Broken Rainbows

by Catrin Collier

  ‘Home.’ Bethan stopped the car, turned off the ignition and looked across at her father in the passenger seat.

  Opening the car door awkwardly with his left hand, he stepped outside. Phyllis was standing on the doorstep, waiting, an apprehensive smile on her face.

  ‘Daddy!’ Brian shouted. Charging out from behind his mother he ran down the steps to meet them.

  Evan turned back to Bethan. ‘There’s no party?’

  ‘No, Dad, I promised there wouldn’t be, and there isn’t,’ she reassured him. ‘Maybe we’ll organise one later when you’ve had time to settle in.’

  ‘To life as a cripple?’

  ‘To consider your options,’ she countered, as he crouched down to hug Brian. He wasn’t the only one having difficulty in adjusting to his injuries. The calm, even-tempered man she had trusted and relied on all her life had been supplanted by a bitter, self-pitying amputee capable of seeing offence in the most innocuous remark.

  She took a steadying breath before following him and Brian up the steps. Standing back, she watched Phyllis hold out her arms, but her father only kissed her cheek, before stepping into the house. Bethan saw Brian looking at the pinned up, empty sleeve on his father’s coat as they walked down the passage. Wanting to comfort him, she took his hand.

  During the past month she had studied every textbook she could find that documented reactions to amputations, but nothing she read had helped. If her father had been simply another patient she could have chivvied him along in the standard, brusque, professional manner. But he wasn’t just a patient. He was the guiding force she counted on to solve her problems. The one person who had always been there when she, or her brothers and sister, had needed someone; and now, when she needed him most, she couldn’t turn to him.

  Before the accident she hadn’t realised how much of his strength stemmed from his physical fitness. Since the moment the anaesthetic had worn off he had seen himself as a useless cripple. A burden on his family and friends. A man with nothing more to offer.

  He hadn’t threatened suicide. He hadn’t needed to. She had recognised the signs. The lethargy, the indifference to people and life. He had barely spoken to Phyllis on her twice-weekly visits. And when she had seen the ward sister giving orders for her father’s food to be cut up on his plate before serving, and the nurses to shave him rather than entrust him with a razor, she knew she was not the only one to have considered the possibility that he might try to kill himself.

  Even as they were leaving the hospital, Dr John had called her back to warn her to dispense her father’s painkillers carefully when she got him home, giving him no more than a single day’s supply at a time.

  Phyllis pushed open the door to the kitchen and hesitated, waiting for an outburst. It came.

  ‘What the hell’s happened here?’ Evan demanded furiously as he looked around the room. Ever since he could remember there had been far too much furniture. A massive Welsh dresser and long table and chairs that his father had inherited from his farming grandparents. Victorian easy chairs that his mother had been given as a wedding present. A sideboard she had been bequeathed by an elderly aunt, and that had never really fitted in.

  Now there was only an impractical, delicate china cabinet Phyllis had been left by her landlady. A small round table and three spindly-legged chairs that belonged in a parlour, not a kitchen, and two dainty upholstered chairs in place of the substantial, comfortable easy chairs that had stood either side of the range. The familiar ornaments had gone, as had the pictures and photographs from the walls. Phyllis’s dainty blue and white shepherdesses stood on the mantelpiece instead of his mother’s dogs. Even the patchwork cushion covers and curtains had been replaced by a print that looked suspiciously like Bethan’s dining room curtains.

  ‘We had a bit of a clear-out,’ Phyllis confessed nervously, looking past Evan to Bethan.

  ‘Clear-out! All the furniture’s gone!’

  ‘Sit down, Dad, and I’ll tell you what happened.’ Bethan virtually pushed him into the chair that stood where his had been. ‘Mam came back.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When you were trapped underground. Unlike the rest of us, she thought you were dead, and decided to claim the house.’

  ‘I made a will. She had no right to walk over the doorstep.’

  ‘Unfortunately she did. In law, apparently even an estranged wife has the right to live in the matrimonial home. Haydn checked with a solicitor. In his opinion, as your legal wife, Mam was entitled to a share of your estate. If she’d gone to court the chances were she’d have got everything and Phyllis nothing.’

