The Color of Secrets

by Lindsay Jayne Ashford

  Louisa nodded, unable to think that far ahead without the now-familiar feeling of dread. Would she still be watching Tom’s every move, scared to leave him with anyone else? She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get going: Tom gets out of school in half an hour.” As she stood up and reached for her coat, suddenly everything went fuzzy.

  “Lou!” Gina sounded as if she were shouting from miles away. “Lou! For God’s sake, speak to me!”

  She felt something cold and wet on her forehead and opened her eyes to see Gina’s worried face inches from her own. She tried to get to her feet. “Tom,” she mumbled, “must get Tom.”

  “You’re not going anywhere!” Gina propped a cushion under her head. “Give me the number of the school. I’ll phone them and tell them to keep him there for a while until we get hold of Ray.”

  “No,” Louisa moaned. “You can’t! You don’t understand.”

  “What’s the matter, Lou? You’re shaking!”

  “If . . . if I’m not there,” Louisa stammered, “he might get him.”

  “Who? Who might get him?”

  Louisa’s body convulsed into near-hysterical sobbing.

  Gina bent over her, bewildered by her friend’s distress. With some effort she heaved herself up from the floor and lumbered out to the phone in the hall.

  “Right,” she gasped, out of breath as she returned to the kitchen. “Everything’s under control: Ray’s collecting Tom, then he’s coming here for you.”

  Louisa was half sitting, half lying on the floor, propped up against the kitchen unit. She had stopped crying and was staring into space.

  “And in the meantime,” Gina went on, “I’m going to make you some tea and a sandwich, and you’re going to tell me all about it.”

  Louisa had never intended to tell a living soul what Trefor had done to her, but once she started, it all came pouring out.

  Gina sat in silence, her face mirroring Louisa’s as she took it in. “What a bastard!” she said at last. “I’d have bloody well poisoned him if he’d come to my house for lunch! No wonder you’ve made yourself so ill!”

  “You won’t say anything to Ray, will you? Promise me, please!”

  “Of course I won’t.” Gina bit her lip. “You know, I never could fathom why you went for him in such a big way. So quickly, I mean.” She glanced awkwardly at Louisa. “But I understand it now.”

  Louisa nodded glumly. “Do you think I’m terrible?”

  “No.” Gina sighed and reached for the teapot, topping up the mugs. “We all do what we have to, to survive, don’t we? It’s human nature.”

  “Doesn’t make it right, though, does it?” Louisa drew her mug closer, feeling the comforting warmth of the steam rising up over her face. “Some people would say I deserve to lose Tom, not knowing who his real father is.”

  “You don’t deserve anything of the kind! You’re a good mother and you’ve been a good wife to Ray. No one could say you haven’t!”

  “Couldn’t they?” Louisa suddenly wanted to tell Gina all the rest. Unburden herself about the misery of not loving Ray as she should, of sharing a bed with a man she had never wanted in the way he wanted her. And she wanted to ask Gina what it was like. How it felt to make love. Real love. But at that moment the front doorbell rang. Ray had come to take her home.

  Ray insisted on dropping Tom at his mother’s and taking her to a doctor.

  “I’m fine, honestly,” she said. “Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

  But he wouldn’t have it. When the doctor saw her, he insisted on doing some tests.

  “It’s no wonder you fainted, Mrs. Brandon,” he said. “You’re pregnant. Only about eight weeks, I’d say, but pregnant, without a doubt.”

  Louisa blundered out of the consulting room in a daze. She thought she’d missed her period because of the worry over Tom.

  “All right?” Ray searched her face.

  She nodded, her lips pressed together.

  Ray frowned. “What did he say?”

  “Oh . . . er . . . nothing much,” Louisa faltered. “Just a bit anemic, that’s all. He’s given me a prescription for iron tablets.” She couldn’t tell him. Not yet.

  The next day was Saturday. Tom was due to spend the afternoon at her parents’ house, so Ray dropped him off there on his way to work. Normally she would have gone too, just in case Trefor suddenly materialized and tried to snatch Tom. But she was too exhausted to go anywhere.

