Red Rainbow by G Johanson (top books of all time TXT) 📗

days’ old. Her parents did not talk about him much, yet she was aware that the lost child was always there, her arrival years later a happy occasion, but it did not erase the loss. ‘Death bears a grudge’, was one of the more cryptic things her father said on the subject.

It was no wonder Scrambler wanted company. An empty childhood home was tough. Patience had been happy staying at home into her 20s, then her mother died and she had to stay for her father. She’d had one proposal, and not of marriage, to leave since then, an offer she discussed with Marcella that afternoon as they debated tidying up the fourth bedroom, which was a tip. As it was his tip, they opted against it. Patience had intended to try and keep Marcella’s spirits up about her lover. She seemed calm. She chewed her nails all of the time anyway, that didn’t mean anything. She claimed to be restless as she wasn’t working, the Love Phantom asking her to dodge work for a week so that nobody saw her coming and going from Scrambler’s house. He didn’t have many visitors, so it would stand out.

Patience tried to convince her that the Love Phantom would escape unscathed only for Marcella to instantly agree with her. All she had to fear was more rivals for her lover’s attention. This got Patience talking about her lost love, lost to her because there were too many rivals for her liking. Marcella was interested in this topic and asked her to expand on it. This was the first time Patience had spoken at length about Bartholomew Biggins for at least two years. Mthandeni knew about him, but they’d not talked about him lately. Patience had nothing new to say to her about him.

“He was an American musician, a good one doing well too. He could play a few instruments. He played the trombone when he was in Paris. It wasn’t a long relationship. I heard whispers he was cheating so I broke off contact, and he didn’t chase after me very hard. A couple of months later, my mother died, and he sent a card. ‘Sorry for your loss’, nothing more than that, then he shows up at the funeral. He didn’t say much there either. Roll onto October ’39, he and his band were all getting out of the country, understandably so. He asked me to go with him. It was never an option. I had to stay with my father. But I did wonder after my father died. The ship had literally sailed, and long ago, but I thought of what might have been. I still don’t know if he asked me to go with him out of guilt for how he’d treated me or if he was offering more.”

“It could be dual motive. The question is, do you want more?”

“That’s a hard one. I’ve wondered if he’s come back ever since they landed in Normandy. Then I think of how he’s likely to have been put in the worst spots because of his colour – he told me terrible stories of how our people are treated over there in the home town he wanted to take me back to – I don’t even know if its love, Marcella, or me just creating a story out of nothing. From my end too, I don’t know what I feel for him.”

“You hope that he’s alive and you still think about him a lot. That’s decent foundations. Did he not give any inkling as to why he wanted you to go to America?”

“I shut it down very quickly because of my father. He was concerned for my safety, he said that much.”

“Now you’re concerned for his. If he’s got the patience and skill to master an instrument, he’ll be okay with a gun.”

“A bit different.”

“Yeah, but it shows skill with his hands, precision – don’t write him off yet. Have you tried with your writing? To contact him, I mean.”

Patience shook her head. “I’d sooner not know. It’s not as though I’ll ever be informed unless I hunt down the information. I don’t know, Marcella. Everything is so heightened you don’t know whether to trust your own feelings even if you do know them.”

“It could be worse. I don’t know if I really love my man or if I’m just following the herd, so at least you haven’t got that headfuck to deal with.”

“Do you want to talk about that?” Patience asked, feeling she was being self-indulgent harping on about a long-dead fling with a travelling musician when Marcella had that to process.

“The Love Phantom and I have talked about it a lot. I’ve always cared more about being loved – most men haven’t managed that for me. I’d sooner not think about him too much today, more to do with Florence than what follows. Bartholomew,” Marcella said, Patience’s cue to carry on.

“It hurt like hell when he cheated. He didn’t seem the type. I look at my father, who would never, ever have done that to my mother, and he comes across very poor in comparison.”

Marcella instantly broke her own rule about not talking about him. “The Love Phantom comes across sensationally if I compare him to my Pa. The schism between me and my parents came when I was 14. It was nothing special before then, which was why I kept my pregnancy a secret. The miscarriage wasn’t something I could keep quiet about. Bad, real bad. I was lucky to be alive. I needed their support. Long story short, I didn’t get it, not at all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Both Patience and Scrambler had their problems, but both at least came from a happy home, which was clearly not the case for poor Marcella. She’d been a rock for Patience these past few weeks, and she wanted to offer that same support to her, but she was not that easy to reach. Marcella was friendly and keen to help