The Color of Secrets

by Lindsay Jayne Ashford

  “I worked in a library when I left school.”

  “Did you like it? Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t exactly fit the image.”

  “Don’t I?” Eva grinned. “Well I suppose I was a bit subversive. I almost got fired in my first week.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I put a book about birth control in the Romance section.”

  Cathy spluttered as she swallowed. “Seriously?”

  Eva nodded. “It was called What Every Mother and Girl Should Know. It arrived in the post one morning, and I thought it ought to go somewhere prominent. I got into terrible trouble with the head librarian; her brother was the Roman Catholic bishop of Birmingham—”

  A screech from the next table made them both look around.

  “Is it true? Are they long? And hairy?” It was Iris, the woman who had shared the sweets. She was clutching her sides, tears of laughter streaming down her face.

  “How the hell should I know? I don’t go round putting my hand down men’s trousers!” The woman who’d spoken was someone Eva hadn’t seen before. She had ferociously plucked eyebrows, a grin splitting her face. She paused, making sure she had the full attention of the women sitting around the table. “My dad told me. Tails like monkeys, apparently. This Yank came round the Air Raid Patrols last week, telling them what to do if they came across a colored GI. Be polite but not too friendly—that’s what he said—because they howl at night and cut folks up when they get mad. And their tails start to twitch when it gets dark.”

  Iris and her friends could hardly contain themselves. Their food lay uneaten on their plates as they struggled to suppress their hysterics.

  Eva and Cathy exchanged glances.

  “I saw them coming out of the station,” Cathy whispered. “Did you?”

  Eva nodded, staring at her half-finished lunch. She could feel the color rising up her throat to her face, her skin burning.

  “Eva? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Food’s a bit hot, that’s all—should have waited till it cooled down.” How could she explain it to Cathy, the feelings those stupid words had stirred up? Since David’s birth she had felt as raw as an oyster building a pearl around a piece of grit. Thoughtless people, staring into the pram, their smiles frozen when they saw the face peeping over the blanket. And he would reach out to them, the way babies do, but no one wanted to touch him.

  She wanted to shake Iris’s friend until her teeth rattled, wanted to shove a plate of Mock Mashed Banana right into that spiteful, grinning face. She stared at the dirty marks on the tablecloth, dug her fork mechanically into the congealing mess on her plate.

  “There’s a dance at the Civic on Saturday. Fancy coming?”

  Eva looked up, blinking. Cathy had untucked the ends of her turban and made them stick up like rabbit’s ears. It was impossible not to smile. “I don’t know,” Eva said. “I haven’t been dancing since I don’t know when.”

  “Good. That makes two of us.”

  “Well . . . I’d have to find a babysitter.”

  “Won’t your mum do it? How about your sister—she’s old enough, isn’t she?”

  “Old enough to babysit, yes; old enough for boys as well. If she finds out there’s a dance on, I won’t see her for dust.”

  “Well, my neighbor’s offered to sit with Mikey—I’m sure she wouldn’t mind looking after another one.”

  “Do I detect a whiff of determination here?” Eva rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’ll ask my mum. On one condition, though.”

  “What?”

  “No ditching me for the first American with a bar of chocolate and a packet of ciggies.”

  Chapter 2

  Eva sat on the double bed in her best underwear—the cream silk camisole and knickers her mother had fashioned from an old nightdress for her nineteenth birthday. She hadn’t even been able to try them on at the time as she was eight months pregnant. You can save them, can’t you, her mother had said with a conspiratorial smile.

  She stared out of the window at the jumble of slate roofs stretching into the distance. On the horizon the square tower of St. Peter’s Church was silhouetted against the orange evening sky. She poked her head through the open sash, sniffing the air. A wisp of acrid smoke from Goodyear’s tire factory floated over the narrow back gardens, mixing with the smell of boiling tripe from next door’s kitchen. She caught sight of a group of women filing through a garden gate into the street beyond. They were chattering and giggling, all dressed up for a night out.

  She had been saving her underwear for Eddie. For his first leave after David was born. She had planned it all in her head. She would have lost the baby fat by then. Mum would take David off somewhere and they would have a romantic evening in, just the two of them.

