Broken Rainbows

by Catrin Collier

  The sound of the wheel turning on the winding gear woke the manager. Stirring himself, he blinked rapidly as he looked around his office. Dr John was snoring softly, his head thrown back against the side of the chair at an awkward angle. Bethan John and her brother were slumped either side of a table in the corner. Leaving his chair he went to the window and lifted a blackout board from one of the panes. Dawn was breaking. He switched off the lamp and removed the rest of the boards, but no one else opened their eyes.

  He’d had good reason to allow Dr and Nurse John to stay in his office, but he found himself wondering why he had permitted Haydn Powell to sit with them. It was a dangerous precedent. Allow one relative on to the premises during a disaster, and in theory, he had to accord them all the privilege.

  He opened the door. Cold air gusted around him, blowing away the last vestiges of sleep and the cosy warmth of the coal fire that had warmed them during the night. He had never allowed rationing restrictions to interfere with office heating.

  He stepped out quickly, closing the door behind him. Rain drizzled steadily from heavy skies, pockmarking the few remaining drifts of snow. Shivering from a combination of lack of sleep and a chill that had seeped into his bones, he walked stiffly down the steps that led to the pithead. As the cage reached ground level he saw that both teams were in it.

  ‘There’s been another fall, sir.’ The leader of the Albion’s rescue team was the first out. ‘It’s in front of the last. We were lucky not to get caught up in it.’

  ‘How thick?’

  ‘A good few tons. It’s put another four, maybe six feet between us and the original collapse. We’ve worked all night for nothing. The face those men were working on is well and truly buried.’

  ‘I’ll put out a call for more shoring and fresh teams.’

  ‘If you want my opinion there’s not much point, sir. We haven’t heard a peep from the other side. If they were alive there would have been some sound. Twelve men, most of them experienced miners. They know the drill, sir.’

  ‘We should make an effort to bring out the bodies.’

  Mr Williams didn’t have to say any more. As a breed miners were a superstitious lot. Too many corpses had been left down after falls in the past, giving rise to ghost stories of spirits trapped underground, striving to escape the filth and darkness they had been forced to work – and die – in.

  ‘Bethan?’

  Standing barefoot in her hall, Bethan wrapped her dressing gown around her as she lifted the receiver closer to her ear.

  ‘Have they found Dad, Haydn?’

  ‘It’s not Dad, but I think you should come down. Now, if you can.’

  Bethan glanced up at the grandfather clock. It was two o’clock. She had been in bed for only three hours. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m in the Graig Hotel. I’ve got to get back.’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Make it quick, Beth.’

  ‘Have they found your father, Mrs John?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Maisie, but I’ve got to go down to Graig Avenue. If anyone from the surgery or my father-in- law telephones, take a message, please?’

  Bethan could hear her mother’s voice as soon as she opened the front door, then she understood why Haydn hadn’t wanted to talk to her over the telephone with the landlord and probably half the temporarily laid off miners from the Maritime listening in. She closed the door and leaned back against it, mustering her remaining strength.

  After making her father’s, her brothers’ and sister’s and her own life a misery, her mother had finally left them for her Baptist minister uncle’s house in the Rhondda. She hadn’t seen her since she had driven up there to break the news of Maud’s death. Even then her mother had shown no sign of grief, merely reiterated that she had warned all of them often enough that they would go to hell for their sins, and the early deaths of Eddie and Maud only served to confirm her prognostications.

  Why had she come now, of all times, when she had sworn never to set foot over the doorstep again? Was it to gloat? Then she thought of Phyllis. Much more her father’s wife than her mother had ever been. The door opened at the end of the passage and Haydn looked at her.

  ‘Mam’s back. She’s moving in.’

  ‘She can’t do that.’

  ‘Unfortunately she can. I rang Spickett’s the solicitors before I telephoned you. If she wants to move back into the matrimonial home, she’s entitled to whether Dad’s alive or dead.’

  ‘Dad made a will.’

  ‘Which Mam has already said she’ll contest.’

  ‘But what about Phyllis and Brian?’

