The Colours of Love (32 page)

Was he mad? Or did he think she was stupid? ‘Of course you wouldn’t,’ she said flatly. ‘You don’t want more children. We’ve ascertained that.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

She had told Monty she had changed and she’d meant it, but now it dawned on Esther just how much of a different person she had become, when she thought about what she was going to say next. Looking him straight in the eye, she said very calmly, ‘No court would back you, Monty, regarding Joy. In fact you would be laughed
out
of court, because I would swear on oath that she is the result of a liaison with a black GI. I look white; you look white. Who would a judge believe?’

After a tense moment during which their gazes locked, and with the words coming tight from between his lips, he said, ‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Yes, I would. Instead of a quiet divorce that would pass virtually unnoticed, it would attract quite a bit of attention, don’t you think? And scandal. Scandal, Monty: the very thing the Grant name doesn’t want.’ In spite of her determination to remain calm and composed, an edge of bitterness accompanied the last words.

‘You would lie under oath? Commit perjury?’

‘For Joy’s happiness? Without even thinking about it.’

‘She would be happy if you came back to me. She’d be able to have anything she wanted – money no object.’

‘Money doesn’t buy happiness, Monty.’

‘You won’t be saying that when you’re living in squalor with that fellow,’ he barked back.

‘Don’t shout at me. I won’t stand for it.’

Monty, his jawbone working hard under the skin, breathed in deeply. ‘Theobald won’t let you do this – I mean it. You were raised as his daughter and bore his name. He doesn’t want a divorce in the family.’

‘
Theobald?
’ In spite of all her good intentions, it was the final straw. ‘Do you think I care what he wants? He is as good as dead to me, and you can tell him that. And you can tell him something else too: if he tries anything – anything at all – I promise you I’ll make good on my threat to disown you as Joy’s father. And publicly; very publicly. You tell him that, word-for-word. His precious name will be dragged through the mud.’

‘You’re making a big mistake.’

‘No, Monty. I made my mistake three and a half years ago when I married you. And one last thing you can tell Theobald: I shall be filing for divorce in the New Year.’

He glared at her, burning with anger and humiliation, and if he could have struck her dead at that moment, he would have done so. Instead he swung round, reaching for the parcel he had brought for Joy, which lay still wrapped under the Christmas tree. Tearing it open, he took the fancy doll with the smiling porcelain face from its box and, with one vicious blow, dashed it against the worn old flagstones. ‘If you want her to have nothing from me, that’s exactly what she’ll get – nothing.’

Again they were staring at each other, Esther’s face drained of colour, and Monty’s as red as a beetroot. She was trembling, but her voice was steady as she said, ‘Please leave, Monty, and don’t come back again.’

For a moment she thought he was going to hit her, but then he pushed past her, almost knocking her over, and left, slamming the door behind him. She didn’t move; even when she heard his car start up and the sound of it disappearing down the lane, she couldn’t persuade her frozen limbs into action. It was only when she looked down at the remains of the doll at her feet, at the little smashed face and limp arms and legs, that she sank to the floor, gathering it to her and swaying back and forth as the tears came.

PART FIVE

All Things Work Together for Good

1946

Chapter Twenty

‘Well, here you are then, lass.’ Eliza McGuigan tried to hide her dismay as she glanced round the room in which she was standing. Outside the March day was bitterly cold and the raw north-east wind cut like a knife, the snow packed hard on the ground, with a fresh fall added to it nearly every day. Inside the small room at least it was warm, Caleb’s mother told herself, but then it doesn’t take much to heat a rabbit hutch, and that’s what this place was.

Esther knew exactly what Eliza was thinking, but as she had told Caleb the night before, she couldn’t afford to be choosy. She had saved some of her wages for the last couple of years, in anticipation of this time, so she had a small nest egg to tide her over while she looked for work and found a nursery place for Joy during the day. But every penny had to stretch to two, and this room in a terraced house three streets from Bright Street had been cheap. It had been easy to see why. It was one of two bedrooms in the two-up, two-down building; the other upstairs room being occupied by an elderly married couple, and the front room and kitchen downstairs being the domain of a family of eight. The tap in the yard provided water for the household, and the wash house with its ancient boiler and the brick-built privy more or less filled the remaining space outside.

