The Colours of Love

by Rita Bradshaw

  Monty had flushed a deep red. ‘How long has it been going on? With him?’ He was speaking to Esther but he was looking at Caleb, their eyes locked in mutual hate.

  As Caleb took a step towards Monty, his fists clenched, and Esther said, ‘Please, Caleb, no,’ there was a cheerful toot-toot-toot from the yard outside. For a moment Caleb’s gaze remained on Monty, and it was only Esther whispering, ‘Caleb, please, it’s Christmas Eve; think of Joy. Your . . . your friend’s here to pick you up, I think,’ that broke the deadlock. She took his arm. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  They left Monty staring after them, but once outside Caleb muttered, ‘I should have hit him. Damn it, I should have knocked his smug block off.’

  ‘Not in front of Joy.’

  ‘No . . . ’ He shook his head, as though to clear his thoughts, then reached out and ruffled the little girl’s curls. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  The odd snowflake or two was still drifting aimlessly in the bitterly cold air, scouts for the rest of the pack in the laden sky and, as one landed on Esther’s nose, Joy giggled. ‘Fairy, Mummy. Fairy.’

  ‘She insists on calling them that: ice-fairies,’ Esther said softly, not knowing what to say to put things right between them. But she didn’t want Caleb to leave like this.

  He looked at mother and child, both so beautiful that they caused a physical ache in his chest. Turning, he raised an arm to his friend, who was revving the engine of the car. ‘He wants to go – I can’t keep him waiting.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Summoning all her courage, she said, ‘I know it’s been awkward for you, with Monty, and I’m sorry about that, but . . . but I’m glad you came, Caleb. It’s made Joy’s Christmas.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And mine.’

  ‘Do you mean that?’ He felt so downcast that he didn’t care if he was going to make a fool of himself. He couldn’t carry on like this; his mam was right. He had to know if there was ever going to be any hope for him. He’d wait for her – a lifetime, if that’s what it took – but he had to know that she didn’t look on him as just a friend and nothing else, because that wasn’t enough. Not having seen Monty, and knowing he was still sniffing about. ‘I mean, really mean it, Esther?’

  Her heart was thudding so hard she was sure he must be able to hear it, as she read what was in his face. He cared about her, in that way, she thought wondrously. For a moment a rush of fear and panic – about daring to trust someone again with her love – caught her breath in her throat, but then she continued to hold Caleb’s steady gaze. As she searched his rough, rugged features she saw what she needed to see. ‘With all my heart,’ she whispered with a tremulous smile.

  There was no answering smile on his face, but he touched her cheek. ‘That’s all I wanted to know. I know there are things to sort out’ – he glanced back to the farmhouse for a moment – ‘but I can wait. I just needed to know that you wanted me to wait.’

  Like Caleb, Esther knew this was a time to cast away pride. ‘More than anything else in the world, but . . . but you do understand what it would mean? If . . . if we married and there were children? I mean’ – she stared at him helplessly – ‘you know what I mean.’

  For her to talk about the future like this was beyond his wildest expectations. Softly, a smile touching his lips, he said, ‘If you’re trying to say that, with me as a father, they wouldn’t all be as beautiful as Joy, then I can live with that.’

  ‘Caleb.’ Her lips trembled and pressed together for a moment before she continued, ‘It’s important you face it now.’

  His face losing its tender smile, he forgot all his promises to himself to take things slowly and, careless of the man in the farmhouse or anyone else who might see them, took Esther in his arms, so that she and Joy were enfolded against him. ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ he said very quietly, above the silk of her hair as she rested against him. ‘You are a beautiful, desirable, incredible woman that any man would be proud to call his own. And you are unique, as we all are. I don’t know why you would even consider looking twice at a man like me, but I will love you and Joy – and any little ones we might have – till the day I die, and beyond. When you are free and I can ask you to marry me, I shall tell you this again; but until then, will you hold it in your heart and believe me? That man in there is the biggest fool in history. He had a pearl of great price and he threw it away. Two pearls of great price,’ he added softly, reaching for Joy and lifting her out of Esther’s arms into his own. He smiled down at the little girl, who beamed back at him. ‘I’ve got to go now, hinny, but you look after your mam for me, all right? She needs a lot of love.’

