The Colours of Love (23 page)

Then again, if she did leave the farm, what work could she do? And she knew Rose would feel that she had to leave with her, even though her old nanny was so happy and settled. Moving to the town and starting from scratch would be hard, whereas she knew where she was at Yew Tree Farm, and so did Joy.

But – Esther’s heart lurched and then thumped hard – the farm was so far away from Caleb and it would be inevitable that they would lose touch, and she’d had to face the fact that she didn’t want that. But neither did she want more than friendship, did she? She bit her lip, worrying it like a dog with a bone. The truth of the matter was that she didn’t know
what
she wanted about anything. Her mind just went round and round in circles.

‘Isn’t it a simply glorious day?’ Priscilla trilled happily, one hand reaching out momentarily from the wheel to squeeze Kenny’s arm as they exchanged a smile. Her comment had nothing to do with the weather, which hadn’t risen to the momentous occasion, but everything to do with being with the man she loved. Esther had to smile at them; they were so crazily in love. And she understood exactly what Priscilla meant. Direct opposites – Priscilla being a somewhat dizzy, bubbly and unbridled debutante, and Kenny every inch a stolid working-class man, with more rough edges than a chainsaw – but somehow their union was going from strength to strength. Priscilla had confessed to Esther that she’d never been in love before, but now she couldn’t imagine life without her Bear, as she affectionately called Kenny; and for his part, Kenny’s love for Priscilla shone out of his poor disfigured face in a way that brought a lump to the throat.

‘It is a lovely day,’ Esther agreed softly – as every day was, for the couple beside her. And she was glad for them.

The farm was situated on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales between Richmond and Darlington, the small village close to the farm being one of many dotted about the landscape, but they had long since left the area and now, an hour later, were approaching countryside that was familiar to Esther. The country road Priscilla had taken wound round the outskirts of Chester-le-Street and, ridiculously, Esther felt physically sick until they had passed the town and were approaching Washington.

The day had dawned wet and thundery, but by the time they had left the farm and picked Kenny up, a weak and watery sun kept popping out to show its face now and again from behind the clouds. The thing that had struck the three in the truck most of all was the uncanny silence as they’d travelled through hamlets and villages. They hadn’t expected to see much traffic, as motorists were only allowed two and a half gallons of petrol per month (and then only folk like special constables and wardens, and so on), and of course there were no aircraft, as there had been constantly for the last years, but it was the absence of pedestrians in the towns and villages that was strange. And then, as they reached the outskirts of Sunderland, it was Kenny who came up with the reason. ‘They’re all indoors preparing for the celebration teas this afternoon,’ he said suddenly. ‘Of course they are.’ Looking up into the sky, which was beginning to cloud over again, he sighed and murmured as much to himself as to Esther and Priscilla, ‘That earlier rain was like the heavens weeping for the dead, before rejoicing.’ And almost as though this was the signal for release, the next road they turned into was full of folk putting up bunting and flags and streamers.

They had left the farm after helping with the milking and other jobs and then spending time getting washed and changed, so it was eleven o’clock when the old truck trundled into the warren of streets north of the River Wear. The devastation suffered by the streets, shipyards, factories and Wearside families from the Luftwaffe attacks was apparent everywhere, but as Wearside and Tyneside were a hub of shipyards and steelworks, along with the docks and other industry, everyone had known that was going to be the case. Not that it made the reality any easier to bear. Unfortunately Sunderland lay in the flight path that the Luftwaffe had used for raids on the Clydeside area too, so along with suffering independent attacks, it was where the Luftwaffe had often dropped the last of their bombs at the edge of the coast, before heading home to Germany.

As they made their way to Bright Street, where Caleb lived, the three of them stared aghast at the craters and shells of buildings and general destruction. Caleb had written to Esther that large areas of the town had been flattened, but now she was seeing it for herself, she was overwhelmed by the enormity of what ordinary people had gone through. Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, she offered up a silent prayer of thanks that the horror was really over at last.

As Priscilla pulled up outside Caleb’s house, Joy stirred and opened sleepy eyes. ‘We’re here, darling,’ Esther whispered, her stomach a mass of butterflies. She was nervous. Not just of arriving unannounced like this, or of meeting Caleb’s family, but of seeing him again. Letters were one thing; someone in the flesh was completely different. He hadn’t mentioned any girls in his correspondence, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t seeing someone. What if she was here, with him?

