Broken Rainbows

by Catrin Collier

  Shouldering his bag he walked to the front door. Feeling faintly ridiculous he rang his own doorbell. It echoed hollowly through the hall. He heard someone hushing small, shrill voices, then Phyllis opened the door. He looked past her to the three children standing behind her.

  ‘Andrew?’

  ‘I’m finally home.’ He smiled at the children and they retreated.

  ‘Bethan …’

  ‘… is in London. I know, someone told me in the station.’

  ‘She’s going to be furious that she missed your homecoming. And you’re here so early in the morning.’

  ‘We caught the milk train.’

  ‘You came home with someone?’

  ‘Charlie.’

  Phyllis turned white. ‘Everyone except Alma thought he was dead, but she would never believe it.’

  ‘I know. Bethan wrote to me.’ He stepped inside and dropped his bag next to the coat hooks. Opening it, he extracted a bundle of parcels.

  He glanced into the kitchen where the children had retreated.

  ‘Rachel,’ he called softly. She gazed back at him from beneath lowered lashes. Then he looked to her brother – they both had the same dark auburn hair, the same tawny eyes. Bethan was right, they resembled him far more than her.

  He crouched down and offered her one of the parcels. She backed away.

  ‘It’s all right, Rachel,’ Phyllis reassured her. ‘This is your daddy.’

  Rachel put her thumb in her mouth as she looked to Phyllis and Brian for reassurance, but Eddie continued to back away.

  ‘You’re not my daddy.’

  ‘I am, Eddie, and I know your mummy told you about me.’

  ‘You’re not my daddy,’ Eddie repeated stubbornly. ‘I’ll get my daddy and show you.’ He rushed to a chair. Dragging it to the dresser he lifted down a photograph frame.

  ‘This is my daddy.’ He handed Andrew the photograph. Andrew smiled.

  ‘This was taken before you were born. I didn’t have any grey hairs then.’ He touched the side of his head. ‘Look I have something here for you too, and Brian, and -’ he looked at the two girls sitting at the table – ‘my new, almost grown-up daughters.’ He handed them two of the four headscarves the American had sold him, and gave his fountain pen to Brian.

  The children perked up at the sight of his presents. Andrew gave Rachel a wooden peg doll and Eddie a wooden train. ‘I hope you like them, you see I’m not sure what you do and don’t like. We’re going to have to spend a lot of time getting to know one another.’

  As the children tore off the brown wrapping paper he turned to Phyllis. ‘When are you expecting Bethan back?’

  ‘She telephoned early this morning to say she’d be in on the last train tonight. You look exhausted, I could make you some breakfast. What would you like?’

  ‘After what I’ve been eating the last five years, anything.’

  He stepped back into the hall. The hat stand was festooned with large and small coats, a neat row of wellington boots and shoes laid out beneath it. The paintwork was clean but scuffed.

  He glanced into the drawing room. Two cardboard boxes held piles of home-made toys, there was no sign of his furniture and the place looked even worse than the hall.

  ‘Bethan moved all the good furniture out when she took in evacuees. It’s all safe and sound in the old stables,’ Phyllis explained, seeing the crestfallen expression on his face.

  ‘The house doesn’t matter, I just wish Bethan was here.’

  ‘I’ll make you something to eat, then I’ll take the children to school.’

  ‘As I’ve just come home, can’t we make it a holiday?’

  ‘You’d be better off catching up on some sleep by the look of you.’

  ‘I’ve five years of absence to catch up on, Phyllis, and the sooner I start the better.’

  ‘Can we keep our new toys while we eat breakfast?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Of course.’ To his surprise they ran back into the kitchen. ‘Bethan doesn’t eat in the dining room any more?’

  ‘She shut it up for the duration.’

  ‘There’s been a lot of changes.’

  ‘If you sit with the children I’ll make you an omelette.’

  ‘With real eggs?’

  ‘Didn’t you see the chickens?’

  He followed her into the kitchen where the two older girls were busy serving the younger ones porridge.