  ‘You know Phyllis. Self-effacing to the point where she blends in with the wallpaper. She loves Dad but she’s always hated being his fancy woman, and that’s one of the kinder names Mam has called her. When Mam and Uncle Joseph walked in through the door she went upstairs to pack her own and Brian’s things. She’s with Mrs Richards.’

  ‘What about you, Jane and Anne?’

  ‘Mam said she has no intention of running a common lodging house. She wants all of us out. If we don’t go peacefully, she’s threatened to call in the bailiffs.’

  ‘She can’t do that at short notice.’

  ‘Legally perhaps, but would you want to live with her again, Beth? Believe me she has no intention of leaving now she’s here.’

  ‘But this house is Dad’s. It was his father’s before him. He paid the mortgage.’

  ‘And she insists that as his widow she’s entitled to his estate.’

  ‘Widow! We don’t even know he’s dead.’

  The door opened wider to reveal Elizabeth’s gaunt frame. She stared dispassionately at her daughter. ‘Your Uncle John Joseph telephoned the manager of the Maritime as soon as we heard the news. There’s been another fall in the pit. They’ve suspended the rescue operations.’

  John Joseph’s voice thundered down the passage from the kitchen. ‘Evan Powell got the death he deserved. He’ll writhe in eternal damnation for his sins. The mark of Satan was upon him …’

  ‘Give us an hour to move everyone’s personal possessions out of the house.’ Bethan recognised, as Haydn already had, that it was futile to argue with her mother or John Joseph while they were in their self-righteous, Bible-quoting mood.

  Haydn returned to the Graig Hotel to telephone removal firms. When none was able to do anything at short notice, Alma sent up her boy, and he helped Haydn carry Phyllis’s furniture and china into Mrs Richards’s house. After years of shaking her head at Evan and Phyllis ‘living in sin’ next door to her, Elizabeth’s sudden return and the eviction of the family from their home had brought Mrs Richards’s sympathies firmly down on Phyllis’s side, and she even managed to set aside her grief over Viv long enough to make tea for Phyllis and Brian.

  While Haydn and the boy were busy with the furniture, Elizabeth and her uncle supervised Bethan and Jane’s packing to ensure that they didn’t take anything that belonged to the house Elizabeth now termed ‘hers’.

  Bethan drove Brian and Anne, along with the high chair, toys and dismantled cot, up to her house. Leaving the children with Maisie, she returned for Jane, Phyllis and their suitcases. Phyllis was distraught, principally, Bethan suspected, because her mother had allowed her acid tongue free rein on her arrival in Graig Avenue. But by forcing Phyllis to concentrate on practical matters, she succeeded in coaxing her back to the dry-eyed, pale-faced, shocked state of the previous evening.

  The domestic arrangements proved comparatively easy to sort out. By giving up her own bedroom to Phyllis and Brian and carrying her children’s and Anne’s cots into Andrew’s old dressing room, laying a mattress on the floor of the children’s room for Haydn and Jane, and relegating herself to the sofa in Andrew’s study she managed to fit everyone in.

  She regretted the loss of Andrew’s dressing room much more than her bedroom. When she had taken in evacuees she had turned it into a tiny sitting room for herself, and now she rea
lised she hadn’t a corner of the house to call her own, except perhaps Andrew’s study. Which in the middle of a harsh winter of coal rationing was a cold and cheerless room.

  Once the last bed had been made up and everyone ensconced in the kitchen where Maisie was making tea, all she felt like doing was curling up and having a good cry. But there was more to do. Squaring her shoulders she drove back down the hill to Graig Avenue. It was the first time she had seen the key out of the door and she was forced to ring the bell. The door was opened by her uncle.

  ‘I’m here to pick up Haydn.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘Pardon?’ She stared at him in bewilderment.

  ‘I haven’t heard you, or your brother, offer one single word of condolence on her loss. You didn’t even let her know about the accident. She had to find out the fate of her husband from strangers. Have you no sympathy for her suffering?’

  ‘She didn’t even live with Dad.’

  ‘That’s it, decry his unnatural state of sin to the entire world.’ He opened the door wider and stood beside her on the doorstep. ‘Your mother was driven out by your father’s whoring and drinking …’

  ‘Not before she’d driven us all mad with her misery and moralising,’ Bethan snapped, strain and lack of sleep shortening her temper.