When the wife of the downstairs family – her landlady – had shown her the room the week before, she had been apologetic about the state of it. ‘I know it’s a mess, lass,’ she’d said as she’d opened the door from the landing, ‘but with six bairns and a full-time job, I’ve not had time to do anything to it since Mr Mason left. Gone back south he has, and good riddance. Filthy swine, if ever I saw one. Eighty years old, he was, and always saying he couldn’t do this and couldn’t do that, but he’d nip off to the pub quick enough. His sister’s said he could go and live with her, now her husband’s passed on – apparently the husband couldn’t stand Mr Mason, and I’m not surprised – but I doubt she knows what she’s taking on. Still, that’s not my concern. Anyway, that’s why I’m not asking much for it, cos I know you’ll have to spruce it up a bit, and I doubt you’ll be able to use the bed. Not particular in his habits, Mr Mason.’

That was the understatement of the year. As Esther looked at Caleb’s mother’s face, she wondered what Eliza would have said if she’d seen the room before she and Caleb got to work on it. Esther had moved from Yorkshire the week before and had stayed at one of the bed-and-breakfast establishments in Roker, a mile or so up the coast, while she looked for somewhere to live, but time had been of the essence, as she couldn’t afford to remain there for long. But the landlady had been a dear soul, offering to take care of Joy while Esther went out each day, which had been a great help. Her husband had been a different kettle of fish, though, eyeing Joy with a pursed, disapproving mouth and a tight face, and making it quite clear he considered Esther a loose piece.

Shrugging off the memory, Esther said now, ‘I know it’s tiny, but it’s clean and warm, and it will do for the present, Mrs McGuigan.’

‘Can’t he . . . Joy’s father’ – Eliza refrained from calling him Esther’s husband – ‘give you something each week? He ought to, lass. He’s well-oiled, isn’t he?’

‘I don’t want anything from him, not a penny.’

Esther’s voice was so vehement that Eliza said no more on the matter. ‘You know best, lass. Now, I’ve come with an idea to put to you, an’ hear me out before you say anything.’ Eliza knew only too well how independent Esther was, from bits that Caleb had said. And it was to the lass’s credit, she’d give her that. Esther certainly didn’t intend to take Caleb for every penny, like some lassies would have done in the same circumstances; in fact, according to her son, Esther had told him that until she was legally divorced and everything was settled, she felt she had to provide for herself and Joy with no help from anyone. Mind, Eliza thought to herself, she still felt that husband of the lass’s should stump up something.

‘An idea?’

‘Aye, lass. Now Caleb tells me you’ve got the chance of a job as receptionist in a hotel in Roker, not far from where you’ve been staying. Is that right?’

Esther nodded. She had seen the job advertised in the
Echo
and taken herself along to the hotel in question, to find out more about it and how to apply, not knowing if she would even be considered for the post, never having worked in a hotel before. As she had been talking to the present receptionist, who was leaving to have a baby within the month, the manager of the hotel had passed by and heard the conversation. Pausing, he had hovered for a minute or two and then made himself known, asking Esther if she would like to accompany him to his office.

Mr Dimple was a wily individual, and had immediately seen the advantage of having someone who spoke and conducted themselves like Esther, in the front of the hotel. She was a cut above, he told himself, and the impression that guests would receive – either over the telephone or speaking to Esther in person – would do the reputation of his establishment no harm at all. After a kind of interview, he had offered her the position then and there, at a starting wage of three pounds per week until she was fully trained: three shillings more than she had been earning in the last year as a member of the Land Army, after the powers-that-be had raised the wages to two pounds and seventeen shillings. Of course, at the farm her bed and board had been provided, and there had been no nursery fees for Joy. Nevertheless she had accepted the position gratefully, telling herself that she’d manage until she completed the training. The next day she had come across the room in Ripon Street and, because of the awful state of it, the landlady, Mrs Birch, was only asking three shillings a week, and had offered to cook a hot meal ready for the evening, if Esther provided the ingredients, which would be an enormous help.