  ‘Everything seems to have changed around here.’ He looked at the apprehensive faces of the Clark girls and realised how his words might be misconstrued. ‘My wife said she wouldn’t have been able to manage without you.’

  ‘None of us would have managed without her,’ Phyllis said resolutely. ‘And that’s for sure.’

  Bethan was exhausted, both physically and mentally, by the time the train crawled into Pontypridd. She walked down the steps into Station Yard and went to her car. Home, just her and the children, and that was the way it was going to be until Andrew came home, whenever that might be.

  All the way from London she hadn’t been able to think of anything other than the films David Ford had shown her. Still immersed in them, she turned left instead of right out of Station Yard and drove down to the fountain. Parking the car outside Ronconi’s restaurant she walked across the road and knocked at the door that led up to Alma’s flat.

  She stepped back as she heard Alma running down the stairs. The door flung open, ‘Bethan? What a marvellous surprise.’ Alma hugged and kissed her.

  ‘I’ve only been gone a couple of days …’

  ‘Come in.’ Alma pulled her into the tiny hallway and dragged her up the stairs.

  ‘Aren’t you even going to ask how Haydn’s wedding went?’

  Alma held her finger to her lips and opened the living room door. Sitting in a chair, with Theo dressed in pyjamas on his lap, she saw what appeared to be a gaunt, elderly man. She stepped closer.

  ‘Charlie?’ she whispered uncertainly.

  He glanced up at her. What little hair there was, was silver not white, his face was emaciated and haggard but there was no mistaking the eyes.

  ‘Oh my God, Charlie, you were in one of those awful camps.’

  ‘Andrew told you?’

  ‘Andrew … how would he know?’

  ‘Andrew brought Charlie home this morning,’ Alma revealed.

  ‘He’s home?’ Shocked at the sight of Charlie so soon after seeing the films, Bethan leaned back weakly against the wall. ‘Oh God, Charlie, not you.’

  ‘It’s all right, Bethan. I’m home now. I can begin to put it behind me.’

  ‘But you …’

  ‘I’m fine.’ He looked up at Alma and grasped her hand. ‘I wasn’t, but I am now. How did you know about the camps?’

  ‘I saw some films in London. They’re going to show them to everyone. In the pictures … Alma always said you were still alive, Charlie. The rest of us never believed it, but she never gave up hope.’

  ‘And I was right,’ Alma smiled. ‘You must be hungry and thirsty. Supper’s all ready, we’re going to eat when this young man goes to bed, which he’s going to do right now.’ She reached down and took Theo from Charlie, tickling him as she lifted him into her arms.

  ‘No … no, thank you. If Andrew’s home I’d better go.’

  ‘Sit and talk to Charlie just for a minute while I put Theo to bed.’

  ‘Please?’ Charlie looked at her.

  ‘Just for a minute,’ she relented. Unbuttoning her jacket she sat down and studied him as Alma held Theo out, first for Charlie’s kiss then hers.

  ‘Stop staring at me like that, Bethan,’ he said as Alma left the room.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I have your husband’s permission to live.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anyone as thin as you.’

  ‘I’ve put on weight the last three weeks. There are a lot worse off than me. I’m alive, I have a country, a home, and a wife and son who seem to want me.’

  ‘There were tim
es when I thought Alma would go crazy with wanting you. She’s done nothing but talk about you since you went missing. And Theo … Charlie, you’ve no idea what she went through when she was having Theo.’

  ‘I know some of it, Andrew read me your letters while I was recuperating.’

  Bethan reached out and touched his hand. ‘It’s so good to have you home. We’ll see you soon?’

  ‘Andrew’s promised to call tomorrow. Come with him,’ he pressed, not trying to detain her any longer.

  ‘I will.’

  She turned and walked quickly out of the room. Alma was closing Theo’s door. She saw Bethan and held out her arms. They clung to one another for a moment.

  ‘I’ll look after him. Andrew told him there’s no reason why he shouldn’t make a full recovery. And he will, you’ll see.’

