The Colours of Love (22 page)

Quietly Eliza said, ‘Be careful, lad.’

‘Careful?’

‘Aye, careful.’

Caleb raised his eyebrows. ‘Meaning?’

‘Look, lad, I don’t want to state the obvious.’

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. ‘Humour me.’

His mother sighed. ‘She’s not of our class, lad. You know that. Furthermore, she’s a married woman with a bairn – a bairn that’s . . . well . . . ’

‘You can say it, Mam. A bairn that’s black, or at least a different colour. And that’s the real problem here, as far as you’re concerned, isn’t it? Admit it.’

‘Don’t take that tone with me, Caleb. It is part of it, aye, but not all, so don’t put words in me mouth. You might not believe it, but I’m thinking of the lass and the bairn here, an’ all. She’s one of the gentry, and you said yourself she talks different. Add to that the bairn, and how do you think folk round here are going to see her?’

Caleb’s voice was clipped and hard when he said, ‘I don’t know, Mam, but as you seem to have all the answers, you tell me. How are folk going to see her?’

‘Like a creature from a different planet, and you know it at heart. I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s the way it is, and human nature will never change. Until the war, when the GIs came over, no one round these parts had even seen a black man, unless you count the Arabs in the East End or the occasional glimpse of a black sailor down at the docks. But not in these streets, not living as one of us. And if a lass went with an Arab, then she was as good as dead to her family. She would have to live among them, in their quarter. Now you know that, Caleb, so don’t shake your head like that.’

‘I know it, but it’s wrong, don’t you see? Damn it! Mam, what have we fought a war for, if not to do away with such thinking? And I don’t care what you say. Times are changing. The black GIs
did
come, and things have been shook up.’

‘Maybe in London and the big cities, but here?’ Eliza glared at the son she loved with all her heart and was inordinately proud of. ‘You say Esther looks white, so there’ll be only one conclusion, as far as the women round here are concerned. They’ll dub her a loose piece, one who enjoyed her war to the full and got caught out. The number of men she’s had would double every time they gossiped on their doorsteps, lad, and when she opened her mouth, it would make things ten times worse. Her with all her privileges to sink so low, they’d say – she’s a bad lot. Pity the man who gets mixed up with her.’

‘I don’t care what they would say,’ he said grimly.

Eliza stared at him as she prayed silently.
No, God, no, not this.
Not on top of everything else in the last six years: her lad getting injured, and Stanley still away out there somewhere, and Prudence’s husband dead. She’d gone through enough. She didn’t want her Caleb to become an object of derision, for having been snared by a lass they’d label no better than a dockside whore. Her face working, she murmured, ‘If you take up with her, you’ll be the talk of the streets, a laughing stock. They . . . they’ll show no mercy.’

Her distress, which he knew was motivated by love for him, melted Caleb’s anger. Reaching out, he drew her into his arms, speaking above her grey head as he whispered, ‘Don’t cry, Mam. Please. And I’m not taking up with her – not like that. She . . . she doesn’t see me in that way. All this with her husband has put her off men for life. We’re friends, that’s all, but I’d never forgive myself if I wasn’t there for her. She . . . she needs me.’

Far from comforting Eliza, Caleb’s words only increased her anxiety. This lass had brought out his protective side, and what man doesn’t want to slay the dragons and rescue the beautiful young maiden? Esther had played him like a violin, that much was obvious, whether or not her story was true. And, by her own admission, she was still married to this pilot bloke, a man of her own class. If the child
was
her husband’s and her tale was true, then she was half-black, however she looked on the outside. And – Eliza’s breath caught in her chest in a hard lump – she didn’t know how she felt about that. She had never thought of herself as prejudiced, but now, faced with this . . . And if Esther’s story was fabricated to get Caleb’s sympathy, and she really had been messing around with a black GI while her husband was away fighting, then she was a bad lot. Either way, she didn’t want this lass for her lad. It might be true that Esther wasn’t interested in him in a romantic way, although she doubted it, but Caleb certainly wanted her. A blind man could see it. And, with a bairn to take care of, she could well see him as a handy meal ticket.

Above her head Caleb’s voice rumbled on. ‘Anyway, she might not want to come and live in these parts – a lass like her. We’ve never really talked about when the war is over, and I haven’t seen her in months, don’t forget. You can only say so much in letters. For all I know, she might have other plans. But . . . but I need to find out. That’s all, Mam. All right?’