  ‘So you let her walk in and take what she wanted?’ He glared at Phyllis who murmured something about tea, took the kettle, and retreated into the washhouse with Brian.

  ‘It wasn’t Phyllis’s fault, Dad. Put yourself in her position. Whichever way you look at it, without you, she has no right to be here.’

  ‘She’s my wife in all but name.’

  ‘I agree, she’s more your wife than Mam ever was. But the courts wouldn’t see it that way.’

  ‘Or your mother,’ he muttered grimly. ‘I can imagine some of the things she said.’

  ‘It wasn’t just her. Uncle John Joseph came with her. Haydn was still here, he tried to stop them but they ordered all of us out.’

  ‘And you went like sheep?’ His face was dark with anger.

  ‘What choice did we have? The situation was impossible for Phyllis. And Haydn and Jane wouldn’t stay without her, even if Mam had invited them to, which she didn’t.’

  His anger began to subside when he realised that his children had rallied around his common-law wife, not their mother. ‘So, where did Phyllis and Brian go?’

  ‘They moved in with me, as did Jane, Haydn and Anne. Jane and Anne are staying for a while. It’s easier for Maisie to look after two toddlers than one,’ she added tactfully, hoping he wouldn’t realise that she and Jane had decided on the new arrangements to make things easier for Phyllis, now she had him to nurse as well as the house and Brian to look after.

  ‘I’m surprised you found room.’

  ‘We managed.’

  He leaned wearily against the back of the chair. ‘That still doesn’t explain the furniture.’

  ‘The night they found you, Uncle Huw and I came here to tell Mam you’d survived. We mentioned you were injured, but she assumed you’d be back the next day. We didn’t disillusion her. It was the middle of the night, she said she’d move out by midday. Giving her those few hours’ grace was a mistake. She, or Uncle John Joseph, took an axe to the furniture in here.’

  ‘The china?’

  ‘Smashed, but worst of all was the photographs.’ Bracing herself for another bout of rage, Bethan decided that her father might as well hear all the bad news at once. ‘She burned them.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘And smashed your camera.’

  ‘All the pictures I took when you were children? Maud … Eddie …’

  ‘Mam destroyed everything in here, but I got together with Ronnie and Jenny. Between us we had quite a few copies. I’ve put them into an album for you.’ She opened the china cabinet, removed a book and handed it to him. He flicked through its pages without really looking at the photographs it contained. ‘Before we left, Haydn carried Phyllis’s furniture around to Mrs Richards. If he hadn’t, you’d be sitting on the floor right now. It’s practically impossible to buy furniture these days.’

  ‘This is going to take some getting used to.’ He glanced at the corner shelf where he’d kept his books.

  ‘The good news is, Mam didn’t do anything to the bedrooms, or Alexander’s room, so we were able to box his things up and send them on to his parents.’

  ‘That must have been a comfort to them.’

  She chose to ignore his caustic tone. They’d all been fond of Alexander, but since the accident, concern for the living hadn’t given them much time to mourn his, or Mr Richards’s passing.

 
; ‘But she did empty the parlour, and she must have arranged to take the furniture with her. There was no wreckage left like here.’

  ‘Everything in the parlour was hers, she had a right to take it.’ He glanced up at the mantelpiece. ‘Even my pipe?’

  ‘I tried to take it. Mam wouldn’t let me.’

  ‘I’ve been a fool, Bethan. A bloody fool. When Phyllis moved in I thought everything would be all right. But it won’t be. Not until this mess is sorted once and for all between your mother and me. We can’t carry on the way we have been, not after this. Can you take me down to the solicitor’s?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Right now. I’m going to divorce your mother and marry Phyllis. She needs security. She has a right to know that this can’t ever happen to her ever again. I won’t have her relying on charity from you and Haydn.’

  ‘Phyllis is family so it’s hardly charity, and, Dad, I hate to say this, but you may find it difficult to divorce Mam when you’re the guilty party.’

  ‘Your mother left me.’

  ‘Whatever, but the one thing I do know is that a divorce will cost a lot of money.’

  ‘Thank you for reminding me I’ve no way of earning any more.’

