“Don’t be silly—of course you can stay! You can have the spare room. I was decorating it for the new baby, but . . .” she paused, pressing her lips together.
“But what?” Louisa knew that look.
“Oh, nothing!” Gina cocked her head at the pile of laundry on the end of the table. “Just been a bit too busy with the housework, that’s all.”
“Well, I can help with that,” Louisa said. She was desperate to do anything to take her mind off what the future might hold.
“Okay—but you’d better let me feed you first: I don’t want you passing out on me again!”
Louisa gave her a wobbly smile. “Please don’t be so nice to me,” she said. “You’ll make me start crying again.”
Later on, when they were folding clean sheets to stack in the airing cupboard, Gina said, “Would you go back to him? If he accepts what happened, I mean.”
Louisa thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “For Tom’s sake, yes, I think I would.”
“But not for your sake?”
Louisa shook her head. “It’s not just about me, though, is it? I’ve got to think of what’s best for Tom and the baby. I know I should try if he gives me the chance.” She swept back a stray lock of hair. “After all, Ray’s done nothing to deserve this.”
Later that afternoon she wrote a letter to Ray, intending to push it through the door on her way to Tom’s school. In it she tried to explain how the trauma of being raped had made her plunge headlong into a relationship with him—the first and only boyfriend she had ever had. She wanted to make it clear that she had genuinely cared for him, not just used him, and she told him that as far as she and Tom were concerned, he was the boy’s one and only father. But when she read it back, she couldn’t help seeing herself through Ray’s eyes. He was never going to be able to forgive and forget. How could she bring a new baby into an atmosphere weighted with suspicion and mistrust?
She ended the letter with a request to meet him on neutral ground to talk things over. She suggested Woolworth’s café at eleven o’clock the following morning. It was big enough for them to be able to talk without being overheard, and she would feel safer with all those people around.
She had scribbled a postscript about the fact she wasn’t staying with her parents and asked him not to go there. “Whatever you think of me, they had nothing to do with it and they know nothing about it,” she wrote. “Please don’t tell them. I’m asking you for their sakes, not mine.”
When she turned the corner into Oaklands Road, her heart missed a beat. There was a police car outside the flat. One of the neighbors was talking to a uniformed officer. As she drew nearer, he caught sight of her and his face fell.
“Bob?” She ran to the elderly man, who lived in the flat below. “What’s happened? What’s going on?”
He glanced at the policeman, biting his lip.
“Mrs. Brandon?” The officer took her arm and turned to the neighbor. “Could we use your flat for a few moments, sir?”
Bob nodded, leading the way.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Louisa’s voice was shrill with fear. “Where’s Ray?”
“I think you should sit down, Mrs. Brandon,” the policeman said. “I’m afraid I have some very bad news: your husband has taken an overdose.”
“An overdose?” She echoed, unable to take it in.
“I don’t think he meant to do it, love,” Bob reached out hesitantly, patting her arm. “He phoned 999, but it was too late. He died on the way to the hospital.”
Chapter 31
Louisa felt an unbearable heaviness in the silence of her parents’ front room. She was sitting with her father, but neither of them had spoken a word since Eva and Tom left the room. The only sound came from the creaking of the floorboards overhead as Eva moved about the spare bedroom, trying to settle the child for the night. Louisa knew her dad was waiting for her to explain. Clearly he was desperate to know why Ray had taken his life but afraid to ask. She wondered what she was going to tell him.
She wanted to save her parents from more pain, more worry than they were already facing. They had been so wonderful with Tom, shielding him from her grief and finding the right words when she had been at a loss to explain where his daddy had gone. They had even managed to deal with Ray’s mother, who, hysterical with shock, had stood screaming at the front door, demanding to know what Louisa had done to drive her son to suicide.
A little voice inside Louisa’s head whispered that the truth must come out. If she didn’t tell them, someone else would. There would be an inquest. The police would want to know why Ray had taken an overdose, even if he hadn’t really meant to kill himself. She would have to tell them about the lawyer’s letter. About Trefor. She would have to stand up in court and spell out what had happened, in front of her parents and his.
She could hardly bear the thought of it. The Brandons would want to tear her limb from limb—and who could blame them? Because of her, Ray was dead and Tom was fatherless. Could she possibly have made things any worse?
“I know it’s hard for you, Lou,” Eddie began, his voice breaking into her thoughts. “But it might help to talk about it.”
“I know, Dad,” she nodded, fighting back tears. “I don’t know if I can, though.”
He reached across and took her hand. “Just tell me one thing, will you?”
She looked at him with fear in her eyes. Did he know already? Had Trefor’s lawyer written to her parents as well?
“I’m not here to judge you,” he said, “I just need to know: Is there someone else?”
“God, no, Dad!” Louisa gasped. “Is that what you’re all thinking? I’ve never been unfaithful to Ray!”
“It’s not what your mother and me are thinking, love: it’s Ray’s mother. She said he phoned her before he took the pills. Said something about Tom . . .” he shifted in his seat, huffing out a breath. “There’s no easy way of saying it, Lou: he told her Tom wasn’t his. Is it true?”