  Alone in the flat, she told herself she must stop being so paranoid. She tried to think about it logically. Why should Trefor want Tom when he couldn’t ever be sure the boy was his own flesh and blood? After all, he had a daughter, didn’t he? Even if she was living in Italy, she was still his. She told herself those parting words had been nothing more than an idle threat made out of spite.

  But it didn’t help. Her mind raced ahead, thinking about what would happen when this new baby came along. How could she go to the hospital? She’d worry herself sick over Tom if she was cooped up in that maternity ward. She would have to insist on a home birth this time: it was the only solution.

  She felt a wave of nausea and ran to the bathroom, but by the time she got there, it had passed. The effort made her head spin. She hobbled back to the lounge, putting her hand against the wall for support. Then she sank into the armchair, leaned back, and closed her eyes. She had drifted into sleep when the phone rang.

  “Louisa, I had to tell you . . .” Eva sounded breathless. “It’s Trefor . . .”

  “What?” Louisa’s mouth went dry. “Where is he? What’s he done?”

  There was a second’s silence at the end of the phone. “He’s dead, Lou.”

  Chapter 30

  A postmortem revealed that Trefor had more than three times the permitted alcohol level in his blood when he died. He had gone out in his tractor, still drunk from the night before, and it had overturned with him in it.

  “I never liked him in life, so it’d be hypocritical to mourn his death,” Eva said when they were discussing whether to go to the funeral. Louisa nodded her agreement. She would have gone if her mother had wanted it. She would gladly have traveled to Wales to see Trefor put in the ground.

  “Why did he drink so much, Mam? Was he an alcoholic?” She was incapable of feeling sorry for him, but his death intrigued her in the way a dead bee might fascinate a child who had been stung by it.

  “Yes, I think he probably was,” Eva replied, a faraway look in her eyes. “He certainly drank a lot at our house at Christmas. Did he do the same at yours?”

  Louisa nodded, her eyes fixed on the tablecloth.

  “I think he was devastated by the marriage breakup,” Eva went on. “He told us he had no idea where his wife and daughter were living. Apparently the family farm in Italy had been sold and they just disappeared without a trace.”

  “Oh.” Louisa ran her finger through a little heap of salt that had spilled on the cloth. “I didn’t realize.”

  “You know, I think he was jealous of us.” Eva’s eyes narrowed. “He was always so smug, so high-and-mighty. Even as a child he looked down on us. We were always the poor relations in his eyes. But when he came here at Christmas and saw that your dad and I had all the things he didn’t—not just a daughter, but a grandson as well—I think it dawned on him that he wasn’t the top dog after all.”

  Louisa felt an icy surge in her stomach. Was that why he had wanted Tom? Jealousy?

  “He once tried to kiss me.”

  “What?” Louisa’s head jolted upward. “When?”

  “I must have been about ten.” Eva was staring at the wall above her daughter’s head. “He was chasing me and he pulled me onto the ground. Next thing I knew he was on top of me, holding me down, trying to stick his tongue into my mouth.” Her face twisted in a grimace.

  Louisa gazed at her, incredulous. “What did you do?”

  “I bit it. Bit his tongue. He didn’t half yelp, filthy little devil!” She shuddered. “I was his cousin, for goodness sake!�
��

  “Well done, Mum—that was brave.” She would never have believed her mother to be capable of such an act. She had always seemed so . . . fragile. Louisa was on the brink of saying more. But how could she burden her mother with own dreadful secret? What if it had been Trefor’s twisted revenge for Eva’s rejection of him all those years ago? And why hadn’t she fought back the way her mother had?

  “Are you all right, love?” Eva’s voice brought her back to the present.

  “Yes,” she lied, “I’m fine.”

  Louisa squeezed Tom’s hand as they walked to school. No more skulking outside the gates, she thought. No more sleepless nights worrying what devious plans Trefor might be hatching to snatch her precious son. It was over. Now she could start thinking about the future. About the new baby.