  Beside himself with rage, he pointed his finger at her. ‘How dare you! Your mother is a God-fearing Christian, which is more than can be said for any other member of this family. A respectable woman living under her dead husband’s roof. A roof that is rightfully hers …’

  Knowing that her uncle would carry on sermonising as long as she provided him with an audience, she pushed past and walked down the passage into the kitchen. Haydn was crouched in front of the dresser. Her mother was standing over him watching his every move.

  ‘Those photograph albums are mine, Haydn,’ she lectured as he lifted out books crammed with photographs Evan had taken with his ancient Box Brownie.

  ‘These are the only photographs we have of Maud and Eddie. Could we borrow the negatives to make copies?’ He picked up a pile of envelopes marked with his father’s writing.

  ‘I know you, I’d never see them again. Neither they, nor the albums are leaving this house.’ She turned to Bethan. ‘I thought I heard your uncle talking to someone.’

  ‘I’ve come for Haydn.’

  ‘As you can see, he’s still here.’

  Haydn looked at the pathetic pile of objects he’d piled next to his feet. Brian’s first pair of shoes, a highly-coloured, hand-painted plate that Phyllis had brought with her and was particularly fond of for some reason. As he picked them up, Bethan went to the mantelpiece. Her father’s tobacco pouch and pipe were propped in the corner closest to his chair, just where they always were. She picked them up.

  ‘Leave those,’ her mother snapped.

  ‘They’re Dad’s.’

  ‘They were your father’s. Now they’re mine.’

  ‘Taken to smoking a pipe, Mam?’

  Elizabeth’s hand flew in the air as she aimed a slap at Bethan’s cheek. Haydn’s fingers closed around her wrist, holding it firmly he looked at his sister. ‘Come on, Beth, there’s nothing left for us here.’

  ‘So we won’t hear anything before morning?’

  ‘It will probably take longer than that, Nurse John.’

  ‘Thank you for keeping in touch, Mr Williams.’

  ‘I only wish I had better news.’

  ‘So do I. Thank you again for telephoning. Goodbye.’ Bethan turned her face to the wall as she replaced the receiver, wishing that the house wasn’t full of people who needed her. Steeling herself, she swallowed her tears and walked into the kitchen. The tea Jane had made was growing cold, untasted in the cups as Haydn sat next to Phyllis, holding her hand. Avoiding the look of despair in Phyllis’s hollow eyes, Bethan shook her head.

  ‘Mr Williams said they’ll be reopening the pit in the morning, and the first ones down will be another rescue team.’

  ‘Then they haven’t given up?’ Phyllis’s eyes shone bright with unshed tears and burgeoning hope.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘As none of us slept last night, I think it’s time we all went to bed.’ Jane left the table and collected the cups.

  ‘Leave them. Maisie will do them in the morning,’ Bethan said as she left her chair.

  ‘Or me, come to that.’

  ‘You’re not working tomorrow?’ Haydn looked at his wife.

  ‘I took two days off for your leave, remember?’

  ‘You have to go back tomorrow, Haydn?’ Bethan asked.

  ‘I rang the office from the Graig Hotel and tried to get an extended leave on compassionate grounds, but they’ve booked the orchestra and the studio. There’s so many people involved …’

  ‘There’s no question about it. I think you should go back.’

  Both Haydn and Bethan turned to Jane.

  ‘In which case you two should spend what little time you have left together,’ Bethan suggested.

  ‘If you’re sure I can’t do anything, I’ll see if Brian is all right.’ Phyllis rose to her feet.

  Bethan took two pills from her pocket and handed them to her as she passed. ‘They’ll help you sleep.’

  ‘I don’t want to take anything.’

  ‘Just for tonight. Brian’s upset, he needs you, and you need your rest.’

  ‘And Evan will need me if they find him tomorrow.’

  Neither Bethan nor Haydn could find the strength to say any more to reassure Phyllis as she left the room.

  ‘It might be a good idea for you to take a couple of those pills, sis,’ Haydn advised as she switched off the kitchen light.

  ‘I don’t need them.’

