The Rainbow Years

by Bradshaw, Rita

  ‘Shut your mouth.’ Bruce’s voice was a growl.

  Amy felt Nick’s arm fall from her waist. Ignoring the others she said, ‘I can explain. Nick, this isn’t what it seems.’

  ‘You’re married?’

  Before she could answer him, Perce said, ‘Forgot to tell you that little fact, did she? Oh aye, she’s married all right. Gave all of us the eye for years before selling herself to the highest bidder. Fancy rich widower, our Amy snared, and then when she got fed up with playing the loving wife she high-tailed it to the lights of London. She—’

  Bruce launched himself at his brother. His hands gripped Perce’s throat as the two of them overbalanced and sprawled among the couples dancing. Several women screamed and men shouted, a couple of them endeavouring to separate the brothers. They rolled about the floor, Perce aiming blows at Bruce’s head in an effort to break the strangehold.

  ‘This is disgraceful, disgraceful.’

  ‘Never would have seen such things at a church dance before this dreadful war.’

  ‘Of course, there are all types in uniform these days and half of them haven’t got the breeding.’

  Amy was vaguely aware of the comments from a table to their right where a party of matronly women and their spouses were sitting, but she was staring at Nick, clutching him to stop him walking away from her. ‘It isn’t like he said, I swear it. You have to listen to me. You must let me explain.’

  Nick’s eyes were as clear and hard as glass when he said, ‘I asked you if you were married.’

  ‘No, not really, only on paper. I left him years ago and there were good reasons, believe me.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why should I believe you now when you’ve been lying to me for months?’

  ‘I haven’t. I never said I wasn’t married.’ She was doing this all wrong. ‘Please, come outside, Nick. I swear I was going to tell you all about my past tonight even before Perce came.’

  He allowed her to pull him through the now mostly silent crowd. Perce and Bruce had been dragged apart and when Perce recovered enough to scream insults of the most base kind, more men joined the group holding him and Bruce apart.

  The band had stopped playing initially, but now some wit amongst them struck up ‘Two Lovely Black Eyes’ as Amy and Nick exited the building, a gust of laughter reaching their ears in the moment before the door swung shut.

  ‘How old is he?’ Nick turned to face her in the windy darkness, his face granite hard. ‘Your widower?’

  ‘How old?’ She stared at him in confusion. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Didn’t he die quick enough for you, was that it?’

  In contrast to Nick’s white face, Amy’s was flaming. She stepped back a pace from him. ‘Charles isn’t old.’

  ‘Charles? Is that his name? Good old aristocratic ring to it, I’ll give you that. And so if Charles wasn’t on the verge of popping his clogs when you married him, what happened? Didn’t he give you free rein with the filthy lucre? Was that it?’

  ‘Stop this.’ She felt she was going to be sick.

  ‘And Bruce was in on the joke as well, was he? Well, at least I know where I stand with him. With friends like him, who needs enemies?’

  Her face was now as devoid of colour as his but in spite of the terrible things he was saying she found she couldn’t defend herself as vehemently as she would have liked. She deserved this, a little voice in the back of her head was saying. She had been the world’s biggest fool and she was reaping what she’d sown.

  ‘Do they all know?’ Nick swung his hand towards the village hall. ‘Your pals? Have they all been tittering while they watched the great Nick Johnson make a blasted fool of himself?’

  ‘Please don’t be like this.’

  ‘How do you expect me to be?’ His voice sounded level now and very cold. ‘Should I make some quip and say it doesn’t matter to save my face? Well, it does matter. It matters like hell and right at this moment I want to put my hands round your lying little throat like Bruce did to his brother in there and squeeze until there’s no breath left in your body.’

  ‘Do it then.’ She didn’t flinch. ‘But let me explain first.’ He stared at her, his face working, and for a moment she thought he was going to let her have her say but then with a muttered, ‘Oh, to hell with you,’ he stalked off into the night.

  Chapter 22

  His mother had always said he was prone to cut off his nose to spite his face, and by golly he’d proved her right last night. As the ground crew strapped Nick into the cockpit of his Spitfire, his mind was replaying the conversation with Amy for the hundredth time. Why hadn’t he listened to what she wanted to say instead of walking off? At least that way he would know all the facts instead of being left in this limbo.

  The cockpit smell - a mixture of fine mineral oil, high-grade fuel and something indefinable - assailed his nostrils but the normal buzz it gave him was absent. He was too strung up.

  He went through the pre-flight routine automatically, then taxied out and turned the aircraft into the wind. After coughing loudly his Spitfire blew a short stream of pearly-white smoke into the air, roared into life and began to skim over the ground. The familiar procedure focused his mind but once airborne and slotted into formation, thoughts of Amy returned.

  He had been beginning to regret his handling of the situation which had erupted with such suddenness even before Bruce had had a word with him this morning and told him that there were reasons, terrible reasons, for Amy’s actions. He had to listen to her, Bruce had insisted. He’d regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t. And now Bruce was up before the CO for the fight last night and might not be able to tell Amy he’d agreed to talk.

