Bells of Bournville Green (45 page)

John’s disappointment was nothing to her, not compared with doing everything she could for Anatoli.

He needed round-the-clock nursing now and they took turns to be with him, all desperate to keep him at home for as long as possible. But he was declining fast.

‘It’s almost as if he was waiting for Caroline to come before he could let go,’ Edie said a few days after the young woman’s visit. She and Greta were in the kitchen while David kept watch upstairs. She yawned, exhausted, sitting at the kitchen table. ‘He never said much, but it must have meant the world to him.’

‘They made their peace then?’ Greta asked. She had not felt she could ask Anatoli what had happened. It was such a private thing about his past.

Edie sighed. ‘Yes, they did. Anatoli’s always said that the best part of his marriage was the last two or three years, after Margot became ill. He said he wasn’t a very good husband before – not at home enough, too busy trying to make a success of his business, involved in too many other things . . . Course, that’s what the children remembered – that he wasn’t there, that their mother was unhappy and lonely, and they blamed him.’ She smiled gently. ‘I think when he was younger he was much more uppity. Traditional man of the house, his word is law, that sort of thing. When things changed at the end I think they fell in love again, and it made him gentler. That’s what he said. But Richard and Caroline had left by then and were getting on with their own lives. They just thought he didn’t care about any of them.’

‘I can’t imagine him being like that,’ Greta said.

‘No, I know. But he was able to explain to Caroline. Richard’s kept in better touch anyway. He seemed to think she had forgiven him – he was happier afterwards.’

Greta thought about Anatoli’s ‘wolf moods’, as he called them, his depressed times. She had always thought they were because of the war and all that he had seen, but she wondered if it was to do with his family as well.

‘I think he’s made his peace,’ Edie said.

The main prolem was keeping Anatoli’s pain under control. Martin Ferris and another doctor called in regularly. Each time, they suggested moving him to hospital.

‘He’d be cared for very well, you know,’ Martin assured them on his latest visit.

‘I suppose so,’ Edie said, barely able to hold back her tears. ‘But give us a little bit longer – please.’

At first Anatoli was awake for some of the time.

‘Come and sit with me, my lovely girl,’ he would say to Greta. She always called in as soon as she was home from work, and a happy, loved feeling would pass through her when he spoke to her.

One afternoon she popped in, gently pushing the door open to check whether he was awake. She had Francesca by the hand and the two of them crept to the bed. Francesca seemed to sense the solemnity of the room and was always quiet and still when they visited.

‘Hello . . .’ Anatoli’s voice was very weak, but she could hear the affection in it. She felt her chest tighten, her grief dammed up inside at what had become of him. This was the most important thing now. She had put her feelings for David back in their place, she thought, even though the sound of his voice in the house seemed to vibrate through her each time she heard it.

Anatoli raised his head a fraction. ‘Come here.’

‘How’re you feeling?’ She sat by the bed, taking Francesca on her lap and holding Anatoli’s thin dry hand. A slice of sunlight fell across one side of his face. His mop of hair was quite white now, and so sparse. Francesca watched him with wide eyes.

‘Oh, not so bad,’ he said, as he always did. ‘You have been to work?’

‘Yes – I’ve been back for a little while. It’s nearly four o’clock.’

‘Good girl.’

His speech was short now, as if distilled. He hadn’t the breath for more. And he did not seem to want to take in much more from outside himself. It had been some time since she had read him any of his detective stories. He was moving beyond day-to-day interests. Life had shrunk to the feel of sheets, the view from his bed, chair, window, the pale blue of the walls, to the effort of bodily functions – yet a deep final journey was taking place inside him.

Greta felt a faint pressure on her hand and looked into his eyes, still bright in his face, which was now so thin that the cheekbones protruded like blades.

‘You are quite grown up now,’ he half whispered. ‘You have changed. You’re so beautiful . . . Both of you.’

Greta’s eyes filled with tears. ‘So are you,’ she said. She wanted to pour everything out, say,
You’ve given me everything, given me love and a sense of myself,
but the words wouldn’t come.

Often she spent part of the night up beside his bed, in turn with the others, ready to answer any need.

