The Color of Secrets

by Lindsay Jayne Ashford

  Eva raised herself on her elbows. “I want to be there for him. Of course I do. But . . .” she trailed off, searching for a way of saying what she dreaded putting into words.

  “Don’t tell me you’re breaking it off with him? After everything you—”

  “Oh, God, no!” Eva cut her short. “It’s not that!” She turned her anguished face away from Cathy. She couldn’t, mustn’t tell her. Mustn’t tell anyone.

  “It’s Dilys,” she lied, her eyes fixed on the bedspread.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Cathy asked. “She looked absolutely on top of the world five minutes ago.”

  “Yes, she is,” Eva said. “Anton’s proposed to her, apparently. She’s joining the ATS so she can move out and spend more time with him. So that’s why I’m not going to be much use to Bill,” she went on. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to see him when Dilys isn’t around to give me an alibi.”

  Cathy laughed. “Cunning little minx! I hope she knows what she’s letting herself in for!” She put her hand on Eva’s shoulder. “Hey,” she said, “don’t worry about seeing Bill—you can use me as an excuse if you want to. And if your Mum gets fed up with babysitting, you can always bring this little chap round to me for the night.” She tickled David, making him giggle again.

  Eva felt shamed by Cathy’s generosity. “No, I couldn’t possibly ask you to look after him—I feel bad enough leaving him at home.”

  “Why not? I’d enjoy it.” She leaned across the bed and gave Eva a shove. “I know I’m a boring old has-been, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want anyone else to have any fun!”

  “Is that how you see yourself, Cathy? Seriously, I mean: you don’t feel you want to . . . you know . . . meet someone else?”

  Cathy sighed and ruffled David’s hair. “I don’t know. I’m just scared, I guess. Remember that sleazy so-and-so at the dance? The one with the wandering hands?”

  Eva nodded. “But you can’t let one bad experience put you off men for life.”

  “I know. And I look at you sometimes and think, yes, go for it! Be happy while you’ve got the chance. But then I look at Stuart’s photo and . . . well, I just can’t. I can’t imagine being that way with anybody else.”

  “I wish it had been that way with Eddie and me,” Eva said quietly.

  “You gave him everything you could,” Cathy said. “You made him happy.”

  “Did I? He wasn’t happy about David.”

  “He would have got over that. He just didn’t have the chance.” Cathy reached out and stroked the pale pink patch on the little boy’s cheek. “David’s his legacy to the world. That’s the gift you gave him: don’t sell yourself so short.”

  Eva closed her eyes tight. She had never cried for Eddie. To do so now would be the worst kind of hypocrisy, because the tears she was fighting back were for herself.

  It was cold and dark when Eva and Dilys left the house that night. Anton was waiting in the car at the end of the street, ready to whisk them into town. Eva asked to be dropped off at the usual place. Telling Dilys about Bill’s strange request would have prompted too many awkward questions.

  When she found her way to the restaurant, Bill was already waiting outside. He greeted her with a smile and a hug. There was no hint of what yesterday had meant to him: of the anguish of sitting in front of a clock watching the minutes of his friend’s life ticking away.

  The restaurant was crowded, mostly with white Americans and their girlfriends. Few local people could afford the prices the Victoria charged. There was a lot of pointing and whispering, but to Eva’s relief no one actually came up to the table to challenge them.

  “This sounds pretty good, for Britain!” Bill laughed as he scanned the menu. “Now, what will you have?” Before she could answer, he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and passed it to her across the table. “Thought we could go see these guys after this,” he said. “Go on—read it!”

  He’s talking too much, she thought, frowning as she unfolded the flyer. He’s acting as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “‘Civic Hall, Wolverhampton,’” she read aloud. “‘Anglo-American Ball. By public demand—return of that Dynamic Colored Personality, Stanley Carter and His All-Colored Harlem Hot Club Dance Band, featuring Vic Brown—the colored Bing Crosby . . .’”

  “Sounds perfect, don’t you think?”

