Bells of Bournville Green (37 page)

‘Still asleep – she’s having a long one today.’

They sat contentedly in silence together, drinking their tea. Greta’s chair was positioned close to the couch and she took Anatoli’s cup when he had finished.

‘Any more?’ she asked, hopefully.

‘No – I think I shall stop there. But that was . . . You know what the advertisement says, “Aaah – nectar!”’

Greta laughed. ‘No – just Tetley!’

‘Well it tasted like the food of gods to me.’

He let himself lie back and relax, glancing over to the piano.

‘You know, it’s weeks since I’ve played.’

‘I know.’ It was something she had missed, the sound of his music. It was a horrible reminder of how the house would be without him, none of the beautiful sound of his piano and violin playing, and only Peter’s beginner’s exercises to take their place. ‘Would you like some music?’

Sometimes she would put his favourite records on the old gramophone, beautiful haunting pieces of music which touched her deeply, though she dreaded it when they did this because often Anatoli wept and it was awful seeing it. Last time they had put on Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto and it had almost been too much for both of them.

‘I think I’ll just lie here in the quiet today, thank you,’ he said. ‘Unless you would feel like reading to me a little? Do we have another Maigret adventure somewhere?’

Greta jumped up. She had been to the library in Selly Oak, looking for picture books for Francesca and new Maigret titles for Anatoli.

‘We have
Maigret in Montmartre
and
Maigret and the Headless Corpse.’

Anatoli chuckled. Greta heard how thin his voice and laugh had become. ‘Well, what a splendid choice – a tour of Paris or a gory murder . . .’

‘Oh I expect there’ll be a murder whichever one you choose!’ She held them up so that he could see the covers.

‘Let’s begin with
Maigret in Montmartre.
A headless corpse might demand more strength than I have today!’

Greta sat beside him and began to read, and they were just getting involved when they heard Edie, and Peter’s head came round the door.

‘Is that my boy I hear?’ Anatoli said.

Peter ran to him and Anatoli ruffled his hair. Edie appeared, smiling.

‘Oh, you managed to get down – that’s lovely! And you’ve had tea. Well, I could do with one. I’ll put the kettle on again. Can you manage another cup, love?’

Releasing Peter, Anatoli twinkled up at her. ‘You know, I think I probably could.’

The two women caught each other’s eye and smiled with delight. This was a good day, a day to cherish. They both knew that such days were going to run out.

Those weeks of Anatoli’s illness were ones that Greta came to treasure. They were autumn days of mists, the poignant smell of decaying leaves along the pavements and the smell of smoke as fires were lit once again. The nights were drawing in, the air becoming cold and raw. And, Greta found, she experienced everything more sharply because it was set against the prospect of death and loss. Sometimes she looked at Francesca’s fresh round face, her blue eyes and soft tumble of blonde hair, and felt she would overflow with love for her. Although she went to work still, her life centred on the Gruschovs’ house.

‘It’s hard to explain,’ she said to Pat one day, when they were eating their lunch together. ‘Some days it feels as if the house is just full of love. You can feel it.’ As she spoke she found tears welling up. ‘Sorry—’ She wiped her eyes. ‘Don’t know what’s come over me. I’m turning into a soppy old thing.’

‘No you’re not,’ Pat said kindly. ‘Anatoli’s a lovely man. It must be terrible seeing him so poorly.’

‘It is.’ Greta looked down, feeling more tears fill her eyes. ‘And there’s poor little Peter – he’s only eight. . . And Edie – I’ve never known a couple as close as they are . . .’

Edie had given up work to devote her time to her husband. Anatoli’s business was being run by his manager, a good, reliable man who was also very fond of Anatoli, so they did not have money worries. Edie spent all the time she possibly could with her husband. Greta knew that often she just slid into bed beside him and they held each other for the comfort of it, no matter what the time of day.

Amid all the kind enquiries and offers of help from Quaker friends, Janet came round more often. Sometimes she brought Ruth and Naomi, who were nine now and would play with Peter, and at others she came during the school day and spent time listening to all Edie’s worries. Greta had always been a bit intimidated by Janet, but all she could see now was her kindness, her real sadness on Edie’s behalf. And Ruby came too, her good-heartedness overcoming any hard feelings, and she sat and kept Edie company.