“Oh, Dad,” she whispered, her whole body beginning to tremble. “What have I done?” She fell forward into his arms, and he rocked her like a child as the whole story came tumbling out.
“Why on earth didn’t you tell us?” She felt the muscles of his jaw clench. “Jesus Christ! It’s a good job that bastard’s already dead—I’d have bloody well killed him with my own hands!” He propped her up, gripping her shoulders as he searched her face. “Do you think Tom really could be his child?” The anguish in his eyes pierced her heart. He loved that little boy so much. Just as he had loved her all these years.
“No, Dad,” she shook her head slowly, deliberately. “Trefor wanted to believe it: his wife and daughter had left him and he was desperate for a son to inherit the farm. But Tom’s not his child. He’s Ray’s, without a doubt.”
Lying bitch! She heard Ray’s voice as clearly as if he’d been there in the room.
Eddie’s face relaxed slightly. “Thank God for small mercies,” he breathed. “Poor Ray! It’s all Trefor’s fault—bloody monster!”
“What are we going to tell Mam?” Louisa whispered. “This would just about finish her off.”
Eddie nodded, his face grave. “We need to get her away,” he said.
“What, you mean go on holiday somewhere?”
“For now, yes. We’ll tell her Ray had a breakdown when you told him there was another baby on the way. That he was worried about money.”
“But what about Ray’s mother? What if Mam asks me about that?”
“She doesn’t know,” Eddie replied. “She left me to deal with his mother while she got Tom out of earshot.”
“There’ll be an inquest, though, won’t there? It’s all going to come out then. And even if she keeps away, it’s bound to be in the newspaper.”
Eddie considered for a moment before replying. “We might have to think about moving for good, then. For your sake as well as for hers.” He looked at her. “Can you imagine what it’s g
oing to be like if you carry on living round here? Once it gets in the Express & Star, there’ll never be an end to it. Tom’s going to get it at school—and the new baby, once he or she is old enough to understand. People can be very cruel.”
Louisa could imagine it only too well. It was going to be tough enough bringing up two children on her own without their lives being blighted by malicious gossip.
“I’ll have to get a job somewhere else,” Eddie said. “Perhaps I could get a transfer to the London office. It’ll be expensive, though, living there: I don’t think we’d be able to afford to buy a house . . .” He paused, seeing Louisa’s face change.
“The farm! What about the farm, Dad? It’s Tom’s now, isn’t it?”
He frowned. “Could you bear to go there? It being Trefor’s, I mean?”
“I don’t have any memories of him in the place—not really,” she said, looking at the space above his head as she conjured up scenes from her childhood. “I was happy there, mostly,” she said. “I didn’t want to leave—did you?”
“No—I loved it on the farm. I never wanted to go back to working in an office after that, but . . .” He gave her a wry smile. “Hey, we could sell this place and maybe build a little bungalow on the land: that way you’d have your own place, but we’d be there to help if you needed us.” His face turned serious again. “We should go soon, you know: if we’re going to keep this from your mother.”
“What about the inquest? I’ll have to give evidence, won’t I?”
“You and I could come back for that while your mother looks after Tom. She wouldn’t want to go to something like that: it’d only remind her of . . . you know . . .” He glanced at David’s photograph on the mantelpiece.
Louisa bit her lip. “Isn’t it going to be upsetting for both of you, though? Moving back there, I mean?”
“We’d be a lot more upset if you and Tom moved away without us. And I don’t see how you can stay put, do you?”
Louisa shook her head. “There’s nothing for me here now, Dad. I’ve made such a mess of my life.”
He crooked his finger under her chin, lifting her face to meet his eyes. “Listen, Lou: none of this is your fault. No one could blame you for running into Ray’s arms after what Trefor did to you. The farm’s your passport to a new life—which is the least that bastard owes you!”
The funeral was arranged for the following Monday. Louisa had not put up any resistance when Ray’s parents telephoned her father to say that they wanted to take charge of things. They had not asked her to choose a hymn or a reading. She only knew where and when the service was being held because of a notice in the obituary column of the newspaper.
“I wouldn’t go if I was you,” Eddie said when he pointed it out.
“Not go? How can I not go? I was his wife, for God’s sake!”
“I know, love, but you know what his mother was like last week—ranting and screaming: Do you really want to put yourself through that again?”
Louisa let out a long breath. “I’d feel so guilty if I didn’t go: heaven knows I feel guilty enough already.”
“Don’t you think you’d feel even worse if the whole thing turned into a shouting match?” Eddie stroked her hair. “I know you only want to do what’s right, but in this case I think the right thing is to stay away.”
On the day Ray was cremated, Louisa went to visit Gina. She took a long time to answer the door, calling from the top of the stairs that she was coming. At nearly eight months into her pregnancy she was having to do everything in slow motion.
“I’ve come to say good-bye.” Louisa was struggling to keep her voice from quavering. “We’re moving to Wales—to the farm.”
“Oh Lou!” Gina clutched the edge of the kitchen table. “What am I going to do without you?”
Louisa gave her a wobbly smile. “I’m going to miss you like mad too. But you’ll be fine. You’ve got Andy and Julia, and soon there’ll be the new baby.”