‘I’ve no doubt you’ll be robbing Peter to pay Paul over the next little while,’ Eliza went on. ‘I had years of that, when the bairns were young.’ Not that she could compare her circumstances with that of Caleb’s poor lass. ‘Now Stanley’s home and earning again, an’ Caleb an’ all, my days of hiding from the rent man are over, thank the good Lord. But to tell you the truth, lass, I miss them times now, in a funny sort of way. I used to have to take in washing to make ends meet, and I was on me feet from dawn to dusk with the little ’uns an’ the house to look after, but now’ – she paused to take a breath – ‘the days stretch on and on when the menfolk are at work.’

Esther stared at Caleb’s mother. She had no idea where this was leading. Remembering her manners, she gestured towards the one small armchair the room contained, which she’d purchased when she had bought a new single bed that she and Joy would share. She and Caleb had got rid of Mr Mason’s bed and chair. They’d stunk of urine and other unmentionable things. Then they’d scrubbed the walls and ceiling and floorboards with carbolic soap to get rid of the smell, before Caleb had whitewashed the ceiling and painted the walls. She’d made curtains for the window and a matching cover for the bed. Then Caleb had fetched the bed and chair and a fairly new and clean clippy mat for the floor, with the help of one of his pals, while she had gone out for bed linen, towels, a kettle and a few other essentials. It had all bitten a hole in her precious nest egg, but it couldn’t be helped. Caleb had tried to press some money on her, but she had refused so strongly that he hadn’t tried again.

‘What I’m trying to say, lass,’ said Eliza, ‘is that I reckon we can do each other a good turn. I could look after the bairn while you’re at work, and that’ll save you paying out; and I’ll have company in the house again. A bairn is always a pleasure, and your little one took to me straight off, didn’t she?’ She sat down in the armchair, which was placed at an angle to the little blackleaded fireplace in which a coal fire was burning, as they both glanced to where Joy was snuggled up fast asleep in the bed she shared with her mother. A month off her third birthday, the little girl still needed a long nap for an hour or so each afternoon or there would be tears before bedtime.

Esther perched on the end of the bed facing Caleb’s mother. Not mincing her words, she said quietly, ‘Did Caleb ask you to do this, Mrs McGuigan?’

Eliza smiled. ‘Would it be so terrible if he had, lass? But no, as it happens, he knows nowt about it. I wanted to see you meself first, and get your take on it.’

The wind taken out of her sails, Esther didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s very kind of you, but . . . ’

‘No, no buts; an’ it’s not kind, not really. I’ve told you how it is and I’m not soft-soaping you.’ Eliza didn’t mention here that she hadn’t told her husband of her intentions, either. She’d had to do a lot of work on Stanley when he had found out that Caleb’s lass wasn’t white – however she looked on the outside – and that Esther had a black bairn; furthermore, she was a married woman and in the process of seeing about getting a divorce. Stanley had been angry and upset, stomping about the house and saying all sorts of things she’d known he’d regret later, and the upshot of it all had been father and son having a row that had rocked the house to its foundations. It was only when Caleb had begun to pack his things, saying he was moving out, that Stanley had seen reason. It was Caleb’s life, she had told Stanley, and they couldn’t live it for him. He was big enough to make his own decisions and, although she had felt exactly the same as Stanley at first, once she had met Esther and the little bairn she’d changed her mind. And he would too. Stanley had given her a look that had said it’d take hell freezing over before that was the case, but at least he had said no more and an uneasy peace had descended on the household. He had yet to meet Esther, but she’d told Caleb not to force the issue. Now that the lass had moved to the district, it would happen in good time.

‘So, lass, what do you say?’ Eliza smiled at Esther. ‘You could drop the bairn off in the morning an’ I’ll have her ready when you call by, come evening.’

‘I . . . I couldn’t ask you to do this, Mrs McGuigan.’

‘You’re not asking me. I’m offering.’ Heaven knew what the neighbours would say, but if Caleb was serious about this lass – and she knew her lad well enough to know that his heart and soul were set on her – then the busybodies might as well start their gossiping sooner rather than later. That la-di-da lass had been right: she could have lost her Caleb over this, and she didn’t intend to let that happen. Family was everything, and the scandalmongers could go take a running jump. This line of thought prompted Eliza to say, ‘Your friend – Priscilla, wasn’t it? Has she finished at the farm too?’