  A break in the radio silence alerted him to the fact he needed to jiggle the control column to adjust his position in the formation, and after that he concentrated on the very physical business of flying the aircraft. They were out on a bombing raid against a power station and as they neared the target the sky suddenly became full of German planes, 109s coming from seemingly every direction. On sighting the enemy, his heart began to thump, his nerves tightening and every sense honed to the matter in hand, the crisis of the evening before put on the back burner.

  ‘Don’t let’s give them any more target practice than necessary, gentlemen.’ The squadron leader’s voice was dry as it came through the headphones in the helmet, but even as he spoke, Nick saw a Spitfire going down in flames to the left of him. One glance and then he concentrated on the intense flak the formation was coming under. Now the whole sky was filled with dirty brown puffs as the battle heightened, but this didn’t faze him. In fact he felt better now the real business of fighting Jerry was under way. Waiting for their appearance was the worst bit. As a Me109 came for him, he went into a steep climbing turn, pushing the throttle forward for maximum boost as he did so. It was a manoeuvre he had done a hundred times in the past but this time he saw sparks on one wingtip and pieces flying off. The aircraft shuddered with the impact of the collision with the German plane, and now as he tried to turn starboard and gain height, the rudder pedals didn’t respond and the Spitfire dived earthwards.

  Years of training meant he didn’t have to think about what to do next. He yanked the canopy release mechanism and the hood whipped away. He baled out, pulling the D ring on his parachute. There was a heart-stopping slight delay before the parachute deployed and then he was floating away from the battle above and into a layer of cloud, below which the enemy-occupied countryside of France stretched.

  Amy stared at Bruce. As soon as she had seen him walk into the airmen’s mess and look straight to where she was serving heaps of mashed potato and onion, she had feared the worst. He’d searched her out earlier, his face bearing evidence of the fight with Perce and his manner short as he’d told her he had a message from Nick that he wanted to talk to her. Relief had made her knees sag. Now she was ramrod straight as her cousin made his way to the
counter.

  ‘It’s Nick, isn’t it?’ she said as he reached her.

  ‘Several of the planes were shot down, his was one of them.’ And then as if realising his tone was too abrupt, he added, ‘I’m sorry, Amy. One of the pilots thinks he managed to bale out so there is hope he’s OK.’

  She nodded, continuing to slap dollops of potato on plates. Nick had been shot down. Nick had been shot down. The refrain beat in her head before she said,‘Thank you for letting me know. Will you tell me if there’s any news?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She watched him walk away and out of the door, his stiffness telling her he was still angry with her. When he’d come to see her first thing, he had told her that he had explained to Nick that there were extenuating circumstances which had made it hard for her to think about the past, much less talk about it. ‘I also told him that my brother has never been all the ticket where you’re concerned,’ he had added grimly, ‘and his version of things is a pack of lies.’ He hadn’t wanted her thanks when she’d tried to express them, informing her abruptly that the situation they found themselves in had been preventable all along and that he did not appreciate being put in an impossible position with a man whom he counted as a friend.

  Amy brushed a wisp of hair from her brow, leaving a trail of mashed potato in its wake.The next moment it was gently wiped away by Cassie who had been privy to the recent exchange. ‘Don’t worry, Nick’ll be all right. I feel it in my bones.’ Cassie squeezed her arm reassuringly. ‘And Bruce will come round, you know he thinks the world of you.’

  Amy tried to smile but it was wobbly. ‘Thanks, Cassie, but I’ve made such a mess of things. I don’t know what I’ll do if that pilot was wrong and Nick didn’t bale out.’ Even the thought of him being taken as a prisoner of war was terrifying, but to consider anything else . . .

  ‘You would cope, same as we all do,’ Cassie said soberly, before adding, ‘But you’re a dark horse, I’ll give you that. All this time and never letting on you were married.’ The news had gone round the camp like wildfire and the general consensus of opinion was that Nick had been treated very badly. If he didn’t come back, Cassie felt Amy was going to find life somewhat rough.

  ‘We had separated long before the war started and I didn’t think of myself as married when I joined up.’ Even to Amy’s own ears it sounded weak, as it had done when she’d said the same thing to Isobel and the others the night before. Only Gertie had been wholly in her corner, staunchly stating that in her opinion folk were far too quick to condemn without knowing the facts.

  The rest of the afternoon dragged by and when at six o’clock a message came to say Amy was wanted in the CO’s office, she knew what it was about. She was going to be hauled over the coals for lying about her marital status when she joined up and maybe for being instrumental in causing the rumpus at the village hall too. But she didn’t care what they said or did to her. Not with Kitty and her uncle gone and Nick maybe captured or worse.