  ‘He’ll be fine now he’s with you,’ Bethan reassured her. ‘No, don’t.’ She stopped Alma from following her down the stairs. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

  Alma waited until she heard the door close behind Bethan, then she walked into the living room. Charlie was standing at the window, watching Bethan cross the road to her car.

  ‘I’ve been lucky to have a friend like her.’

  ‘We both are.’

  ‘I think you’d better sit down.’

  ‘It’s been a long day, even with that sleep this afternoon. And I still can’t believe I’m really here. I’m terrified I’ll wake up and find out it’s a dream, like all the other times it was real enough to seem like torture when I was forced to finally stir myself.’

  ‘It’s no dream. And supper’s ready. I made soup.’

  ‘I can’t eat all the time, Alma.’

  ‘You can try.’

  For the first time since he’d been home, he bent his head and kissed her. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for a long, long time.’

  ‘And so have I. God, Charlie, so have I.’

  Bethan drove slowly up the hill. Dusk had fallen cloaking the lane in dense shadows. As she turned into the driveway and parked the car she saw the lights from the drawing room windows shining across the garden. She walked towards the front door, starting as someone rose from a chair that had been carried through the French windows.

  She looked at her husband. There was no comparison between him and Charlie. He seemed much the same as he had done when he’d left. Perhaps there were a few more lines at the corners of his mouth and his eyes, and some grey hairs, but basically he was still the same old Andrew. How could she ever have thought that she wouldn’t recognise him? She felt that she should have flung herself into his arms instead of standing and staring, but the moment had passed. It was too late.

  ‘I called in on Alma and Charlie. They told me you were home.’

  ‘I know Charlie looks dreadful, but he will make it.’

  ‘You’ve seen the children?’

  ‘I kept Eddie and Rachel off school for the day. I don’t think Phyllis was impressed by the first decision I made as a father. They’re fine children, Bethan. You’ve done a first-class job of bringing them up.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’

  ‘I have a bottle of wine I can open.’

  ‘Wine? Wherever did you get it?’

  ‘A looting shop called Europe.’

  ‘Have you been to see your parents?’

  ‘No, I wanted to see you first. Come and sit with me a while.’ He went back into the room and carried a second chair close to his. ‘Are you hungry? Phyllis made some sandwiches.’

  ‘Is she still here?’

  ‘No. Once Evan came back from work she insisted on going home. She took the Clark girls with her. Your father seems to think we need time on our own. Just the four of us.’

  ‘I should kiss the children goodnight.’

  ‘I read to them until they slept. I have a confession to make. I fell asleep in their bed.’

  ‘I often do that.’ She stood awkwardly for a moment not quite sure what to say next.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘Yes. There’s so much I need to explain.’

  ‘You don’t need to explain anything.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Your letters … didn’t it ever occur to you that I realised you were skating over all the problems? You didn’t even mention your father’s accident.’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘I knew you were holding back. It’s not much of an excuse but it’s the only one I can offer for believing Mrs Llewellyn-Jones’s letter.’

  ‘I’d like to see it.’

  ‘I burned it. Unfortunately it wasn’t thick enough to keep us warm for more than a few seconds.’

  ‘Andrew …’

  ‘You’re my wife, I trust you.’

  ‘And I need to explain what happened.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Yes I do, because if I’m going to stay your wife I don’t want anything left unsaid between us.’

  ‘And I’ve told you I trust you.’ His voice was husky, she couldn’t tell whether it was from cold or emotion.

  ‘Let me tell you about Alma first. She met an American major, he lived next door in Frank Clayton’s shop. They used to spend hours together, he talking about his wife and son, and Alma talking about Charlie. He was killed in Italy. Alma’s written to his wife ever since. It’s the poor woman’s last link to her husband. And that’s what I was to the colonel who stayed here,’ she insisted, thinking only of the first few months David Ford had spent in the house. ‘A link with the family he left behind in America.’

  ‘You didn’t need to tell me that.’

  ‘I want you to know that nothing happened between us. Nothing,’ she asserted vehemently, wishing that she hadn’t wanted it to. ‘You weren’t here, he was. He couldn’t be with his own son but he could be with our children and me.’