And then she admonished herself sharply. What if he did have a girlfriend? He was a free agent, wasn’t he? They were friends, that was all; and he had never indicated anything else. Nevertheless she bitterly regretted falling in with Priscilla’s plan as they climbed out of the truck into the terraced street. There were a number of men in shirtsleeves carrying trestle tables that they had clearly borrowed from a church hall or somewhere coming towards them, and bunting was criss-crossed across the street, along with Union Jack flags dangling from bedroom windows. Preparations for the street party were under way.

Feeling sick with nerves, she positioned herself behind Kenny, as Priscilla knocked on the front door of the house, aware of the stares from one or two of the neighbours, who had clearly heard the old truck’s rasping engine and had come to their doors to see what was what. One of the men carrying the tables called to them, saying, ‘You can’t leave that here for long. Take it round the back lane and park it there, if you’re going to be here any length of time; we need the room for the tables and chairs and what-have-you.’

Priscilla nodded, calling back brightly, ‘Righty-ho, will do,’ in her cut-glass accent, causing the man to stop dead in his tracks, his face a picture, so that the fellow carrying the other end of the table dropped it on his foot.

Amid cursing and muttering from the man in question, the front door opened to reveal a small, stout woman, whom Esther knew instantly was Caleb’s mother. The woman’s hair was grey and thick, her eyes brown and round, but it was in the shape of her face and the fullness of her wide mouth that the likeness to Caleb was most obvious. She stared at them, and Esther had to admire her when the woman’s gaze took in Kenny without flinching. Although Kenny’s last two operations had given him a passable nose, most people couldn’t hide their shock when they first saw his injuries. It was different when the brown eyes rested on Joy, still half-asleep in her arms. Then Caleb’s mother’s gaze narrowed and her mouth straightened. ‘Can I help you?’ she said stiffly, directly to Priscilla.

It was Kenny who answered. ‘We’re here to see Caleb, if that’s possible? I was with him in hospital in Yorkshire. Kenny’s the name.’

It was clear to Esther that Caleb’s mother pulled herself together with some effort, but her voice was warmer as she said to Kenny, ‘Oh aye, lad. He’s often spoken of you. Come in. He’s in the kitchen. Go on through and surprise him.’

As she stood aside for them to pass into the house she raised a smile of sorts for Priscilla; Esther she looked straight through. Kenny had paused in the hall and now, after shutting the front door, Caleb’s mother bustled past them, saying, ‘I said go through, lad. Don’t stand on ceremony,’ and they all followed her into the kitchen.

It was a small room, but clean and tidy. A scrubbed table with chairs beneath it, a chiffonier holding crockery and dishes, and two comfortable armchairs set at an angle to the black-leaded range, plus a long wooden settle with thick flock cushions were crammed into the limited space, barely leaving enough room to edge round them. But Esther didn’t notice any of this. Her eyes were on the tall, dark-haired man who had clearly been sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of tea and reading the paper. For a long moment their eyes held and they were both oblivious of the others, and then the two men were laughing and shaking hands, Caleb’s mother was urging them all to sit down and it was general mayhem for a minute or two.

Well, it had to happen one day, didn’t it? And she’d prepared herself for when it did. She just hadn’t expected it to be today, of all days. As she went about mashing the tea, Eliza’s head was spinning, although she gave no indication of this with her calm, controlled movements and lack of expression. And she could see what had captured her Caleb, for the girl was a beauty – the bairn an’ all, in her own way – no doubt about that.

Walking across to the chiffonier, her eyes went to the rose-patterned tea service that had been a wedding present and which was only brought out on high days and holidays, or when the vicar paid a visit. Eliza was proud of her tea service and, after she had heard Priscilla talk, had decided to use it. Now her hand paused and instead reached for the everyday mugs that the family used. They’d have to take her as they found her, she told herself grimly. She wasn’t about to try and impress anyone.

The milk was already on the table and, bringing the big brown teapot and mugs to the table, she said evenly, ‘There’s no sugar, I’m afraid. What we had has been used for the cakes for this afternoon’s tea, and sweets for the bairns.’