  She ran her finger over the lace border of the camisole. It hadn’t happened. He’d taken one look at the livid birthmark on his son’s face and recoiled in horror. After that she hadn’t wanted him anywhere near her.

  She glanced at his photo on the dressing table. So smart in his navy uniform. Now his smile seemed to accuse her. “I shouldn’t be going, should I?” Though she whispered the words, her voice sounded loud in the quiet bedroom.

  “Shouldn’t be going?” Eva’s sister darted into the room and jumped onto the bed beside her. Her black hair was piled high on her head and her face was almost unrecognizable.

  “Since when did you start wearing lipstick?” Eva didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the vampish look Dilys had managed to contrive. “And who did you pinch that mascara from?”

  “Didn’t pinch it from anyone—it’s soot from the chimney mixed with Vaseline! Looks good, doesn’t it? And I found the lipstick in one of Mum’s old handbags—but that’s not all . . .” She danced around the bed, rippling her fingers under Eva’s nose.

  “Nail varnish as well! Dil?”

  “Got it from a girl from school who works in Woolworth’s,” Dilys trilled. “It’s not really nail varnish. They call it Ladder Stop.”

  “Let’s see it.”

  “You don’t believe me?” Dilys bounded out of the room and reappeared with a small, white-capped bottle, which she tossed onto the bed.

  Eva picked it up and examined the label.

  “See! Told you, didn’t I? Did you think I’d been with a Yank or something?” Dilys folded her arms, a smug look on her face. “You can have some if you want, but you’d better get ready first.”

  Eva glanced at Eddie in the silver frame, at herself clutching him with one hand and her wedding bouquet with the other. Part of her wanted to break free. To blot out that hopeful, hopeless image. But Eddie’s voice was whispering in her head. How could you? What if you meet someone?

  “Come on, Sis!” Dilys grabbed Eva’s hands. “Eddie wouldn’t want you to be staying in all the time feeling miserable, would he?”

  Eva swallowed hard and slid off the bed. “I suppose it won’t hurt to go for an hour or so—but no moaning when I say it’s time to leave, okay? And wipe some of that lipstick off, for God’s sake.”

  Dilys gave a theatrical sigh. “Must I really? It’s such a waste.”

  “Well, I’d rather see it on a bit of paper chucked in the bin than smeared over some boy’s collar!”

  “Spoilsport!” Dilys dodged out of the way as Eva swiped at her. “Hurry up! You’re not even dressed!”

  “That’s because I don’t know what on earth I’m going to wear. You do realize I haven’t been anywhere apart from the cinema since David was born? I don’t think any of this stuff’s going to fit me.”

  Eva’s body had not gone back to its prebaby shape. Her hips were wider and her breasts fuller. The only thing she had a chance of wriggling into was a blue woolen shift dress that had been hanging neglected in the wardrobe since before she was married. There was a short boxy jacket that went with it.

  She was trying them on when her mother walked into the bedroom. Eva saw her reflection in the long mirror. She was standing in the d
oorway, rubbing her wedding ring. It was something she did often. A habit she seemed to have acquired since being widowed. As if to remind herself she hadn’t always been alone. She had been married for twenty years when Eva’s father died. If he had lived, they would have been celebrating their silver wedding anniversary this year. What did it feel like, Eva wondered, to spend that long living with a man? The longest she and Eddie had lived together without a break was ten days.

  She tugged at the hem of her jacket, glancing at her reflection. She had never called herself a widow—despite the long, long months without any news. The word felt as awkward as her suit.

  “Don’t bother with the blackout boards,” her mother said. “I’ll put them up later. You go and enjoy yourself. Got your gas mask and your torch?”

  Eva nodded, watching her mother tuck a pile of clean, folded baby clothes into the chest of drawers. Had she imagined it, or had there been a sharpness in the way she’d said the word enjoy? Mum had never encouraged her to go out in the evenings. It wasn’t the fear of German bombs. Not any longer. It was as if Eddie’s absence had forged a bond that hadn’t existed before Eva’s marriage. They would listen to the wireless together or sit reading in companionable silence, Eva with a book and her mother with the newspaper; two women alone but not lonely, with Dilys and David at the center of their universe.