‘I can’t stop you.’

‘No, Mam, you can’t.’ They were facing each other again, Eliza having pulled away from him. ‘And I understand your concerns, I do – whatever you think to the contrary – but my course is set on this. I’d like it to be with your support, but if not, it won’t make any difference to what I do.’

‘That’s told me then.’ Eliza turned and walked out of the room without another word, still visibly upset.

Caleb swore softly, running his hand through his hair once he was alone, the news about Hitler forgotten. He hadn’t seen Esther since the day he had left for Roehampton. He had stayed there for some weeks, before being transferred to Sunderland Infirmary, where he’d had the operation to remove the final pieces of shrapnel from his body. He’d requested that this be done in the original hospital in Yorkshire and had been told this was not possible. Once he left Sunderland Infirmary, a doctor had informed him, he could go straight home, so that was good news, wasn’t it? And in the meantime arrangements were under way for his official discharge from the army. It wouldn’t be long and he could start making a new life for himself.

He had thanked the doctor, knowing he meant well, but a new life without Esther in it was merely an existence. And he was frightened – terrified – that with so many miles between them, they would lose touch. It happened to so many folk, for wartime friendships were transient things. And so he had written his letters and waited impatiently for hers, fretting and worrying and snapping at his poor mother, who was patience herself, putting Caleb’s ill temper down to his physical trauma. And throughout all this he’d had to endure hearing from Kenny how well his romance with Priscilla was progressing. Not that he begrudged his friend a bit of happiness, he told himself now; and Kenny had certainly proved his mettle that day, when he’d fought that big oaf of a farmer’s son. But Caleb just wished his own love life was that uncomplicated.

Love life
. He gave a ‘Huh’ of a laugh in the back of his throat. He wished.

Slumping down at the table again, he gazed morosely at the teacups, before straightening his shoulders. Enough! What the hell was the matter with him? The only way he would have Esther in his life in any capacity was if he made the effort to make it so, and he would write to her tonight. If she wrote back and said she had already made plans that didn’t include him, that would be his answer. Better he knew, one way or the other.

He wrote the letter in five minutes, determined not to agonize over it or change anything. Sealing the envelope, he stuck a stamp on the right-hand corner and then pulled on his cap and jacket, before opening the scullery door that led into the yard.

It was a cold night, in spite of the calendar stating that it was the first of May, with a touch of frost glinting on the flagstones and covering the top of the five-foot brick wall that separated their back yard from the ones on either side. Opening the small iron gate, Caleb walked along the cobbled lane, taking care not to slip. In spite of the last blackout restrictions having been lifted nearly two weeks ago, most of the terraced houses were in darkness, their occupants tucked up in bed.

Once in the street beyond the back lane, he made his way briskly to the red postbox on the corner. On reaching it, he paused for a moment as he held the envelope in front of the gaping mouth. Looking up into the vast expanse of black sky alive with twinkling stars, he said out loud, ‘Be with me in this.’ And then he let the letter that carried all his hopes and dreams for the future fall into the box.

Chapter Fourteen

‘Will you please stop worrying, Esther. Of course Caleb will be pleased to see us. Why on earth wouldn’t he be?’ Priscilla ground the gears of the old farm truck that she’d persuaded Farmer Holden to lend them, after she’d used her charm to obtain some petrol from one of her old flames at the American camp. Kenny, who was sitting beside her and between the two women, winced at the noise, but with his hands still a work in progress he couldn’t drive the truck himself.

Turning her head, Priscilla nudged him with her elbow. ‘Isn’t that right, darling? Won’t Caleb be tickled pink, us surprising him like this? We couldn’t let him celebrate the end of the war by himself.’

‘He won’t be by himself,’ Esther said quietly, cradling Joy to her, who had fallen asleep a few minutes before. ‘He’ll be celebrating with his family and friends, like everyone else.’

‘So?’ Priscilla tried to avoid a large pothole in the road they were travelling on, failed and the occupants of the truck rose a few inches in the air before settling back on the battered old seat. ‘We’re bringing enough for everyone.’ The canvas bags in the back of the truck were bulging with food that the kindly Mrs Holden had packed up for them, including a whole cooked ham, and Priscilla’s GI had slipped her a couple of bottles of whisky along with the petrol. ‘We simply couldn’t let VE Day go by without seeing Caleb, sweetie.’