  Still holding Joy, he bent his head and kissed Esther. It was a sweet, fleeting kiss, their first. Tasting the salt of her tears, Caleb murmured, ‘One more promise, sweetheart. I will never make you cry again. We’ll be as poor as church mice, no doubt, but as far as it is within my power to do so, I will make you happy.’

  Placing Joy tenderly in her arms, he stroked Esther’s face one last time and then turned and walked to the car. His shoulders were straighter than they had been since the morning he had woken up in a military hospital and learned they had cut off his leg to save his life.

  Monty had been watching them the whole time, and now, as Esther continued to stand in the middle of the yard, her gaze following the car winding its way down the farm track, he ground his teeth together in fury. She was shameless, behaving like that, as though she were a single woman and fancy-free. And with him, as rough-and-ready a type as he’d ever laid eyes on. He could scarcely believe Esther would sink so low. He saw it all now: this fellow was the reason she wouldn’t come back to him. Why had he never thought she might have found someone else?

  The answer came as though someone had spoken it out loud. Because, at the bottom of him, he’d never doubted that if he wanted her back she would eventually agree – after a suitable period of punishing him, of course. In returning to him, Esther had everything to gain, besides which he knew how she had loved him when they’d married, and before. She had never made a secret of her feelings, not like some girls would have. It wasn’t in Esther to play the coquette and lead a man on.

  The sudden memory of how it had been in the early days caused his shoulders to slump, his body deflating, and in the place of outrage came a wave of loss and despair. He hated his life, he thought bitterly. He hated being at Theobald’s beck and call twenty-four hours a day. He couldn’t stand the prospect of another winter under his father-in-law’s roof, with the long, cold nights seeming to stretch on forever. And Esther, betraying him like this: how could she take her marriage vows so lightly?

  It didn’t occur to Monty that he had slept with several women after he had walked out on her, and if someone had pointed the fact out to him and had accused him of being a hypocrite, he would have strenuously denied the charge. As far as he was concerned, none of his affairs had meant anything and so they didn’t matter; besides which, men behaved that way, with the stress of war. It was acceptable, even expected. But with women it was different.

  The door opened and Esther entered the house, but Joy was no longer with her. Esther had taken the child through to the dairy and left her with Rose and the farmer’s wife while she said what she had to say to Monty.

  Monty got in first. His voice scathing, he bit out, ‘I can’t believe you’ve encouraged the attentions of that fellow. He’s not of our class, and it does not become you.’

  Esther stared at him. At this moment she was seeing him as he really was. The rose-coloured glasses were not only off now, but were smashed into a hundred pieces. She felt no anger or sorrow about the end of their marriage; merely painful regret that Joy had such a man for a father. Her precious baby deserved better. Certainly a father who loved her exactly as she was. Quietly she said, ‘On the day that Joy was born, I accused you of being ashamed of her – and of me – and you couldn’t deny it. And the next day, when you had had time to cons
ider your actions, you proposed that if I agreed to our baby being taken away and brought up goodness knows where, and if I had an operation to prevent the conception of more children, you would do me the great honour of continuing to be my husband. When you talk of us getting back together again and living as man and wife, does that mean you will acknowledge Joy as your daughter, and that you would welcome further children?’

  He stared at her, taken aback at her directness, his Adam’s apple moving up and down as he swallowed hard.

  ‘I thought not.’ And as he went to speak, she said, ‘No, don’t say anything, Monty, and certainly don’t lie. It didn’t need thinking about.’

  Neither of them spoke for a moment and then Monty muttered, ‘I do love you. I want you to know that. I always will.’