  Amy was aware of the CO’s secretary’s keen glance when she presented herself in the outer office but she kept her face blank. She gave her name and waited while the secretary buzzed through on the intercom. Before Amy knocked on the CO’s door and opened it, she took a deep breath, and she was glad of this when she saw who was sitting on the other side of the desk to the CO.

  ‘Hello, Amy.’ Charles’s voice was quiet and he looked immaculate as he got to his feet with the courtesy which was an integral part of him.

  She didn’t answer him. She dragged her gaze from the man who had first stirred her girlish passion and looked straight at the CO as she gave her name, standing to attention.

  ‘Your husband,’ the CO stressed the second word slightly, ‘has requested to see you in private. I have certain duties to attend to and will be back in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.’

  The CO nodded grimly and swept out of the room.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ Charles gestured at a chair.

  She remained standing exactly where she was.‘I don’t wish to sit down.’

  He wetted his lips and swallowed before saying, ‘This will be easier if we can behave in a civil fashion, Amy.’

  She supposed it would but she was fighting so many feelings she didn’t know which one was uppermost. When she had contemplated seeing Charles Callendar again she’d always imagined she would feel the same hatred that had carried her through the years after the miscarriage, but disturbingly the emotion that seemed to dominate was a kind of amazed pity. No one would believe the man standing in front of her with such haunted eyes was only twelve years older than she was. He looked at least fifty-five and that was being kind.

  ‘Please sit down,’ he said again, but when she complied, he didn’t sit down himself. He rested both hands on the end of the table and bowed his head. ‘Perce came to see me first thing this morning.’

  She should have expected he would but her mind had been so focused on Nick she hadn’t given Perce a thought. Bruce had mentioned that a couple of the more burly airmen at the dance had frogmarched Perce to the train station and seen him on his way, so she had assumed he had gone back to Sunderland. She hadn’t thought further than that.

  When she didn’t speak, Charles raised his head. ‘Sorting through what he said, and I tell you now I didn’t believe half of it, I gathered you have a friend here at the station. A man friend.’

  She nodded. She felt odd, numb.

  ‘Is . . . is it serious? I mean, are you both—’

  ‘We’re in love,’ she interrupted sharply. She couldn’t stand this, not with Nick missing.

  ‘I see.’ He closed his eyes for a moment and then turned and sat down, resting the side of his face in his hand which obscured his expression when he said, ‘I had always hoped . . . But of course I understand. I behaved abominably. I did think about trying to find you but . . .’

  She stared at his bent head. ‘Are you still drinking?’ she asked baldly. His lack of reply was all the confirmation she needed - that and his haggard looks. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ He rose from the chair and walked across the room to the window and stood looking out for a moment or two before he spoke again. ‘Because I can’t stop.’ He swung round and looked at her.‘It’s a disease, a drug, worse than any opium den because it creeps up on you so gradually. Everyone has a drink, it’s part of social life, after all. We had watered-down wine as soon as our parents considered us old enough to join them at the dinner table.’

  ‘Your brother is not a drunk.’

  She meant to shock him with her choice of words but if she did he gave no sign of it when he wearily agreed, ‘No, he isn’t. But neither is he weak or foolish.’

  ‘You all but ruined my life.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you killed our baby.’

  ‘Amy -’ He broke off, moderating his voice when he said, ‘Please don’t. I . . . I don’t expect you to forgive me and I can’t forgive myself for what happened that night. It seems monstrously unfair that you’ve had to bear the consequences of that fall and always will.’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ she agreed steadily, her hands twisted tightly in her lap.

  ‘I’ve never stopped loving you.’

  ‘And I’ve never stopped loving our son. I never even got to hold him before they took him away.’

  ‘Amy . . .’ As he made a move towards her she jumped to her feet, her hands out in front of her, palms facing him.

  ‘Don’t, Charles. Look, I can’t do this now, not right now.’

  ‘You think I’m some kind of monster.’

  ‘No.’ She looked at him sadly. ‘Just weak, but that’s worse.’

  ‘You want a divorce.’

  It was a statement not a question.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘The business went downhill fast after you left and I sold it before it became a liability. My brother invested the money for me and it’s done very well, possibly because I hav
en’t been involved in the decisions,’ he added with a touch of bitterness. ‘Anyway, what I’m saying is that your half will amount to a considerable—’

  ‘I don’t want your money.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, you’re my wife. You’re entitled to—’

  Again she cut him off, her face flushed. ‘I don’t want anything except my freedom. I’ve managed perfectly well over the last years without your money.’

  ‘Amy, I can never give back what the surgeon took away but at least let me make some reparation. I’ve been drowning in guilt and shame for years.’

  She gulped in her throat. She wanted to hate him. She felt she was letting her baby down by not hating the person who had caused his death, but now, with Charles standing in front of her, a broken man, she couldn’t. ‘I can’t discuss this now,’ she said. There was a torrent of tears inside her, but whether they were for her baby or Kitty and Ronald or Nick or even Charles she didn’t know.