One thing that was really worrying Edie was the question of Anatoli’s children. One afternoon when she and Greta were sitting talking in the kitchen as they often did, she said,

‘Well, I’ve taken the risk. I’ve written a proper letter to Caroline telling her exactly what’s happening and asking her to visit. Richard has always kept in touch anyway, though goodness knows if he can come over from Canada. But Caroline seems to have taken so much against her father . . . Neither of them came to our wedding.’

‘He never went to see her either though, did he?’ Greta asked.

‘He did try, but she gave him the cold shoulder and she seemed to be living a very busy life. She’s a musician as well . . .’ Edie sighed. ‘I don’t really understand it all. Anatoli has so many regrets about the past, and since I wasn’t there it’s hard for me to know what has happened. But I really think they should both at least have a chance to see their father before . . .’

She left the sentence unfinished.

Chapter Fifty-One

‘Mom!’ Peter came running through to the kitchen. ‘Look – letters!’

They had heard the clatter of the letterbox. All of them were still in their nightclothes.

‘Ooh look – one from David!’ Edie glowed with happiness as Peter handed over the blue aerogramme. She tucked it into her dressing-gown pocket. She already looked pink and cheerful as Anatoli had had a good night. ‘I must get this tray upstairs before I settle down and read it. And you need to get going, Peter – you should be dressed by now. Get moving or you’ll be late!’

Just as Greta was leaving for work, Edie came down, her curvaceous little figure dressed in black slacks and a royal blue polo-neck jumper, hair fastened up in her usual pleat at the back. She was full of excitement.

‘They’re coming. They’re really going to come over! David’s booked for them to fly on December the tenth, so they’ll be here for Christmas. Oh, the poor things – they’ve been through such a terrible time. I want to spoil them rotten!’

Greta said how pleased she was, but the truth was that the news gave her very mixed feelings. It was on her mind all day at the factory. She was used to having Anatoli and Edie all to herself, and she loved their cosy household, where she felt special. The thought of David coming over was difficult enough. After all, he was Edie’s son, or near enough. Edie thought the world of him and would want to give him all her attention, especially after the tragic time he and Gila had had. Greta felt very guilty for her resentment of them coming when she thought about this. They’ve lost their little boy for heaven’s sake, she told herself. What on earth are you making a fuss about? But it wasn’t just that she dreaded feeling pushed out. She was in awe of David, or her memory of what he was like. He was clever and serious and she had no idea what they could say to one another. As for Gila, she seemed like a person from another planet altogether. Edie had described her as tough, ‘a real Israeli sabra’. The combination of her toughness, grief and inability to speak much English seemed terrifying. She could never say it to Edie, but secretly she felt really miserable at the prospect of them coming.

Perhaps Ruby had been right, Greta thought. She really would be in their way now. And David and Gila had lost their son – how would they feel about living in a house with two young children running about? With a heavy heart she decided she had better offer to move out. She could put up with living with her Mom for a bit, surely? And it would give Francesca time to get to know her granny better. By the time she went home she had persuaded herself that it was a good idea.

Edie and Anatoli were both downstairs: Anatoli was having one of his good days and they had a record playing, soft piano music. Edie was knitting: she had decided that David and Gila would need extra woollies when they came over. Francesca was with them, sitting happily on the floor amid a pile of wooden bricks. She shrieked with joy as Greta appeared and ran to be picked up.

‘Ah, the mother returns,’ Anatoli said. ‘Come in and sit with us. There is tea – and Edith has made some very good cake.’

Greta sat down, as Francesca toddled back to her toys. She took some tea, but said no thank you to the cake. She felt tearful before she’d even begun speaking.

‘I just wanted a word with you both . . .’ The tears started to well in her eyes and she struggled to speak because of the lump in her throat. ‘I’ve been thinking: while your David’s here, I think I ought to move out. It’ll give you all more space – you don’t want me hanging about. And they’ve lost their little boy and everything. It wouldn’t be very nice for them having Francesca running about as a reminder . . .’

Edie and Anatoli were exchanging glances and protesting before she had finished speaking.

‘But you can’t leave us!’ Anatoli cried.

‘Well, where on earth were you thinking of going?’ Edie asked.

