Someone Else's Conflict (17 page)

Jay's feelings were also mixed as he regarded the lad who, now he knew, looked so like Ivan in his expressions, his gestures. He felt a real pleasure at discovering that his friend had a son, and remembered the growing closeness between Ivan and one of Zora's refugees. He assumed that must be Vinko's mother; he could still picture her face and tried to remember her name. The memory, shared with a real person in the clear light of day, brought on strangeness, and he was deeply afraid, both of the inevitable disillusionment he would represent to the lad, and of what the meeting might awaken – like removing a bandage too soon from a wound not yet properly healed. He wished he could simply walk away.

‘Listen,' he said, looking round the busy market square, ‘I'm sure we've got a lot to talk about. Let's have some lunch.'

Vinko looked like he needed feeding up. As they walked across the square to an inviting pub and settled in a corner, he postponed any more difficult topics of conversation by finding a solution to the communication barrier. Vinko seemed unsure of himself speaking English, though he could understand Jay well enough. He'd grown up speaking Croatian with his mother and some of her friends, and German with the rest of the world. Jay found in turn that as Vinko slowed down and he really tuned in, his understanding came back more readily than he'd ever have expected. He could even envisage himself speaking it again without too much problem. For now they settled on each of them using their own language, or a strange mixture of the two. Just like the early days with Zora. He shook his head at himself. No. Not like those days at all.

He went to the bar and ordered two shandies and two steak pie lunches. As he returned to the table, drinks in hand, Vinko gave him a broad smile. Jay's pleasure at meeting him returned and eclipsed his doubts. They chinked glasses, drank.

‘I can't believe you've suddenly appeared after all these years.'

Vinko frowned. ‘So you did try to find me?'

‘Find you?' He shook his head. ‘Why would I? I didn't even know I should be looking. How old are you?'

‘Seventeen.'

‘See – you were born after I left Croatia. How could I know you existed?'

‘You didn't hear news?'

‘I heard your father was killed. But not until a long time after it happened, and that's all I heard.'

‘
I
heard you died with him.'

It was an accusation. Jay shook his head.

‘I had to leave.'

‘Why?'

He shook his head again.

‘But you did know my mother?'

‘A little.' Assuming it was her. ‘Do you have a picture of her?'

Vinko smiled . ‘Of course.'

He immediately produced a battered photo from inside his jacket. Jay smiled. ‘Marta. How is she? Where's she living now?'

‘She died. Nearly two years ago.'

‘I'm sorry to hear it.' Eyes lowered, he handed Vinko his photo back.

‘It's in the past.' He shrugged. ‘I was upset then. I'm all right now. She was ill. She wasn't happy.'

‘I'm sorry,' he repeated, taking a drink to mask the inadequacy of his response. Vinko smiled hesitantly, as if to suggest the subject was dealt with, waiting for Jay to speak again. He obliged. ‘So what brings you here looking for me?'

‘Not looking. Chance.'

‘We're hundreds of miles away from the place that links us. That's some chance.'

Vinko shrugged. ‘You grew up not far from here, I think. So did my father. I suppose that's why I came to England. Why did I come to Holdwick? Chance, and then…I like coming here. It's not like the city. I think…' He looked slightly embarrassed, fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the table. ‘I think it's the kind of place I imagine home to be.' Jay nodded. ‘And one time, I see a man I haven't seen here before, playing music from home, telling stories from home – though he chooses to change them…'

‘Stories evolve and grow, to suit the time and place, and the person telling them.' Jay leaned back in his chair. ‘Like the one about Šojka Stranac, the hero who died in the fighting by his best friend's side.'

Vinko was looking at him intently. Jay wished he hadn't said that, and willed the lad not to ask more. A waitress approached the table with their food and Jay felt as if he'd been rescued. As they ate, he asked Vinko about his life, partly to ward off any further talk about himself. After Ivan died, Vinko's mother had gone to Germany with some distant cousin. He didn't say much about their lives, only that he'd come to England shortly after she died; someone he'd met in Dresden had suggested it and offered to get him over. The same contact had got him an underpaid job in a sweatshop factory and a dingy bedsit in Bradford, not too far from where his father's family had lived. Vinko spoke as dispassionately about all this as he had about his mother's ill health and death, but Jay could sense the emotion simmering underneath.

‘I want to learn to do something well.' He fixed Jay with a stare. ‘I want my life to be worth something!'

Jay felt inadequate. ‘I'm sure—'

‘I'm sorry,' Vinko said with a sudden smile. ‘I'm all right.'

He admired the flashes of good humour illuminating the pride in Vinko's dark eyes. The lad's positive attitude sparked in him an overwhelming desire to take him under his wing, offer him some kind of security. He stopped himself short. They'd only just met. And there was Polly – his heart leapt a little as he thought of her. He had to keep reminding himself there was another person in his life to consider now. But there was something definite he could, and knew he should, do for Vinko.

‘I'm glad you introduced yourself,' he said. ‘You see, I…' He fell silent. ‘How did you recognise me?' he heard himself asking instead.

‘I first saw you last week, here, but – you'll think this is mad – I didn't recognise you until afterwards. My mother used to have an old photo of my father and you. I saw the same picture last week when I went to visit my grandparents. I think, though I didn't know then, that it must have been seeing you here that made me go. I was never sure that I should.'

‘Why not?'

Vinko lowered his eyes.

‘My life hasn't been good,' he muttered. ‘I'm not a grandson they can be proud of.'

‘They
said
that?'

‘Of course not! My grandmother welcomed me. But also…I'd always known, my mother told me, that they disowned my father, you know?'