Gina made a small, strangled sound and a tear trickled down her plump cheek.
“What’s the matter?” Louisa darted to her side, wrapping her arms around her. “Gina? What have I said?”
“I . . . d . . . didn’t want to tell you,” Gina sobbed. “It’s not f . . . fair: you’ve got far too much on your p . . . plate.”
“Tell me what? Please, Gina, what’s happened?”
“I . . . it’s Andy,” she faltered.
“Andy?”
Gina nodded, scrabbling in the sleeve of her cardigan for a tissue. “He’s been . . .” Her body shuddered with a great sob as she sank into a chair.
“What?” Louisa knelt on the floor, searching her face.
“He’s been having an affair.” Gina gulped for air.
“Oh Gina! Are you sure?”
Gina closed her eyes, her head shaking as she tried to nod. “He’s got her pregnant. Her baby’s due three months after mine.”
“Oh my God! No!” Louisa gasped, shaking her head. “You were so happy! How could he?”
“What am I going to do?” Gina whimpered.
“Where is he? Has he gone to this . . . this woman?”
Gina shook her head.
“Is he planning to?”
“He says he doesn’t know what to do. He’s confused!” She gave a bitter chuckle. “He says he still loves me, but he loves her too.”
“And what about you?”
“I hate him! I want to kill him! I have nightmares where I hit him and my fist misses his face.”
Louisa reached for her hand. “Listen,” she said, “you don’t have to put up with this, you know.”
Gina looked up, her face red and tear-stained. “What am I supposed to do? Kick him out? How can I, in this state? How would we eat, let alone pay the rent?”
“You could come and live with me on the farm in Wales.” Louisa spoke slowly and softly, thinking aloud. “There’d be no rent to pay. We could help each other with the children and work with my dad on the farm.”
The ghost of something like a smile crossed her friend’s face. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely serious.” There was a lump in her throat, but her voice was steady. “I’ve made a terrible mess of my life, Gina. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to Ray. Let me do one bit of good, will you?”
Chapter 32
SEPTEMBER 1968
Gina’s baby boy, Jonathan, was born four weeks after they arrived at the farm. Five months later, Louisa gave birth to a girl. She called her Rhiannon, after her aunt.
Rhiannon took everyone by surprise—especially Gina. A few days after the birth, when she and Louisa were sitting outside in the warm autumn sunshine with their babies, Gina asked the question Louisa had been dreading.
“Tell me to mind my own business if you like,” she began, “but I have to ask. Is she really Ray’s?”
Louisa searched the hazy hills beyond the fields where the sheep grazed. “Yes, she is.” She took a long breath, her eyes fixing on Gina’s. “Her skin color comes from me, not her father. I should have told you years ago, but I was afraid.”
“From you?” Gina’s confusion was palpable.
“Do you remember, when we were kids, I told you my father was American?”
Gina nodded. “You said he looked like Dean Martin.”
“I know.” Louisa dropped her head. “I’m sorry, but that was a lie: I was afraid you wouldn’t want to be my friend if I told you the truth.”
“So your father wasn’t an American?”
“Yes, he was: a black American.”
In the silence between them all that could be heard was the bleating of the sheep and the distant bark of a dog from the farm down the valley.
“But you . . . you . . . don’t look . . .” Gina faltered.
“I know,” Louisa said. “I wanted you to think I was like you, with a dad who was Italian or Spanish-looking. Ray’s parents thought he was Puerto Rican. People jumped to their own conclusions and I let them, as long as they
never guessed I was a . . .” She bit her lip. “A half-caste.”
Gina blinked. “So your mother . . . ?” She gave an apologetic shrug.
Louisa gave a short, hollow laugh. “She had a wartime romance with a black GI. Except you couldn’t really call it a romance.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it was probably a one-night stand.” She closed her eyes, summoning the faceless man who still haunted her dreams. “She can’t even remember his name.”
“Oh Lou!” Gina reached for her shoulder and squeezed it. “Are you sure? How do you know?”
Louisa told her about the incident, more than a decade ago, when she had played the Nat “King” Cole record. She described her mother’s hysterical reaction and the blank look when she had asked her father’s name. “He must have been a real user,” she muttered. “Probably got her drunk at some dance and shoved her into an alley for a quick knee-trembler.” She gave a quick, dismissive shake of her head. “You know I love her, Gina, but how could she have got herself into a situation like that? When I was a kid, I used to feel angry that she wouldn’t tell me about him, but now I realize it’s no wonder she clammed up. She’s too ashamed to talk about what happened!”
Gina frowned. “You told me a while back you had a brother who died . . .”
Louisa nodded.
“Was he . . . I mean, was your mum married before? Before you came along?”
“Yes,” Louisa rolled her eyes. “To my dad. He was fighting in the war, and he came home to find me!”
Gina stared at her, openmouthed.
“Incredible, isn’t it? I’ve often wondered why he adopted me, but I daren’t ask. I couldn’t bear to upset him.”
“He’s a lovely man, your dad.” Gina’s sympathetic face was streaked with confusion.
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