  ‘Yet,’ she said, refusing to get involved in a discussion on his prospects straight after dropping the bombshell about the damage. ‘Haydn and I talked about this before he left. We made an offer to Mam for the house. She wouldn’t sell it to us. But you could. Your name is on the deeds. You’re the sole owner, so how about it? We’ll give you a fair price.’

  ‘More charity?’

  ‘More like a good investment for us. House prices will go up after the war.’

  ‘And you two can afford it?’

  ‘We can, and we’d put a clause into the contract that will give Phyllis the right to live here as long as she wants. Brian too if you like.’

  ‘Brian will have to make his own way when the time comes, just like the rest of you. But I won’t take handouts, Bethan. Not from you or anyone. If I sell you the house, Phyllis and I will move out and find a smaller, cheaper one to live in.’

  ‘Was it charity when you kept us when we were children?’

  ‘Everyone looks after their children.’

  ‘Not everyone.’

  ‘If we stay we’d have to pay you rent.’

  ‘We’ll ask the solicitor to fix a fair one,’ she suggested, wondering if she could have a word with him first. ‘And perhaps he could give you some advice on investing the money. You might be able to buy an annuity that would give Phyllis and Brian an income if anything happened to you.’

  ‘But it still doesn’t solve my problems with your mother. In spite of this,’ he looked around the room, ‘and everything else that’s happened over the years, I can’t help feeling that I’m the guilty one. I had no right to marry her. Not feeling the way I did about Phyllis.’

  ‘It happened, Dad. You’re happy now with Phyllis.’

  ‘And your mother? Don’t try telling me she’s happy.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder if anything could have made her happy.’

  ‘Her father’s at fault. A God-fearing chapel minister who saw fun and laughter as the work of the Devil.’

  ‘She didn’t have to adopt his beliefs, or make our lives quite so miserable.’

  ‘No. But we owe her our understanding, Beth, if nothing else. And,’ he smiled wryly, ‘when all’s said and done, she did give me four quite remarkable children.’

  ‘Come on, honey, just a couple of drinks with the boys?’

  ‘I don’t know, Richard. Going to the New Inn is one thing, but the White Hart has a reputation for attracting people who aren’t quite respectable.’

  ‘It’ll be fun, honey.’ Taking Anthea’s hand he tucked it into the crook of his elbow. ‘The New Inn is so stuffy,’ he declared, glossing over the real reason for not taking her there – the upmarket prices. ‘And both George and Kurt go to the Hart.’

  ‘Don’t mention Kurt. He’s hardly said two words to me since we got engaged.’

  ‘Only because he’s jealous, honey. And who can blame him? He lives in your house, sees you every day, and knows I’ve beaten him to the post. He obviously wanted you for himself.’ Richard pushed the door open and ushered her in. As she walked down the dingy passage towards the back room, the stench of sour beer, stale tobacco smoke and male sweat crowded in on her, making her even more uneasy.

  ‘It’s full and noisy,’ she complained, retreating as he opened the door.

  ‘Lively, not noisy, honey. Hi, fellows.’ He waved to Kurt, Jenny, and George Rivers who were sitting at a round table in the centre of the room. ‘Can we join you?’

  ‘Can we stop you?’ Kurt enquired drily. The quiet drink he’d hoped for with Jenny hadn’t materialised. George Rivers and his floozie, Vera, had parked themselves at their table less than five minutes after they’d arrived, rendering any serious attempts at conversation impossible, and now Richard and Anthea had appeared, it was hopeless. He would have made for the door if he and Jenny hadn’t had full glasses.

  ‘Hello, Anthea. How are you?’ Jenny reached for the gin and pep Kurt had bought her.

  ‘Quite well, thank you, Jenny,’ Anthea replied primly, blanching when Vera Collins appeared and sat next to George. Barely eighteen, Vera was married to the middle-aged owner of a dairy stall on the market. Anthea had heard that he’d thrown her out for consorting with American servicemen, but assuming officers to be gentlemen, she hadn’t realised that one of the consorting servicemen was George Rivers.

  ‘Hello, Anthea.’ Vera took the cigarette George offered her. ‘How is your mother?’

  ‘Quite well.’ Anthea looked to Richard, who studiously ignored her as he went to the bar.