  But not enough; not nearly enough. True love was open and unconditional. Gently she said, ‘You loved the old Esther, Monty, the one you knew before Joy was born. She doesn’t exist now. You could say I have grown up, I suppose, because when I look back now, I realize how young I was.’

  ‘You’re young now.’

  She would never be young again, and she didn’t fool herself that the road ahead was going to be easy, even with Caleb at her side. People were cruel, and she didn’t mind that for herself, but she knew she was going to suffer as any mother would when spiteful talk hurt her child. Not only that, but if she and Caleb got married and had children, it would be the same for them too. But the alternative – of hiding away, of having no more children, of letting the bigots and mean-minded win – was not an option.

  ‘Are you going to him?’ Monty asked stiffly.

  She sighed. ‘What does it matter?’

  ‘It matters to me, damn it. I won’t give you a divorce, Esther. I told you that before, and I mean it. And I shall insist on seeing Joy whenever I want – I have the right. I am her father, and any court in the land will back me.’

  ‘You’re trying to blackmail me?’

  ‘I am saying it would be far better for Joy – and simpler all round – if you agreed to live as my wife again. It’s what you’re used to, damn it, not this hovel. And I wouldn’t impose any demands on you, I promise you that. It would be separate bedrooms until you felt you were ready.’

  Was he mad? Or did he think she was stupid? ‘Of course you wouldn’t,’ she said flatly. ‘You don’t want more children. We’ve ascertained that.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  She had told Monty she had changed and she’d meant it, but now it dawned on Esther just how much of a different person she had become, when she thought about what she was going to say next. Looking him straight in the eye, she said very calmly, ‘No court would back you, Monty, regarding Joy. In fact you would be laughed out of court, because I would swear on oath that she is the result of a liaison with a black GI. I look white; you look white. Who would a judge believe?’

  After a tense moment during which their gazes locked, and with the words coming tight from between his lips, he said, ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Yes, I would. Instead of a quiet divorce that would pass virtually unnoticed, it would attract quite a bit of attention, don’t you think? And scandal. Scandal, Monty: the very thing the Grant name doesn’t want.’ In spite of her determination to remain calm and composed, an edge of bitterness accompanied the last words.

  ‘You would lie under oath? Commit perjury?’

  ‘For Joy’s happiness? Without even thinking about it.’

  ‘She would be happy if you came back to me. She’d be able to have anything she wanted – money no object.’

  ‘Money doesn’t buy happiness, Monty.’

  ‘You won’t be saying that when you’re living in squalor with that fellow,’ he barked back.

  ‘Don’t shout at me. I won’t stand for it.’

  Monty, his jawbone working hard under the skin, breathed in deeply. ‘Theobald won’t let you do this – I mean it. You were raised as his daughter and bore his name. He doesn’t want a divorce in the family.’

  ‘Theobald?’ In spite of all her good intentions, it was the final straw. ‘Do you think I care what he wants? He is as good as dead to me, and you can tell him that. And you can tell him something else too: if he tries anything – anything at all – I promise you I’ll make good on my threat to disown you as Joy’s father. And publicly; very publicly. You tell him that, word-for-word. His precious name will be dragged through the mud.’

  ‘You’re making a big mistake.’

  ‘No, Monty. I made my mistake three and a half years ago when I married you. And one last thing you can tell Theobald: I shall be filing for divorce in the New Year.’

  He glared at her, burning with anger and humiliation, and if he could have struck her dead at that moment, he would have done so. Instead he swung round, reaching for the parcel he had brought for Joy, which lay still wrapped under the Christmas tree. Tearing it open, he took the fancy doll with the smiling porcelain face from its box and, with one vicious blow, dashed it against the worn old flagstones. ‘If you want her to have nothing from me, that’s exactly what she’ll get – nothing.’

  Again they were staring at each other, Esther’s face drained of colour, and Monty’s as red as a beetroot. She was trembling, but her voice was steady as she said, ‘Please leave, Monty, and don’t come back again.’

