't know.'

‘It was a pit accident, sir. She's had a lot to put up with what with losing her brother and sister and her husband being a prisoner and everything, but it never seemed to get her down. Always has a smile for everyone.'

They left the houses behind them and Andrew looked out at the hedgerows and fields. The greenery was soft and lush, the morning colours fresh and brilliant, just as he'd imagined so many times when he'd been stuck behind barbed wire in the compound. He remembered writing a letter to Bethan …

The trees would be green, she'd be sitting on the lawn with the children …

‘We're here, sir. Do you want me to turn into the drive?'

‘No, thank you.' If there was no one in, it would be a long trek down to Graig Avenue, but he wanted to walk down the drive alone.

‘That'll be five bob, sir.'

Andrew left the car, checked the fare and added a tip.

‘Thank you, sir, have a good homecoming.'

As the car chugged up the road, Andrew turned and stepped on to the gravel drive.

The first thing he noticed was that the gates had gone. He fingered the rusty posts before moving on, then stopped in stunned amazement. There was no lawn, only neat rows of vegetables. At the bottom of the garden the shrubs had been pulled up and a chicken run installed in their place. Why hadn't Bethan told him? Then he remembered the food parcels and tins she'd sent. More than anyone else had received. He'd often wondered how she'd done it. Now he realised.

Then, suddenly there was the house, its once white walls green and weather-stained, the gloss on the doors and windows peeling, just like on every other building he'd seen. It wasn't only Germany that needed reconstruction, but then he was lucky, a coat of paint was trivial compared to rebuilding from rubble.

Shouldering his bag he walked to the front door. Feeling faintly ridiculous he rang his own doorbell. It echoed hollowly through the hall. He heard someone hushing small, shrill voices, then Phyllis opened the door. He looked past her to the three children standing behind her.

‘Andrew?'

‘I'm finally home.' He smiled at the children and they retreated.

‘Bethan …'

‘… is in London. I know, someone told me in the station.'

‘She's going to be furious that she missed your homecoming. And you're here so early in the morning.'

‘We caught the milk train.'

‘You came home with someone?'

‘Charlie.'

Phyllis turned white. ‘Everyone except Alma thought he was dead, but she would never believe it.'

‘I know. Bethan wrote to me.' He stepped inside and dropped his bag next to the coat hooks. Opening it, he extracted a bundle of parcels.

He glanced into the kitchen where the children had retreated.

‘Rachel,' he called softly. She gazed back at him from beneath lowered lashes. Then he looked to her brother – they both had the same dark auburn hair, the same tawny eyes. Bethan was right, they resembled him far more than her.

He crouched down and offered her one of the parcels. She backed away.

‘It's all right, Rachel,' Phyllis reassured her. ‘This is your daddy.'

Rachel put her thumb in her mouth as she looked to Phyllis and Brian for reassurance, but Eddie continued to back away.

‘You're not my daddy.'

‘I am, Eddie, and I know your mummy told you about me.'

‘You're not my daddy,' Eddie repeated stubbornly. ‘I'll get my daddy and show you.' He rushed to a chair. Dragging it to the dresser he lifted down a photograph frame.

‘This is my daddy.' He handed Andrew the photograph. Andrew smiled.

‘This was taken before you were born. I didn't have any grey hairs then.' He touched the side of his head. ‘Look I have something here for you too, and Brian, and -' he looked at the two girls sitting at the table – ‘my new, almost grown-up daughters.' He handed them two of the four headscarves the American had sold him, and gave his fountain pen to Brian.

The children perked up at the sight of his presents. Andrew gave Rachel a wooden peg doll and Eddie a wooden train. ‘I hope you like them, you see I'm not sure what you do and don't like. We're going to have to spend a lot of time getting to know one another.'

As the children tore off the brown wrapping paper he turned to Phyllis. ‘When are you expecting Bethan back?'

‘She telephoned early this morning to say she'd be in on the last train tonight. You look exhausted, I could make you some breakfast. What would you like?'

‘After what I've been eating the last five years, anything.'

He stepped back into the hall. The hat stand was festooned with large and small coats, a neat row of wellington boots and shoes laid out beneath it. The paintwork was clean but scuffed.

He glanced into the drawing room. Two cardboard boxes held piles of home-made toys, there was no sign of his furniture and the place looked even worse than the hall.

‘Bethan moved all the good furniture out when she took in evacuees. It's all safe and sound in the old stables,' Phyllis explained, seeing the crestfallen expression on his face.

‘The house doesn't matter, I just wish Bethan was here.'

‘I'll make you something to eat, then I'll take the children to school.'

‘As I've just come home, can't we make it a holiday?'

‘You'd be better off catching up on some sleep by the look of you.'

‘I've five years of absence to catch up on, Phyllis, and the sooner I start the better.'

‘Can we keep our new toys while we eat breakfast?' Rachel asked.

‘Of course.' To his surprise they ran back into the kitchen. ‘Bethan doesn't eat in the dining room any more?'

‘She shut it up for the duration.'

‘There's been a lot of changes.'

‘If you sit with the children I'll make you an omelette.'

‘With real eggs?'

‘Didn't you see the chickens?'

He followed her into the kitchen where the two older girls were busy serving the younger ones porridge.