  ‘You’re engaged, Anthea?’ Jenny was amazed to find that she actually felt sorry for the girl. Just like her mother, Anthea was a stuck-up snob, but as she saw her blush and squirm, she realised she lacked the courage to ‘cut’ Vera and didn’t know how else to deal with Vera’s new-found notoriety.

  ‘At Christmas,’ Anthea gushed. ‘Would you like to see the ring Richard gave me?’ She held out her hand.

  ‘Very pretty.’

  ‘So, when’s the wedding?’ George winked broadly at Vera as though they shared a secret joke.

  ‘Just as soon as Uncle Sam gives us permission.’ Richard laid a tray full of glasses on the table. ‘Drinks all round, boys and girls?’

  ‘We have to go.’ Kurt downed the remainder of his half-pint and picked up Jenny’s coat from the chair.

  ‘But I’ve just bought you two drinks.’

  ‘And if I have another on an empty stomach, I won’t be able to stand up straight.’ Jenny allowed Kurt to help her on with her coat.

  ‘Who wants to do that?’ Vera giggled.

  ‘Some of us have to stand up to work, Vera,’ Jenny said coolly, tired of her innuendo. ‘See you, Anthea.’

  ‘Remind me never to go into the Hart again when Vera’s there,’ Jenny said as Kurt led her outside.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t even know George had a pass tonight. Can I buy you dinner?’

  ‘I’ve stew at home. If you’re hungry you can eat with me.’

  ‘I am hungry.’

  ‘Kurt, I meant what I said about me being the kiss of death.’

  He helped her into his Jeep. ‘For a home-cooked meal, I’m prepared to take my chances.’

  ‘Do you still work for your father in the bank?’ Vera asked Anthea as Richard and George disappeared into the Gents.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Cushy number.’

  ‘It may not look as though I’m contributing to the war effort, but by working, I’ve freed a man to go to the front.’

  ‘Whoever he is, I bet he’s grateful,’ Vera observed snidely.

  ‘Do you work?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘Vera’s in charge of morale-boosting for American servicemen, aren’t you,
sugar?’ George beamed as he returned.

  ‘Drinks?’ Richard plonked two more gins and two more beers on the table.

  ‘It’s getting late, we should be going,’ Anthea said primly.

  ‘It’s not that late.’

  ‘It is in my book.’

  ‘Is anything the matter, honey?’

  ‘She can’t wait to get you on your own, Richard,’ Vera suggested. ‘And if your talents run in the same direction as George’s, I can understand why.’

  Anthea gathered her handbag and coat from the chair. ‘I’m going.’

  ‘Can’t we finish our drinks?’ Richard asked.

  ‘I don’t want to stay.’

  ‘Boy oh boy, it’s easy to see which one of you wears the pants,’ George commiserated.

  ‘When they have them on. I know all about engaged couples.’ Vera wagged her finger at Anthea.

  It was one remark too many. Holding her head high, Anthea stalked out through the door.

  ‘When you get it from her, it must be so bloody refined I wonder you recognise it.’

  ‘And what would you know about refinement, Rivers?’ Richard polished off Anthea’s gin as well as his beer.

  ‘About the same as you I guess, after comparing Anthea’s snaps with Vera’s here.’

  ‘Shut your mouth, or …’

  ‘Or?’ George rose unsteadily to his feet.

  ‘I’ll see your name on the first list of combat troops to ship out of here, Lieutenant.’ He fingered his captain’s insignia.

  ‘Gentlemen, please.’ The landlord left the bar and walked over to their table. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Lieutenant Rivers and his companion have had a few too many, Mr Hunt.’ Richard buttoned on his greatcoat. ‘I wouldn’t serve them any more before the MPs do their rounds if I were you.’

  The landlord looked down at Vera. ‘You, out of here.’

  ‘Come on …’

  ‘I warned you, one wrong move and you’d be out. Well, you’ve just made it.’

  Richard took advantage of the altercation to slip out through the door. It had been a mistake to bring Anthea to the Hart. Broke or not, he should have taken her to the New Inn. If she caught a whiff of the way the boys were talking about her, he’d have a lot more than her displeasure to contend with.