  For a moment she thought he was going to hit her, but then he pushed past her, almost knocking her over, and left, slamming the door behind him. She didn’t move; even when she heard his car start up and the sound of it disappearing down the lane, she couldn’t persuade her frozen limbs into action. It was only when she looked down at the remains of the doll at her feet, at the little smashed face and limp arms and legs, that she sank to the floor, gathering it to her and swaying back and forth as the tears came.

  PART FIVE

  All Things Work Together for Good

  1946

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Well, here you are then, lass.’ Eliza McGuigan tried to hide her dismay as she glanced round the room in which she was standing. Outside the March day was bitterly cold and the raw north-east wind cut like a knife, the snow packed hard on the ground, with a fresh fall added to it nearly every day. Inside the small room at least it was warm, Caleb’s mother told herself, but then it doesn’t take much to heat a rabbit hutch, and that’s what this place was.

  Esther knew exactly what Eliza was thinking, but as she had told Caleb the night before, she couldn’t afford to be choosy. She had saved some of her wages for the last couple of years, in anticipation of this time, so she had a small nest egg to tide her over while she looked for work and found a nursery place for Joy during the day. But every penny had to stretch to two, and this room in a terraced house three streets from Bright Street had been cheap. It had been easy to see why. It was one of two bedrooms in the two-up, two-down building; the other upstairs room being occupied by an elderly married couple, and the front room and kitchen downstairs being the domain of a family of eight. The tap in the yard provided water for the household, and the wash house with its ancient boiler and the brick-built privy more or less filled the remaining space outside.

  When the wife of the downstairs family – her landlady – had shown her the room the week before, she had been apologetic about the state of it. ‘I know it’s a mess, lass,’ she’d said as she’d opened the door from the landing, ‘but with six bairns and a full-time job, I’ve not had time to do anything to it since Mr Mason left. Gone back south he has, and good riddance. Filthy swine, if ever I saw one. Eighty years old, he was, and always saying he couldn’t do this and couldn’t do that, but he’d nip off to the pub quick enough. His sister’s said he could go and live with her, now her husband’s passed on – apparently the husband couldn’t stand Mr Mason, and I’m not surprised – but I doubt she knows what she’s taking on. Still, that’s not my concern. Anyway, that’s why I’m not asking much for it, cos I know you’ll have to spruce it up a bit, and I doubt you
’ll be able to use the bed. Not particular in his habits, Mr Mason.’

  That was the understatement of the year. As Esther looked at Caleb’s mother’s face, she wondered what Eliza would have said if she’d seen the room before she and Caleb got to work on it. Esther had moved from Yorkshire the week before and had stayed at one of the bed-and-breakfast establishments in Roker, a mile or so up the coast, while she looked for somewhere to live, but time had been of the essence, as she couldn’t afford to remain there for long. But the landlady had been a dear soul, offering to take care of Joy while Esther went out each day, which had been a great help. Her husband had been a different kettle of fish, though, eyeing Joy with a pursed, disapproving mouth and a tight face, and making it quite clear he considered Esther a loose piece.

  Shrugging off the memory, Esther said now, ‘I know it’s tiny, but it’s clean and warm, and it will do for the present, Mrs McGuigan.’

  ‘Can’t he . . . Joy’s father’ – Eliza refrained from calling him Esther’s husband – ‘give you something each week? He ought to, lass. He’s well-oiled, isn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t want anything from him, not a penny.’

  Esther’s voice was so vehement that Eliza said no more on the matter. ‘You know best, lass. Now, I’ve come with an idea to put to you, an’ hear me out before you say anything.’ Eliza knew only too well how independent Esther was, from bits that Caleb had said. And it was to the lass’s credit, she’d give her that. Esther certainly didn’t intend to take Caleb for every penny, like some lassies would have done in the same circumstances; in fact, according to her son, Esther had told him that until she was legally divorced and everything was settled, she felt she had to provide for herself and Joy with no help from anyone. Mind, Eliza thought to herself, she still felt that husband of the lass’s should stump up something.