Since the collapse of the Reich and the ceasefire in the west, everyone had felt the war in Europe had to be over, but although the surrender of the German forces on Lüneburg Heath on 4 May had prompted huge headlines in the newspapers on 5 May, no announcement about VE Day had been forthcoming from the government, and the celebrations in Britain had been muted. Everyone was pleased that the Germans had given in to Monty, of course, but no one really knew what was happening on the eastern front with the Russians. All the papers were full of what was being arranged for VE Day – parades, parties, the pubs staying open all hours, and what-have-you – but what everyone wanted to know was
when
it was going to be, and no one in authority was saying anything. Neighbours were pooling their coupons, their egg, flour and butter rations and the rest for street parties, but the delay had taken the edge off the euphoria, and everyone was complaining that it was a strange way to end a war.

Then yesterday, on 7 May, a terse little broadcast from the Board of Trade declaring, ‘Until the end of May you may buy cotton bunting without coupons, as long as it is red, white or blue, and does not cost more than one shilling and threepence per square yard’ sent everyone’s hopes soaring that an announcement was imminent. As Mrs Holden had said, the writing was on the wall, because the Board of Trade wouldn’t give anything away unless it had to. And sure enough that evening, when the BBC interrupted a piano recital, it was to read out a bald statement from the Ministry of Information. The nation had thought heroic prose would be appropriate for the occasion, but that had clearly been eschewed by the Civil Service, and instead, in stilted language, a wooden voice proclaimed, ‘It is understood that, in accordance with arrangements between the three great powers, an official announcement will be broadcast by the Prime Minister at three o’clock tomorrow, Tuesday afternoon, 8 May. In view of this fact, tomorrow, Tuesday, will be treated as Victory in Europe Day, and will be regarded as a holiday. The day following, Wednesday May 9, will also be a holiday. His Majesty the King will broadcast to the people of the British Empire and Commonwealth, tomorrow, Tuesday, at 9 p.m.’

Remembering this now, Esther recalled how Farmer Holden had reacted when he’d heard the news. Whereas his wife had been beside herself with joy that it was officially over, the farmer had glared at them all around the dinner table and said, ‘Well, I’m sick and tired and browned off with the government, I am. The way they’ve behaved – why, it’s blooming insulting to the British people. Stood up to all what we’ve stood up to, and then they’re afraid to tell us it was peace, just as if we was a lot of kids. It’s like they don’t trust us to behave ourselves. Well, they can keep their VE Day and shove it up their—’ He had stopped abruptly, aware of little Joy staring at him, thumb in mouth. ‘Stick it where the sun don’t shine,’ he had finished grumpily.

Mrs Holden had looked round the table at the others, her eyes bright with suppressed laughter, and then they had all burst out laughing, until even the farmer had given a reluctant smile. And he couldn’t have been feeling as put out as he had tried to suggest, because when Priscilla had put forward her plan to go and see Caleb the following day, he had granted them both the day off, once the other three girls had promised they would still be around and would only go into the village once the essential farm work was done. Work rarely stopped on a farm, VE Day or no VE Day.

And so, with Rose saying she should go, and with Vera, Lydia and Beryl encouraging the idea, Esther had found herself reluctantly agreeing to accompany Priscilla and Kenny. She hadn’t replied to Caleb’s last letter, suggesting that she might like to find somewhere to live in Monkwearmouth, for a number of reasons. For one, Mrs Holden had told her and Rose that they could stay on in the cottage when the other girls left and continue to work at the farm indefinitely, and she knew that was what Rose wanted. Rose and the farmer’s wife had become close, being roughly the same age, and whether working together in the dairy or doing the baking and cleaning and washing, the two women chattered away nineteen to the dozen and enjoyed each other’s company. Both fairly worshipped the ground Joy walked on and were the devoted grannies she would never have, family-wise. But while part of Esther was tempted to hide away from the world at the farm, another part of her knew that once the other girls had gone, her life would be terribly constricted. She would have Joy and Rose, of course, but without Priscilla and the other three, and the camaraderie and laughter that had kept her going in the worst times, her life would consist of hard work and little else. She had had her twenty-first birthday in November the year before, so she was still young. She didn’t want to be buried alive. And the villagers were so narrow-minded and judgemental; how would Joy fare at the village school, once she was old enough? Children could be crueller than their parents.