  She decided she would break the news to Ray after she had dropped Tom off. He had been asleep when she left the flat, but he would probably be up and about by the time she got back. Monday was his day off, so they would have plenty of time to work out what they were going to do. They were going to have to find somewhere bigger to live and that wouldn’t be possible on what he was earning at the cinema.

  She needed to get a part-time job—at least until the baby was born. If she did that, they’d be able to put some money aside. She would have to try to make him see sense: swallow his pride about her going out to work. Hopefully, by the time the baby came along, he would be used to the idea. Perhaps she could ask her mother and his to take turns babysitting so that she could carry on doing two or three days a week.

  At the school gates she kissed Tom good-bye and hurried home. Opening the front door she glanced at the mat. Someone had picked up the post for the three flats and stacked it neatly on the hall table. She checked the pile. Nothing for them. Or perhaps Ray had been down already. She could hear no sound from above as she climbed the stairs. She wondered if he was still in bed.

  “Ray?” she called out. “Are you awake?” She went to the kitchen to put the kettle on and found him sitting at the table looking at the mail. “I thought you were asleep,” she said, turning on the tap.

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’ve got something to tell you,” she went on, pulling cups from the cupboard, suddenly nervous. “I . . . we’re going to have another baby.” She held her breath, staring hard at the kettle, waiting for his reaction. But none came. She wheeled around. He was staring at the piece of paper in front of him. “Ray, did you hear what I . . .”

  “I heard!” His voice was a low, venomous whisper.

  “Ray? What is it? I know it’s a shock, but . . .”

  “A shock?” He gave a mirthless laugh. “A shock? I’ll say it’s a shock—but not nearly as much of a shock as this!” He thrust the piece of paper under her nose. It was a lawyer’s letter. She glanced at the address. Aberystwyth: Trefor’s lawyer. Her heart began to pound as her eyes scanned the text: “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Brandon,” it said, “I am writing to inform you of the last will and testament of my client, Trefor Geraint Jenkins, deceased. It was his wish that his entire estate pass upon his death to his son, Thomas Edward Brandon . . .”

  Louisa’s hand flew to her mouth. Ray’s eyes were full of hatred. “It’s not true, Ray! This is some kind of sick joke! You know what Trefor was like!”

  “Oh yes, I know what he was like, all right!” He nodded slowly. “I saw what you were up to at Christmas when you thought I was in bed asleep! And now you come telling me you’re pregnant?” He slammed his fist down on the table. “My God, Lou, you might have taken me for a fool once, but I’ll be damned if you’ll do it a second time!”

  “That wasn’t what you think!” She tried to take his hand, but he snatched it away. “I hated Trefor! Before I met you, he ruined my life: please, don’t let him do it again!”

  His lip curled as he looked at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It happened when I was at home on my own at our old house on Sycamore Street . . .” She told him about the day Trefor had arrived with the check. How he had pushed her against the wall and forced himself on her, kicking her like a dog after taking her virginity.

  “I don’t believe you.” The words came out through clenched teeth. “I think you led him on—the way you led me on—and you were doing it again at Christmas!” He shouted the last sentence, his hands balled into fists.

  Louisa cringed against the kitchen cupboard. “No, Ray,” she whimpered, “I know what it must have looked like! But I was trying to get away from him!”

  “You expect me to believe that? I know you, Lou!” he snarled. “I’ll never forget how you came on to me in Dad’s van that first night.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t believe my luck! What a bloody fool, eh? No wonder you were so keen, you tart!” He grabbed her sweater, pulling the fabric so tight that it dug into the back of her neck. “Couldn’t admit to your mum and dad that you’d been knocked up by your own damn uncle, could you? So you went out and screwed the first sucker you clapped eyes on!”

  “N . . . n . . . no!” Her whole body was shaking. “P . . . please, Ray! Please! J . . . just let me explain!”

  “Oh no! Don’t think you’re going to talk your way out of this!” He suddenly loosed his grip and she fell backward against the cupboard, knocking her head. She picked herself up, touching her scalp, feeling for blood. She felt sick with fear, just as she had with Trefor in the kitchen at Sycamore Street. But the terror she felt now was not for herself but for her unborn child.