The nights were mostly quiet, now that Martin was getting Anatoli’s doses of morphine adjusted and he slept, well sedated. Whoever was with him sat in the chair close by and Greta found she often caught snatches of sleep and did not feel too bad the next day. At some point in the night Edie or David would come and take over. Janet, kind as ever, had also offered to come and help keep watch, but so far they were managing without her.

Greta had watched David turn back into a doctor as Anatoli grew sicker. She could see it was a relief for him to be able to work again in this way. He had lost so much, but at least he could still be a doctor. He would bend over Anatoli, his expression serious and absorbed, examining him with skilled eyes and hands. The sight always moved her, seeing his gentleness and seriousness.

If Anatoli was awake, he often looked up at David and said, ‘You’re a good boy. A good doctor.’

This would make David smile bashfully and say, ‘Oh, I’m not so sure about that!’

That night, the three of them took turns as usual to keep guard by Anatoli’s bed. David had taken over from Edie at one o’clock after snatching a few hours of sleep and Greta promised to get up in the small hours to relieve him. She had set an alarm, and unlike some nights when to wake was like struggling up from a well, she was alert the instant it went off. Wrapping up warmly with socks and slippers and an extra jumper under her dressing gown, she went along the landing to Anatoli’s room. Now that he was so sick, Edie was sleeping in the little box room next door.

As usual there was a dim light burning on the table in the far corner of the room and David was sleeping in the armchair placed in front of it, his face deep in shadow. Although she made next to no sound, he stirred the moment she came in.

‘Ah,’ he whispered, stretching his long body, then sitting up straight. He rubbed his eyes, seeming slightly bewildered, then smiled. ‘I thought I was back on nights at the hospital for a moment! Is it that time already?’

‘Nearly half past four.’

David looked across at Anatoli. Greta couldn’t hear his breathing and she felt compelled to go and check that he was all right.

David gently read her thoughts. ‘It’s all right. He‘s been peaceful. He’s still here.’

The night time and darkness seemed to take away her shyness, as if it made them equals. She realized that although she was still a bit in awe of David she no longer felt inferior the way she used to. He treated her as an equal, which made all the difference, and they were united in their affection for Anatoli. She stood looking down at the ravaged face of the man she loved so much, the sight of whom always made her want to weep now. Tears in her eyes, she whispered, ‘He’s been so brave, bless him.’

‘Yes—’ David came to stand at her side and they watched Anatoli together for a moment. His breathing was very shallow and he lay still, calmed by the morphine. Greta wiped her eyes, seeing David watching her, a tender expression in his eyes.

‘You’re good at nursing him. Very devoted.’

‘He’s been so good to me,’ she said simply.

‘He adores you.’

Greta covered her confusion at this compliment by saying, ‘You should get some sleep.’

‘I suppose I should. I feel wide awake though now, as if I’ve slept for hours!’ He hesitated. ‘Mind if I stay on for a bit?’

Her pulse quickened. Of course she didn’t mind! She couldn’t think of anything she’d like more! Once more there was that feeling of being truly alive when he was near.

‘Course. If you want.’

‘You could go back to bed if you like,’ he offered.

‘No – I’m wide awake now too.’

David insisted that she have the chair and Greta, feeling very conscious that she was in her nightclothes, sat down, tucking her feet up as well. Of course they passed in the night sometimes in their night things, but this was different. Now she was sitting with David in this intimate way, he perched on a stool next to her. She saw that he had not got changed and was still dressed. He sat forwards, arms resting on his knees.

Greta could not think of anything to say. Day-today chatter seemed silly in the circumstances, and sitting there in silence didn’t feel tense or wrong. She loved him being beside her, drank in the look of him, his strong, lean body and curling hair, in the lamplight.

He turned, and as he often did, just plunged in with a direct question.

‘You’ve become so important to my moth—. . . to Edie and Anatoli – it’s obvious. How did you come to live here?’

Greta blushed with surprise. Surely Edie had explained to him by now? But then Edie didn’t gossip, she let other people give whatever information they wanted to about themselves.

‘Well, I was expecting Francesca, and Trevor, my husband, threw me out because he wanted to be with Marleen instead. So I had nowhere to go. Least, I could have gone to Mom’s, but I didn’t want to . . . I came here one evening and they let me in and were so kind, and I’ve been here ever since.’