Jay nodded; he knew only too well. One of the experiences he and Ivan had shared.

‘They didn't want him to go,' Vinko continued. ‘They didn't believe he should get involved.'

‘Weren't they proved right in the end?'

‘No! How can you say that?'

His eyes flashed with a passion Jay remembered feeling.

‘We didn't make much difference, did we?' Hurt a few more people, caused a bit more destruction. ‘I understand them now, though at the time I felt like you do. I guess it hurt them that he threw away the chance they gave him. They'd come here in the early sixties because they wanted safety and a better life for their family – not so different, I dare say, to the reasons why your mother went to Dresden.' Vinko glared at him angrily. Jay cut off his protest before he had chance to speak. ‘So you went to see them. How did you get on?'

Vinko stared at the table in front of him, shifting edgily in his seat.

‘
He
was just like I imagined,' he said eventually. Jay gave a crooked smile of sympathy. ‘I think you know. Anja was lovely, though. She shouldn't put up with him like that.'

‘I think he's got a better side.' Jay thought as he said it that guilt must be making him feel charitable. ‘People like you and me just don't get to see it.'

Vinko nodded. ‘Anja said you'd been to visit them last year and he didn't make you welcome.'

This was it. The moment Jay had feared. He was surprised Vinko hadn't challenged him before now. ‘She told you about that? What did she say?'

‘That Boris turned you away almost as soon as you arrived. I think she would have liked the chance to talk to you.'

‘I mean about the reason I went to visit them.'

Vinko shrugged, still staring at the table. ‘She didn't mention a reason.'

At least that explained why he wasn't angry. ‘The money?'

‘What money?' Vinko's eyes flicked up, but he dropped his gaze just as quickly. ‘The woman who lives in their old house – the address I had – said they'd come into money a few months ago, that was why they moved. But I never thought any more of it. Neither of them mentioned it to me.'

Jay felt his anger rising, glanced round the busy pub and forced himself to keep his voice steady. ‘“A few months ago” was when I called on them, Vinko. It was your aunt – sorry, great-aunt – Zora's money. At least some of it should be yours. They didn't
tell
you?'

Vinko shook his head, frowning, as he picked up his drink. ‘What do you mean, should be mine?'

‘She wanted it to go to Ivan. I can prove that. And you're his son.' Jay put his head in his hands. ‘I wish we'd met earlier.'

‘You think it's too late?'

‘No.' He looked up; Vinko was watching him eagerly. ‘Probably not. You'd have to talk to them. I'd go with you. If you want me to.'

‘You would?'

‘It's my fault I haven't got it here to give you right now. Of course I would.'

‘When?'

‘Any time. This afternoon if you like.' Vinko looked worried. ‘Sorry, you probably want to leave it a bit. See if they offer you anything of their own accord.'

‘No, it's not that.' He smiled and his doubts seemed to have vanished. ‘Yes, why not this afternoon?'

Chapter 15

Jay gave Vinko what he hoped was an encouraging smile as they walked up the drive. He looked at the house: an unremarkable semi. The Pranjićs would consider it a step up in the world from Fairview Terrace, but they hadn't gone over the top with their windfall. There would be money left. Anja opened the door to them and despite himself Jay felt a genuine warmth towards her.

‘Hello, Mrs Pranjić. It's good to see you again.' He held out his hand. ‘You remember me, Jay, don't you?'

‘Of course I do.'

She shook his hand and returned his smile after a momentary pause.

‘And I understand you've met Vinko.'

Her smile broadened. As Vinko stepped forward to give his grandmother a brief hug, Jay felt glad he'd persuaded Vinko to give Anja the benefit of the doubt, to begin with at least. Her smile faded and she looked nervous, but she agreed to let them in.

‘Nice house,' Jay said. Let her wonder whether he meant anything by it.

‘Thank you,' she replied, revealing nothing. ‘I'm sorry, but Boris isn't here this afternoon,' she added as she showed them through to the living room. Presumably the apology was for show; she must have a pretty good idea that neither he nor Vinko would be sorry about the old man's absence. ‘He's gone over to Vesna's to help fit some cupboards.'

‘How is she? Where's she living these days?'

‘On the outskirts of Bradford. She and the kids kept the house when they divorced.'

Jay nodded, unsure whether he was expected to show sympathy or relief when he had no idea what kind of a man Vesna's husband had been. He glanced at Vinko, whose face was expressionless.

‘Sit yourselves down,' she said. ‘Wait here a moment. I'll make some tea.'

‘Can I give you a hand?'

She seemed as surprised at the offer as Polly had when he'd first gone there. It was easy to be helpful in someone else's kitchen when you didn't have the drudgery of your own to concern you.

‘Don't worry yourself about that, love. You make yourselves at home.'

He'd have liked a quiet chat, but didn't insist. As they waited he went over to the sideboard and studied the pictures, sensing Vinko watching him. No sign of Ivan; he could imagine how that made the lad feel.

‘Vesna doesn't seem to have changed much.'

He wondered as he spoke why he'd said it; he knew she wouldn't mean much, if anything, to Vinko. None of these photos would. He looked in the sideboard mirror and caught sight of the lad behind him, sitting stiffly on the dralon sofa, gazing at his hands. A movement behind Vinko's shoulder caught Jay's eye and his heart skipped a beat. The boy was standing by the window, watching him. Why here, now? Wasn't Jay doing the right thing? He closed his eyes, breathed deeply. When he opened them and turned from the mirror, he and Vinko were alone in the room.

Anja came through with a tray and set it down on the coffee table. She poured three cups of tea from a china teapot.