  ‘Those old cats really got to you didn’t they, Beth?’ Pulling the cork on the bottle he poured out two glasses of dark, red wine and handed her one. Taking it, she finally sat in the chair.

  ‘Sometimes I think I would have gone mad if it hadn’t been for your father. All the time, no matter what Mrs Llewellyn-Jones tried to do or say, he always believed in me.’

  ‘He wrote and told me what things were really like here.’ Andrew gazed into her eyes, mysterious dark pools in the half-light. ‘I would rather it had been you.’

  ‘I didn’t want to upset you. You were locked up hundreds of miles away. There was nothing you could do.’

  ‘Except worry. And didn’t it occur to you I was doing that anyway?’

  ‘I’ve made a mess of it, haven’t I?’

  ‘I have no intention of repeating the experience so you can try and do better next time.’

  ‘I know why you didn’t come home with the others.’

  ‘Charlie told you?’

  ‘Not just Charlie. The colonel was at Haydn’s wedding. He took me to see the films they made of those places.’

  ‘You saw Belsen?’

  ‘And Dachau. Was Charlie in one of those?’

  ‘Nordhausen. But the name doesn’t matter, they were all the same death factories.’

  ‘Is he really going to live, Andrew?’

  ‘Now he’s with Alma, yes.’

  ‘He looks frail.’

  ‘Not to me, but then I saw tens of thousands of others. A living man looks healthy compared to a corpse.’ He touched his glass to hers. ‘Here’s to life, recovery, us and a peaceful future.’

  ‘You are back for good?’

  ‘Most definitely.’

  She looked at his clothes. They were ones he’d left in his wardrobe. They were loose on him. ‘You changed out of uniform?’

  ‘After I put the children to bed. It feels good to be a civilian again.’

  She rested her arm on the table between them and he covered her hand with his own. ‘You’ve had a tough war, Bethan.’

  ‘No tougher than you.’

  ‘Oh, yes. You had choices to make. I had none. They were all made
for me, all I had to do was sit and wait to be freed. It wasn’t always easy but it taught me something I should have learned a long time ago.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. ‘Patience, and to value what I have. I love you, Bethan, and now we’re finally together nothing else matters. You don’t have to work tomorrow?’

  She shook her head. ‘I have a week off. I could have spent it in London, but after seeing that film it seemed more important to get back to the children.’

  ‘And me?’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d be here.’

  He rose to his feet, placed his glass quite deliberately on the table and stood in front of her. ‘But I am. Let’s take the wine and go to bed. Do you remember those letters I wrote, about the time we used to spend in the bedroom before going to bed?’

  ‘I’ve been waiting for this moment for five years and now it’s here …’

  ‘You’re shy and embarrassed?’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I feel the same way. Ever since I’ve been home people have been telling me about my wife the miracle worker. Even my mother.’

  ‘I thought you hadn’t seen your parents?’

  ‘They telephoned. Rumours had reached them of my being here.’

  ‘And you didn’t go to see them?’

  ‘I said we’d call up later in the week. That I had my hands full with my children, and wanted to wait for my wife to come home.’ Helping her to her feet, he held her close. ‘Your hair is different and you’ve stopped wearing essence of violets.’

  ‘We couldn’t get it any more.’

  ‘This is better.’

  ‘It’s French. Ronnie sent it from Italy.’

  ‘Trust him.’

  ‘It is going to be all right between us isn’t it, Andrew?’

  ‘It is.’ He bent his head and kissed her. A long-drawn-out kiss that reminded her how much she had once loved him. ‘Things won’t be the same, Bethan, they can’t be. Too much has changed, and too much has been lost, but there’s a whole new world out there. I’ve had enough of war, separation and excitement to last me a lifetime. All I want are those two bundles sleeping upstairs, my new daughters, as quiet a life as a GP’s can be in this town that, for all its faults, I’ve discovered I love more than any other place on earth, and -’ he paused and looked down at her – ‘you. Please, Bethan, give me a chance to show you how much I love you.’