  “Well, yes . . . but do you really want to go dancing?” She frowned, trying to work out what was going on inside his head.

  “Are you kidding?” Bill smiled broadly. “You know how I love to dance—and anyway, it’s what Jimmy would have wanted. Back home we believe in enjoying ourselves when we have a funeral. Just because there isn’t going to be a funeral doesn’t mean we can’t pretend . . .” His voice faltered and almost broke. But before Eva could say or do anything, he was on his feet, helping her out of her chair. “Come on,” he said, “let’s skip dinner and get over there!”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Eva whispered as they made their way past the shadowy recesses of shops where cigarettes glowed and hushed voices could be heard in the darkness.

  “Why not?” Bill quickened his pace, almost pulling her along.

  “You saw what it was like in the restaurant,” she said, catching her breath. “It’s going to be worse if people see us dancing.” She clamped her mouth shut. She had almost said: “Especially with Jimmy all over the news.”

  “You worry too much,” Bill replied. “Like I said, it’s perfect: an all-black band and a black singer. What white guy’s going to have the nerve to lay a finger on me with them on the stage?”

  He was right. The singer soon spotted that he was the only black man on the dance floor and called him up onstage to shake his hand. From then on it was as if a bit of Vic Brown’s stardust had rubbed off on Bill and Eva. As they jitterbugged and jived around the room, the spotlight followed them, daring any trouble to follow in its wake. There were white American soldiers in the room, but she saw them only as a blur of color as Bill spun her around. And as the light caught his face, she could see that it was transformed. For the first time since Jimmy’s arrest, he looked happy, carefree.

  “Can we have a rest now?” Eva gasped as she flopped into a chair and took a gulp of shandy. “I thought I was going to end up on the ceiling during that last one!”

  Bill laughed. “You’re as light as a feather, that’s why. Don’t think I ever had a partner I could lift so easily.”

  Eva’s face clouded at his words and she bent over her drink to avoid his eyes.

  “Hey, what did I say? It was supposed to be a compliment!”

  “Oh, nothing.” She took another swallow of her drink. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand. “It’s a slow one—I think I can just about manage that.” As they danced, she buried her head in his jacket. If she told him what was on her mind that brave smile of his would wither like a blossom after frost. Despite his best efforts not to show it, she knew he was still raw with the pain of Jimmy’s death.

  She felt his hands slip down around her waist. It wouldn’t be long before he worked it out for himself. And then what?

  She closed her eyes, concentrating on the music. Vic Brown had a voice like melting chocolate. He was singing about love, of course, about a love that was too hot not to cool down. The words of the song sent shards of ice through her stomach.

  Chapter 11

  LATE FEBRUARY 1944

  A flurry of snow was falling on the railway line, turning the forlorn-looking trucks a dazzling white. The women were shoveling it away where it had drifted, clearing the line for incoming trains. Cathy Garner glanced around as she paused to shake snow from her cap. Betty Pelham’s big round face had turned red with a combination of the cold and the effort of digging. Iris Stokes had taken off her gloves to examine the chilblains on her fingers. And Eva . . . what was Eva doing?

  Eva was doubled over, clutching her stomach. Cathy dropped her spade. As she ran across the tracks, she saw that
her friend’s face was as white as the snow clinging to her hair.

  “Eva—what’s the matter?”

  Eva gasped in answer and reached out, hands flailing.

  Cathy grabbed her around the waist as her friend swayed toward her. “Come on, let’s get you inside!” She guided her over to the toolshed.

  Betty Pelham was following them. “Shall I get the nurse?” she asked. “Or is she just faking it?”

  “Yes, get the nurse!” Cathy hissed. “Can’t you see how pale she’s gone?”

  Eva slumped back on a wooden bench, oblivious of a huge cobweb that attached itself to her hair and hung down one side of her head like a tattered veil.

  “Eva, what is it? Please, tell me!”