David took this in quietly.

‘I’ve been too taken up with my own problems,’ he said.

‘Why shouldn’t you be?’ Greta leaned forward, passionately. ‘You had the worst things possible happen to you. Your little boy and Gila and everything . . . I can’t imagine how you must feel!’

David said nothing for a moment, just shook his head. ‘It’s all terribly confusing. Trying to make sense of any of it.’

The understatement of this tore at Greta’s heart.

‘I don’t know who I am, half the time,’ David said. ‘When I left here for Israel I thought I had answered the question, am I David Weale, an English Quaker, or am I Rudi Mayer, an Israeli Jew? For a time it was clear, it was blended, even. Gila used to call me Doodi, you know? It all made sense. England was behind me – I’d found a new way to marry the two things together. I had things to fight for with others, building the state, all that idealism. But now . . .’

Greta frowned. ‘D’you have to be one or the other? Can’t you just be both?’

David gave a self-mocking laugh, putting his hands over his face. ‘You’re wonderful.’

‘I just meant . . .’

‘No – you’re right. All this confusion – perhaps I’m just making an issue of something that doesn’t need to be so complicated.’

Greta thought of Dennis, of how she had never known how to be with him, how to behave or who she really was.

‘I do sort of know what you mean,’ she said hesitantly.

After a pause, David said, ‘D’you remember those Christmases we had as children – always at Frances’s, then New Year with Martin and Janet?’

‘Course I do. They were always so kind to us. Especially Frances.’

‘Always a lovely meal, and the games she got us playing, and a log fire and her enormous Christmas cakes!’

Greta smiled. ‘Frances was the nicest lady I’ve ever met. Edie always says she owes everything to her – and she’s been kind to me the way Frances was to her.’

‘Yes – and to me. I owe Edie everything really.’

In the silence Greta sat up straighter, tucking her soft, furry dressing gown round her knees. David turned to look at her.

‘You warm enough?’

‘Yes thanks.’ She was touched by the tender concern in his voice. Even the sound of his voice moved her, so deep and well spoken.

‘Edie said you’re thinking of going to America.’ She tried to sound calm and detached, when she wanted to beg,
Don’t go – please don’t leave me!

David looked away, down at the floor. ‘Yes. I think it’s the best thing. I’ve asked Martin to look into it for me. It seems like a good place to make a fresh start.’

‘It will be very hard for her.’

‘For Mum – Edie?’ He sighed. ‘Yes, I know. But at least she’s used to visiting me in far-flung places. I’ll most likely end up in New York. I feel I’ve got to put everything behind me – my marriage, Shimon . . .’ His voice trembled a little as he named his son. ‘And Israel – and England . . . God,’ he shrugged, almost comically. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I can’t really imagine living anywhere else,’ she said.

No, but that’s what’s so nice about you. You know where you are and where you come from. That’s far more of a gift than you can imagine to a wandering Jew like me! You’re like a tree that’s been planted in the right place and knows how to grow . . .’

David had turned and was looking into her eyes. He reached for her hand. Greta almost held her breath. She was overcome by him talking like this to her, his seeing something in her
. I love him.
She thought.
God help me, I love him so much.

‘You’re so sweet,’ he said, and there was such longing in his voice.

‘Am I?’ she said stupidly.

For a few seconds they looked intently at one another. Greta slid her feet to the floor and moved forwards and she and David took each other in their arms. He held her tightly, but preciously, stroking her head, her back. She felt him let out a long, sobbing sigh.

‘God, you’re lovely. And you’ve no idea, have you?’

His lips searched for hers, kissing her passionately, and she returned his kisses, swept away by him, hardly believing it was happening.

‘Oh God, sorry—’ He pulled back, quickly moving back to the stool. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m in such a muddle. I don’t want to mess you about . . .’

‘But you’re not,’ she protested. ‘I . . .’ She wanted to pour out how she felt, how much she loved him, how the very sight of him made her feel weak and full of tenderness, but now he had pulled away she couldn’t, she was afraid. She ached for him to turn round and take her in his arms again.