  She sidled toward the door, grabbing her coat and bag. He was glaring at her, but he didn’t move. She wanted to run, but she was afraid that would trigger some violent reaction. When she got as far as the hallway, she hurtled down the stairs, slamming the front door behind her.

  She ran and ran until she was two streets away. Panting for breath, she sank onto a garden wall. She glanced down the road, still afraid. But there was no sign of him. It was very quiet. Not a car or a person in sight. She felt very alone. A sudden surge of hatred for Trefor flared inside her. The fallout from that single, wicked act was going to ruin her life forever.

  She opened her handbag and took out her purse. All she had was a couple of shillings left over from the housekeeping money Ray had given her last Friday. She looked at her watch. She had to sort something out before it was time to collect Tom from school. She couldn’t take him back to the flat. She had to protect him from what Ray might say or do. Now that he thought Tom was another man’s child, there was no knowing what might happen. She had just seen how quickly his love for her had turned to hate. She couldn’t bear the thought of Tom having to witness that.

  She took a deep breath and got to her feet. She couldn’t go to her parents. That would mean telling them about Trefor—something she had vowed she would never do. There was only one place she could go.

  Gina looked flustered when she answered the door, and for an awful moment Louisa thought she was going to turn her away. She opened her mouth to explain why she needed to come in, but her lips trembled so badly she couldn’t speak. Five minutes later she was sitting at Gina’s kitchen table, next to a pile of unironed laundry, with a steaming mug of tea in front of her. In sentences punctuated by sobs, Louisa relived what had happened at the flat.

  “So he’s convinced himself Tom’s not his?” Gina said gravely.

  Louisa nodded, reaching in her handbag for a tissue.

  “And now he thinks this one’s Trefor’s as well?”

  “I thought he was going to hit me.” Louisa shook her head. “He had this awful look in his eyes, like he wanted to kill me.”

  “Oh Lou!” Gina heaved herself out of the chair, one hand cradling her pregnant belly, and waddled around the table to give her a hug. “You can understand how terrible it must be for him, though, can’t you?” she said. “If he thinks you’ve tricked him into taking on a kid that isn’t his and now—”

  “He thinks I’m trying it
again.” Louisa finished the sentence for her. “Yes, I know it sounds dreadful, but it’s not true.” She took a long breath and let it out. “I could never be sure who Tom’s father was, but I always wanted him to be Ray’s.” She gazed down at her stomach, still pancake flat beneath her woolen skirt. Yes, she knew exactly when this baby had been conceived. It was the second week in January, the night before Tom started back at school. She had been so worried about leaving him, about Trefor trying to snatch him, that she had been awake in the middle of the night, crying. Ray had woken up and asked her what was wrong. She had lied to him. Said she was upset because they hadn’t made love for ages. And he had taken her in his arms, only too eager to give her what he thought she wanted.

  “But you’re never going to be able to prove to Ray that he’s the father, are you?” Gina said. “Now that Trefor’s dead, there’s no way the truth can ever come out. It’s your word against Ray’s.”

  “I thought about writing him a letter,” Louisa said. “Setting out exactly what happened, so he can take it in without me being there to make him angry.” She looked at Gina. “I don’t suppose Tom and I could stay here for the night? Just until I sort something out? I’d go to my parents, but I don’t want to have to explain things until Ray’s calmed down a bit.”

  Gina looked bewildered.

  “The thing is,” Louisa explained, “I’m terrified he’s going to go round there and tell them. It’d kill them if they ever found out what Trefor did to me. I have to find some way of persuading Ray not to say anything.”

  “But how can you keep it from them?” Gina frowned. “They’re going to want to know why you’re arguing. And what about the will? How will you explain why Trefor’s left the farm to Tom?”

  “I don’t know.” Louisa’s shoulders drooped. She felt worn-out, as if the last ounce of fight had gone out of her. “I can’t think any further than today. All I want is to get Tom back safe from school and keep him away from Ray. Will you let us stay? We can both sleep on the sofa.”