  “I . . . it’s nothing,” Eva whispered, taking a breath. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  “Well, it doesn’t look like nothing!” Cathy put her hand to Eva’s face. “You’re as cold as ice! Have you got any of that stuff Bill gave you?”

  Eva shook her head.

  “Well, you need something inside you. Did you have any breakfast?”

  “I didn’t really feel like anything,” Eva mumbled.

  “No wonder you look so pale, you daft thing! Fancy not eating in this weather!”

  A woman in a Red Cross uniform appeared in the doorway with Betty following in her wake. “Thank you, Mrs. Pelham,” the nurse said as Betty parked herself down on a pile of sacks. “You can get back to work now.” As the door closed, she shook the snow from her cape and gave Eva a long, hard look. “Now, what seems to be the matter?” She addressed this question to Cathy. “Not idle-itis, I hope!”

  “It’s all right,” Eva said, lurching from the bench. “I’m fine, really.” She took a step toward the door, but her legs crumpled. Cathy grabbed her as she collapsed onto the dusty floor.

  Half an hour later Eva was lying unconscious on a couch in the stationmaster’s office. The nurse had unbuttoned the shapeless gray donkey jacket and was pressing down on Eva’s stomach. Cathy stood silently beside her, holding Eva’s hand.

  “About five months gone, I’d say,” the nurse pronounced. “Married, is she?” She lifted Eva’s left arm, which hung limply from the side of the couch, examining the fingers. “Hmm,” she grunted, “I thought as much!”

  “She is married,” Cathy said. “She doesn’t wear her ring at work because it gives her calluses.”

  “Really?” The nurse raised an eyebrow. “And is the husband home or away?”

  “Home,” Cathy lied. “He works at Goodyear’s.”

  “Well, he’s a foolish man, letting his wife do this kind of work in her condition.” The nurse pulled down Eva’s lower eyelids, peering at the skin beneath. “Anemic too. No wonder she passed out. She needs to see a doctor.”

  Eva came around suddenly, sitting bolt upright and staring at the unfamiliar surroundings.

  “It’s okay,” Cathy said, squeezing her hand. “You passed out.”

  “Congratulations, young lady,” the nurse said with a grim smile. “Did you realize you are expecting?”

  Eva looked from Cathy to the nurse and back again, wide-eyed with alarm.

  “It’s all right,” Cathy said. “I don’t suppose you’ve even told Eddie yet, have you?” She made an anguished face behind the nurse’s back. “Shall I take her to the canteen?” she said quickly. “Get her something to eat and then take her to the doctor’s?”

  “Well, she definitely needs some food inside her,” the nurse muttered. “Are we strong enough to walk now?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Eva said. She slid one leg off the couch, desperate to get away.

  “Let me help you.” Cathy took Eva’s arm as she stood up. “Come on: lean on me if you need to.”

  When they got to the canteen, the other rail gangers were already there.

  “Oh no,” Cathy said, glancing at her watch, “it’s tea break.”

  “She all right?” Betty Pelham yelled over her shoulder.

  “Yes, she’s fine now,” Cathy called back. “Skipped breakfast, that’s all.”

  “Oh, really?” Iris Stokes piped up. “Are you sure that’s all it is?” She smiled slyly at the others. “I saw her dancing with a Yank at the Civic: a colored one!”

  Cathy felt Eva’s grip tighten on her arm. “So what?” she shouted back before Eva could react. “I saw you with one of those Italian POWs from Moseley Farm: necking at a bus stop in broad daylight!”

  All eyes shot from Eva to Iris.

  “Dirty bitch!” Betty Pelham was on her feet. A gob of spittle flew across the table, landing on the sleeve of Iris’s jacket. A deafening volley of abuse followed Iris as she leapt to her feet and ran to the door.

  Cathy sat Eva down at the far end of the canteen while she went to beg something more substantial than a hot mug of tea from the woman at the serving hatch.

  “Here you are,” she said, returning with a slab of bread-and-butter pudding. “Now, eat up! We’re not moving until you’ve finished it.”