  ‘None of us are indestructible.’ He kissed her cheek before following Jane up the stairs. The house was in shadows; the only light shone soft and low on the landing. Despite all the fuel-saving directives Bethan kept it burning all night in case any of the children needed to go to the bathroom.

  Jane opened the bedroom door and walked in ahead of Haydn. Children’s drawings had been pinned to the wallpaper. A mattress had been made up into a bed on the bare floorboards, with a rug laid beside it. Haydn closed the door behind him. Jane lifted the case she had brought on to a chest of drawers and opened it.

  ‘Do you want to go to the bathroom first?’

  ‘No, you go.’

  She took her toilet bag and dressing gown and left the room. He sank into a wicker chair in the corner. The politeness between them was worse than a full-blown quarrel, but he had no idea how to break through the barrier she had erected between them. A good argument might have cleared the air, but they could hardly shout and scream with the house crammed full of people.

  Jane returned and he rummaged through his kit for his own toilet bag then went along to the bathroom. He could hear movement and water running overheard and he remembered Bethan telling him that the American quarters had been as good as self-contained since they had installed a bathroom on the top floor; that he was only likely to see them if they came down to use the kitchen.

  He returned to the bedroom to find the lamp switched off and Jane already in bed. Undressing, he folded his uniform and placed it on the chair, then crept on to the mattress beside her. She moved away from him.

  ‘I know you’re awake,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry I have to leave tomorrow.’

  ‘The early train?’

  ‘Six o’clock.’

  ‘Then you’d better get some sleep.’

  He reached out and laid his hand on her. He could feel her shrinking from his touch. ‘Jane, please …’ he rested his hand on her waist. She didn’t remove it and he dared to leave it there. ‘I need you. From now on …’

  ‘No, Haydn,’ she whispered dully, conscious of the people sleeping close by, ‘there’ll be no more “from now ons”.’

  ‘Then we have now. Please, turn towards me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why n
ot?’

  ‘Because if I did I might lose control.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what we both need.’

  ‘It might not be in a way you’d want.’

  ‘Slap me if it will make you feel any better.’

  ‘That would be too easy. I’d like to do a lot more than slap you.’

  Touching her shoulder he gently drew her towards him until her back nestled against his chest and her legs lay against his.

  Despite the anger churning inside her, his touch was so familiar, so comforting, she finally allowed herself to relax.

  ‘You’re freezing.’ He rubbed her arms lightly, all the time longing to tear the silk negligee from her body. After a few moments he dared to whisper, ‘I love you.’

  ‘And I love you, although right now I wish I didn’t.’

  He kissed her lightly on the back of her neck. She turned to face him, returning his embrace with an intensity that sent the blood pounding through his arteries. Her teeth sank into his lips biting, cutting, tearing until he could taste the salt tang of his own blood.

  There was no tenderness in her lovemaking. Her nails dug, sharp, scarring, into his back, but there was something purifying and cleansing in her ferocity, and afterwards, absolved and exhausted, he slept.

  But she didn’t. She lay back staring blindly upwards, imagining Haydn making love to the chorus girl. She pictured her soft, blowsy body, visualised the coarse texture of her peroxide hair, saw the kisses he bestowed, heard the whispered endearments, smelt the cheap perfume … and it was as much as she could do to stop herself from clawing her husband’s eyes from his skull and every inch of skin from his body.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bethan undressed, wrapped herself in an ugly, thick flannelette nightgown and lay in the makeshift bed she’d made up on the sofa in the study. Too exhausted to sleep, she tossed and turned as her mind conjured hideous images of her father buried alive in a pitch-black hole, dying infinitely slowly for lack of water, heat and light. When she could stand her imaginings no longer she slipped on her robe and left the freezing atmosphere for the warmth of the kitchen.

  Switching on the light she peered at the clock. Four. Another hour and Haydn would be downstairs. She picked up the kettle and filled it, setting it on the range without thinking what she was doing. Pacing mindlessly, she returned to the darkened hall, starting when she caught sight of herself in the mirror opposite the door. Barefoot, tall, thin she resembled wraith more than living person in her pale, floor-length gown and robe, with her hair hanging loose around her shoulders.