  In the years before the war they had not been close—not as close as Eva had been to her father, anyway. When he was alive, Eva had often found herself wishing her mother had been a little kinder, a little less sharp. Had they been happy? She wasn’t sure. And what was it like for her mother now? Would she want another man if chance should bring one, or had she cast off that part of herself with the handful of earth she’d thrown on Dad’s coffin?

  As Eva glanced back at the mirror she caught the reflected black-and-white image of Eddie’s face. She thought of how he had devoured her on their wedding night. For both of them it had been the first time. She had been nervous, hoping to take things slowly. He’d tried—for all of thirty seconds. He’d said sorry, that he couldn’t help himself. She wondered if he’d been afraid it was going to be his one and only time. Was that how he’d felt when he went off to war? That if he died now, at least he would not die a virgin? Was that why he’d been so keen to get married?

  “Come on, Eva!” Dilys called her from the landing, hiding her made-up face from her mother. “You must be ready by now!”

  Eva didn’t feel ready. Under the jacket her dress was unzipped. She couldn’t do it all the way up. She told herself she’d be all right as long as she kept the jacket on.

  “See you later, Mum.” She caught a trace of Devon Violets as she brushed her mother’s cheek with her lips. For some reason she couldn’t explain the scent set off a feeling of unease, which shifted into nervousness about the evening ahead. She had forgotten how to do this. How to be in a crowd. How to be with men.

  She tiptoed across to David’s cot and gazed at his sleeping face. The birthmark had almost gone now. Two years, the doctor had said. At the time she hadn’t believed him. It was impossible to imagine that the ugly, blood-colored blob the size of an egg could simply disappear. She stroked the pale-pink patch on his cheek before bending down and kissing him softly.

  “Hurry up!” Dilys hissed. “Cathy’s at the door!”

  Eva’s jacket swished against the bars of the cot. David stirred, murmuring something in his sleep, but his mother was already halfway down the stairs.

  Chapter 3

  “You coming?” Jimmy flicked Bill’s cap with his fingers, knocking it sideways. “Don’t want to miss the passion wagon!”

  “Passion wagon?” Bill repositioned the cap, frowning at his reflection in the tiny square of mirror on the wall between the bunks. “No chance in this one-horse town!”

  “Ah, but we’re not going to Bridgnorth tonight,” Jimmy tapped the side of his nose. “They’re taking us to Wolverhampton. Remember? That place we got off the train.”

  Bill swung around, his arms folded. “Wolverhampton? But that’s a white town . . .”

  “Not tonight.” Jimmy chuckled. “I was in the guardhouse when they dropped off the invitation.”

  “What invitation?”

  “From the Royal Netherlands Regiment. There’s a dance in honor of Queen Wilhelmina.”

  “Queen who?” One of Bill’s eyebrows jerked toward his cap.

  “Wil-hel-mina. Dutch Queen. It’s her birthday or something. All Allied troops within ten miles of their camp are invited.”

  Bill sniffed. “So we’re going to some barracks in the middle of nowhere? Sounds even worse than Bridgnorth!”

  “No, you got it all wrong.” Jimmy shook his head. “It’s at the Civic—biggest dance hall in town! I tell you, man, there’ll be more girls than you can handle!”

  “Is that a fact?” Bill’s eyes narrowed. “And who do you reckon they’ll go for? A bunch of Dutch fellas, three white Yankee companies—or us? Try thinking like a white girl, Jimmy.”

  Later the two men jumped out of a US Army truck and stood for a moment on the pavement, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The mellow stone of St. Peter’s Church glowed in the light of the sinking sun. In its shadow were knots of women, laughing and chattering as they moved past empty market stalls. Across the square was the Civic Hall, its Doric pillars towering over the heads of the khaki-clad soldiers filing through the doors.

  “Don’t look now,” Jimmy said, as the company of black GIs set off across the square, “but I think we’re being followed.”

  Bill could hear barely suppressed giggles and loud shushing noises over his left shoulder. As the others marched ahead, he signaled to Jimmy and they sidestepped out of the line, slipping behind one of the market stalls.