  Cathy sat in silence as Eva ate, watching the color slowly return to her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, as Eva pushed the empty plate aside.

  Eva stared silently at the table.

  “Does Bill know?”

  She shook her head.

  “But hasn’t he . . . noticed anything?”

  Eva gave a short, humorless chuckle. “He thinks it’s all those Hershey bars.” She lifted her teacup, her hand shaking.

  “Why have you kept it to yourself all this time? You know you can trust me. I could have helped you.”

  “Helped me? How?” Eva made a small, strangled sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sob. “Do you know when I found out? It was the night before Bill’s best friend was hanged for getting a white girl pregnant.” She shook her head. “And my mother never stops going on about how dreadful life’s going to be for Jimmy’s baby: it’d just about kill her if she knew I was in the same boat!”

  “So what were you going to do?” Cathy whispered. “Did you really think you could go on hiding it for much longer?”

  Eva stared blankly at the wall in front of her. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her lips moving but her face expressionless. “I wanted to tell you. But that would have made it . . . real.”

  “But it is real!” Cathy gasped. “You’ve got to tell him, Eva: it’s his baby and he needs to know. He must have realized it could happen.”

  “I want to tell him,” Eva said. “So many times I’ve nearly said something . . . but I’m afraid to.”

  “Why? I mean, it’s not like Jimmy, is it?” Cathy dropped her voice. “Nobody’s going to try to say he raped you.”

  “It’s not that,” Eva said. “Don’t you see? If I tell him I’m pregnant, I’m going to have to tell him everything. About David, about Eddie.”

  “You mean you haven’t—”

  “No!” Eva reached for her tea, cradling the mug in both hands. “I was going to tell him the night Jimmy was arrested. I thought I’d wait, give him time to get back on an even keel. But now there’s a baby . . .”

  “I see,” Cathy nodded. “You’re afraid that if he finds out you’ve lied to him, he’ll leave you?”

  Eva closed her eyes. “I didn’t lie to him: I just didn’t tell him the whole truth.”

  Cathy reached across the table, laying her hand on Eva’s arm. “But the fact is he’s going to have to leave you anyway,” she said gently. “It could happen any day: you know that.”

  “Of course I do, but . . .” she faltered.

  “But what?”

  “I can’t let myself believe it. I can’t imagine life without him, Cathy.”

  “Do you love him? You said you were in love, but that’s not the same, really, is it?”

  Eva buried her face in her hands. “Yes,” she mumbled, “I do.”

  “And does he love you?”

  A few seconds’ silence, then: “I don’t know.”

  “There’s only
one way to find out, then, isn’t there? Before it’s too late, I mean.”

  Eva looked up, her face marked red where her fingers had pressed against it. “What are you saying?”

  “Well,” Cathy replied, “if he really loves you, it won’t matter about the past, will it?” She paused, studying Eva’s face. “And if he doesn’t, then you’ve still got time to decide what to do.”

  Eva got out of Anton’s car and picked her way by torchlight across the treacherous frozen slush the snow had left in its wake. She was early. And with the weather, Bill would probably be late. Making her way down the steps of the air-raid shelter, she settled down to wait on one of the wooden benches. As she did so, she felt a familiar fluttering in her belly. She caught her breath, suddenly realizing what it was, that odd sensation like the wings of a butterfly caught inside someone’s hand. That first, fragile movement had thrilled her when she was pregnant with David. Now she felt numbed by the reality of what was happening to her body.

  The beam of another torch danced on the walls of the shelter, making her jump. “Hi, honey, what are you doing in here?” Bill’s voice echoed in the empty space. “I thought you’d stood me up,” he laughed, taking her in his arms and squeezing her tight. She felt as limp and lifeless as a rag doll, incapable of hugging him back.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” He hung the light on the hook on the wall so that he could see her face. “What is it?” he repeated. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

  “Bill, I . . .” she faltered. “There’s . . . something I’ve got to tell you.”

  He blew out a breath. “I had a feeling this was coming.”