‘Oh, that reminds me.’ Priscilla jumped up like a jack-in-the-box. ‘We brought some bits from the farm, Mrs McGuigan. I do so hope you don’t mind all of us descending on you like this, but we so wanted to see Caleb on this special day, didn’t we, darling?’ she added to Kenny, before continuing in the same breath, ‘But if you think your neighbours might object to us sharing the celebrations, then of course we won’t intrude.’

Flustered as much by Priscilla’s voice – which she termed la-di-da – as by the way the girl had come straight to the point, Eliza said stutteringly, ‘N-n-no, of . . . of course not.’

‘Oh, lovely! I’ll bring the bags in then, shall I? There’s one of Mrs Holden’s fruitcakes, which are absolutely divine, and a ham-and-egg pie and all sorts of goodies. She
adores
cooking, Mrs Holden and, being a farmer’s wife, the rationing hasn’t really affected her at all. Whoops! I shouldn’t really say that, should I, but it’s the truth.’ Priscilla gave a peal of laughter, taking Eliza’s arm as if she was an old friend. ‘Come and see what we’ve got. There’s a ham we can cut up, once they start putting the food out too, and . . . ’

As Priscilla disappeared with Eliza, Caleb grinned at the other two. ‘My mother doesn’t know what’s hit her, with Cilla,’ he said wryly. ‘She’s never come across anyone like her before.’

‘Who has?’ Kenny responded, a wealth of love and pride in his voice.

Esther merely smiled. At this moment she had never envied Priscilla’s easy way and total lack of shyness more. For herself, she felt as tongue-tied with Caleb as she did with his mother, who she was sure did not approve of her son’s friendship with a married woman with a mixed-race daughter. As though he had picked up on her thoughts, Caleb said softly to Joy, who was sitting on Esther’s lap sucking her thumb, ‘How’s my big girl then? My, you’ve grown.’

Joy stared at him without replying and Esther said hastily, ‘She’s going through a shy stage. She’s the same with everybody. Just ignore her for a bit, and she’ll settle down.’ Joy had had her second birthday in the middle of April, and almost from that very day had decided all men were suspect. Priscilla had remarked that Joy showed great wisdom for one so young.

‘She’s beautiful,’ Caleb said quietly.

Esther smiled a more natural smile. She had put Joy in her best dress – a pretty, pale-yellow smocked frock with matching pants, which Rose had made her for her birthday on Mrs Holden’s little sewing machine – and brushed her burnished curls until they hung in shining ringlets framing her heart-shaped face with its huge green eyes, and to her Joy looked enchanting. ‘Thank you.’ Clearing her throat, she added, ‘I hope we haven’t put your mother out, coming like this. We should have let you know.’

‘Don’t be daft.’

He had spoken too quickly, and they both knew it. Kenny spoke into the embarrassing pause that followed, making some comment about the forthcoming speech from Winston Churchill, scheduled to be broadcast at three that afternoon, after which the festivities would begin in earnest, and as the two men continued the conversation, Esther hugged Joy to her again. Caleb’s mother’s disapproval had made up her mind about one thing: she wouldn’t take him up on his offer to help her find somewhere in the immediate district to live. In fact, it was probably better if she cut all contact with him. She didn’t want to come between him and his family. His mother didn’t like her and that was fair enough, she told herself silently, swallowing against the lump in her throat. But if Eliza was openly hostile, or unkind in any way to her daughter, then she would take her to task, Caleb or no Caleb.

Outside in the street Priscilla had opened the door of the truck, but hadn’t immediately reached for the bags wedged at the back of the long seat. Instead she said – very quietly for her – ‘Can I have a word with you in private, Mrs McGuigan?’

Eliza looked at the fancy toff, as she had termed Priscilla in her mind. ‘Well, there’s no one listening, as far as I can tell, lass.’

‘It’s about Esther.’ Priscilla had seen the way Caleb’s mother had looked at her friend and, as always, had decided to rush in where angels fear to tread. ‘I don’t know what Caleb has told you, but whatever he has said, you might be thinking that he has merely been fooled by a pretty face.’

Completely taken aback, Eliza rallied enough to say, ‘It wouldn’t be the first time a lad has been taken in by the turn of an ankle.’