‘Everything seems to have changed around here.' He looked at the apprehensive faces of the Clark girls and realised how his words might be misconstrued. ‘My wife said she wouldn't have been able to manage without you.'

‘None of us would have managed without her,' Phyllis said resolutely. ‘And that's for sure.'

Bethan was exhausted, both physically and mentally, by the time the train crawled into Pontypridd. She walked down the steps into Station Yard and went to her car. Home, just her and the children, and that was the way it was going to be until Andrew came home, whenever that might be.

All the way from London she hadn't been able to think of anything other than the films David Ford had shown her. Still immersed in them, she turned left instead of right out of Station Yard and drove down to the fountain. Parking the car outside Ronconi's restaurant she walked across the road and knocked at the door that led up to Alma's flat.

She stepped back as she heard Alma running down the stairs. The door flung open, ‘Bethan? What a marvellous surprise.' Alma hugged and kissed her.

‘I've only been gone a couple of days …'

‘Come in.' Alma pulled her into the tiny hallway and dragged her up the stairs.

‘Aren't you even going to ask how Haydn's wedding went?'

Alma held her finger to her lips and opened the living room door. Sitting in a chair, with Theo dressed in pyjamas on his lap, she saw what appeared to be a gaunt, elderly man. She stepped closer.

‘Charlie?' she whispered uncertainly.

He glanced up at her. What little hair there was, was silver not white, his face was emaciated and haggard but there was no mistaking the eyes.

‘Oh my God, Charlie, you were in one of those awful camps.'

‘Andrew told you?'

‘Andrew … how would he know?'

‘Andrew brought Charlie home this morning,' Alma revealed.

‘He's home?' Shocked at the sight of Charlie so soon after seeing the films, Bethan leaned back weakly against the wall. ‘Oh God, Charlie, not you.'

‘It's all right, Bethan. I'm home now. I can begin to put it behind me.'

‘But you …'

‘I'm fine.' He looked up at Alma and grasped her hand. ‘I wasn't, but I am now. How did you know about the camps?'

‘I saw some films in London. They're going to show them to everyone. In the pictures … Alma always said you were still alive, Charlie. The rest of us never believed it, but she never gave up hope.'

‘And I was right,' Alma smiled. ‘You must be hungry and thirsty. Supper's all ready, we're going to eat when this young man goes to bed, which he's going to do right now.' She reached down and took Theo from Charlie, tickling him as she lifted him into her arms.

‘No … no, thank you. If Andrew's home I'd better go.'

‘Sit and talk to Charlie just for a minute while I put Theo to bed.'

‘Please?' Charlie looked at her.

‘Just for a minute,' she relented. Unbuttoning her jacket she sat down and studied him as Alma held Theo out, first for Charlie's kiss then hers.

‘Stop staring at me like that, Bethan,' he said as Alma left the room.

‘Sorry.'

‘I have your husband's permission to live.'

‘I've never seen anyone as thin as you.'

‘I've put on weight the last three weeks. There are a lot worse off than me. I'm alive, I have a country, a home, and a wife and son who seem to want me.'

‘There were times when I thought Alma would go crazy with wanting you. She's done nothing but talk about you since you went missing. And Theo … Charlie, you've no idea what she went through when she was having Theo.'

‘I know some of it, Andrew read me your letters while I was recuperating.'

Bethan reached out and touched his hand. ‘It's so good to have you home. We'll see you soon?'

‘Andrew's promised to call tomorrow. Come with him,' he pressed, not trying to detain her any longer.

‘I will.'

She turned and walked quickly out of the room. Alma was closing Theo's door. She saw Bethan and held out her arms. They clung to one another for a moment.

‘I'll look after him. Andrew told him there's no reason why he shouldn't make a full recovery. And he will, you'll see.'

‘He'll be fine now he's with you,' Bethan reassured her. ‘No, don't.' She stopped Alma from following her down the stairs. ‘I'll see myself out.'

Alma waited until she heard the door close behind Bethan, then she walked into the living room. Charlie was standing at the window, watching Bethan cross the road to her car.

‘I've been lucky to have a friend like her.'

‘We both are.'

‘I think you'd better sit down.'

‘It's been a long day, even with that sleep this afternoon. And I still can't believe I'm really here. I'm terrified I'll wake up and find out it's a dream, like all the other times it was real enough to seem like torture when I was forced to finally stir myself.'

‘It's no dream. And supper's ready. I made soup.'

‘I can't eat all the time, Alma.'

‘You can try.'

For the first time since he'd been home, he bent his head and kissed her. ‘I've wanted to do that for a long, long time.'

‘And so have I. God, Charlie, so have I.'

Bethan drove slowly up the hill. Dusk had fallen cloaking the lane in dense shadows. As she turned into the driveway and parked the car she saw the lights from the drawing room windows shining across the garden. She walked towards the front door, starting as someone rose from a chair that had been carried through the French windows.

She looked at her husband. There was no comparison between him and Charlie. He seemed much the same as he had done when he'd left. Perhaps there were a few more lines at the corners of his mouth and his eyes, and some grey hairs, but basically he was still the same old Andrew. How could she ever have thought that she wouldn't recognise him? She felt that she should have flung herself into his arms instead of standing and staring, but the moment had passed. It was too late.