‘To Mom’s. She’s always on at me to go back and live with her. She wants to see more of Franny.’ She could feel her face colouring up. A tear overflowed from her left eye and trickled down her cheek.

There was a pause, as Edie and Anatoli were obviously searching for the right thing to say.

‘Well,’ Edie said tactfully. ‘You don’t need to go because of David and Gila. This is your home, love, and there’s plenty of space for them in the big room at the back. As for Francesca – they know perfectly well she’s here living with us. I tell them all about her, and she’s no more of a reminder than Peter, and he’ll be here. But if that’s what you really want to do, then of course you must. Would you like to go and live with your Mom for a while?’

Greta looked down into her lap, blushing even harder. More tears fell. ‘Not really. Not if it’s OK for me to stay,’ she admitted. ‘I just thought I ought to offer to get out of the way.’

‘OK for you to stay!’ Anatoli said. ‘If you left we should be bereft, shouldn’t we, Edith? You and that little monkey down there!’ He nodded at Francesca. ‘If you want to make an old man very unhappy then you will go and leave us!’

‘I don’t know where I’d be without you,’ Edie said, tears in her eyes as well now. ‘I mean I don’t want to keep you from Ruby – that wouldn’t be right. But you’re one of the family, love. Don’t ever feel that we don’t want you here, will you?’

Greta looked up tearfully at these two people whom she’d come to love so much.

‘I’d much rather stay, if that’s really all right . . .’

‘Of course it’s all right,’ Edie said, wiping her face. ‘Don’t ever think differently.’

‘So – is this piece of nonsense all settled?’ Anatoli looked back and forth between the two women, who each had tears streaming down their faces, and began to laugh. ‘Good God, it’s like a scene from a Victorian melodrama in here! For goodness sake, let’s have more tea and some of that lovely cake and be cheerful!’

A few days later, Edie read out from the newspaper that there had been another bombing in Israel, this time in Jerusalem.

‘Mahaneh Yehuda market in Jerusalem,’ she announced. ‘Oh God, I wonder where that is, if David or Gila ever go there? It says there were twelve killed and fifty-two injured.’ She shook her head in distress. ‘There always seems to be something – all that fighting over the Suez Canal and trouble on the borders. I don’t think it’s ever going to be safe there.’ She put the paper down with a sigh. ‘At least they’re coming here for a while. But I do wish really that David had never gone to live there.’

Chapter Fifty-Two

The first thing Greta noticed about Gila was how terribly thin she was. It would have been impossible not to notice, even with layers of jumpers she and David were wearing against the English winter.

They arrived on a bright, cold December day. Greta knew they would be there when she got home from work. Once inside, she heard voices coming from the back, and wavered nervously at the bottom of the stairs, tempted just to go up and stay in her bedroom out of everyone’s way, but she knew this would disappoint Edie. She pulled her shoulders back, stood tall and went to the kitchen.

‘Oh, hello, love!’ Edie greeted, looking radiant. To Greta’s surprise though, only Edie and David were sitting at the kitchen table. ‘Come and join us – David, you remember our Greta, don’t you?’

The ‘our’ Greta warmed her heart. After all, a little voice said in her head, when it came down to it, David was no more related to Edie than she was!

A tall man was standing up to greet her, wearing the enormous Aran sweater that Edie had knitted. It looked lovely against his tanned skin. He had wavy brown hair, a strong face dominated by a large nose, and a direct, interested gaze which she remembered in him and which made her like him again, at once.

‘Hello Greta.’ He held out his hand, smiling. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘Hello,’ she said, a little overwhelmed by the height of him. Her hand was taken into his big sinewy one. ‘Nice to meet you.’ She blushed. ‘Not meet you – I mean, see you – again.’

‘Have a seat—’ Edie pulled a chair out and brought another cup to the table. ‘You must be ready for a cuppa. Shift all right?’

‘Yes – much as ever,’ Greta said.

She realized that David had not changed as much as she had expected. His face was thinner, the cheekbones more pronounced, he was more tanned and simply older looking. And the strain of the past weeks showed in the exhausted look in his eyes. She had seen pictures of him, of course. But when he spoke there was the same slightly lopsided smile, the way his mouth moved, the gentle, well-spoken voice.