  “Here they come,” Bill whispered. Both craned their necks as far as they could without being noticed.

  “Stop staring at their backsides!” A woman with sparse brown hair regimented into a stiff marcel wave nudged the younger one walking beside her. The rest of the group of women started giggling.

  “I can’t help it!” The girl’s round cheeks reddened as she tried to get the words out. “I only want to see their tails!”

  “Don’t be stupid! It’s not dark yet!”

  “Well, it soon will be . . .” the girl trailed off, clapping her hand to her mouth and snorting.

  The two men stared wordlessly at each other as the women disappeared from view.

  “What did I tell you?” Bill said through clenched teeth. “We’re headed for a goddamn circus!”

  “Come on, man!” Jimmy coaxed. “They’re not all like that! Remember that sassy blonde with the sandwiches at Liverpool docks? She couldn’t take her eyes off you—and it wasn’t your ass she was looking at.”

  Bill grunted.

  “Come on!” Jimmy shoved him forward. “We’ve got to go in there anyway—there’ll be worse trouble if they think we’ve skipped the line.”

  Once inside, the men were shepherded to a corner of the dance hall, to the right of the stage. From that position it would be impossible to see the band when the music started up. There were plenty of women in the room—Jimmy had not been wrong about that.

  Bill watched the men around him. Hungry looks were accompanied by whispered expressions of desire. The words he caught were mostly too crude to repeat. He stared at the floor between his feet. What was the point of looking?

  “Hey, man! Get a load of her!” Jimmy poked him in the ribs. When Bill failed to respond, his friend grabbed him by the chin, jerking his head upward. “The one with the tight blouse . . . Man, I swear if I get up close to her, those buttons are going to pop right off!”

  “Dream on, Jimmy,” Bill grunted as he pulled away. But as he did so, something caught his eye. A flash of long red hair. As he focused in, she turned to the woman beside her. Now he could see her in profile. He blinked. It was Rita Hayworth, come to life. As if she’d stepped out from between the pages of Revelation and followed
him here.

  The dance floor was a sea of khaki and blue, the odd flowered dress making the only splash of color. About half of the women were in uniform, most of the others wearing drab two-pieces cut in military styles from old coats or curtains.

  “This was what I wore on my first date with Eddie,” Eva whispered as she and Cathy fox-trotted across the floor. She was beginning to feel hot in the woolen jacket and wished she could take it off. “Seems like such a long time ago,” she went on, “doesn’t seem real, sometimes, but—” She stopped short as Dilys danced past, clutching a Dutch soldier like a trophy. She’d left her sister near the entrance to the dance floor with a group of her school friends. She was going to have to keep a very close eye on her.

  “Is that why you don’t wear a ring?” Cathy, facing the other way, hadn’t spotted Dilys.

  “No,” Eva said, watching her sister move across the room, “I started taking it off for work because the spade handle was giving me a callus, and now I hardly ever remember to put it back on again. I suppose it looks bad, but it’s not deliberate.”

  “Don’t worry. If people want to think badly of you, they’ll do it anyway—they don’t need an excuse. Anyway, I know how you feel—about it all seeming unreal, I mean: next Christmas I’ll have been a widow for longer than I was married.” She pressed her lips together, draining them of their color. “I look at Stuart’s photo sometimes and I think, that’s all there is. The only thing I’ve got to remember him by. Apart from Mikey.” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “He’s the image of his dad.”

  “You’ve never talked about him,” Eva began. “I’ve always been afraid to ask . . .”

  “I suppose I just find it easier not to when all the girls are around.” Cathy pushed a stray lock of dark-brown hair from her eyes. “Like I said the other day, work helps. I tend to shut everything to do with home out of my mind.”

  As they drifted across the dance floor, Eva tried to do the same. Thinking about Eddie stirred up an unsettling mix of emotions. The fear and the worry were shot through with guilt. She had never cried for him; never missed him the way Cathy so obviously missed Stuart. Was that because they had had so little time together? Or because she had been so angry at the way he had been with David? There was also a third reason: one she hardly dared put into words. That she was fearful, not for him, but for herself. Afraid of what it would be like if he did come back.