Bells of Bournville Green (41 page)

‘Want a game of cribbage, Mac?’ Ruby asked, settled in an armchair next to his. She had recently bought a new suite for the front room in a lilac-patterned Dralon, and a new fluffy cream hearthrug, so the room was looking very smart.

‘Right you are, love,’ Mac said.

Ruby got out the cards and score board. ’Anyone else want to play?’ she invited.

‘Your Mom and Dad all right?’ Greta asked Trevor, as the cards were dealt.

‘Yeah, fine,’ Trevor said. ‘April’s getting wed next year.’

‘Blimey,’ Greta said. ‘I can’t believe it. I’ll pop in and say hello later on.’

‘Mary Lou’s going to be her bridesmaid,’ Marleen said. ‘Aren’t you, Mary Lou?’

There was no reply.

‘She loves reading,’ Marleen purred. ‘Forever got her nose stuck in a book – bit like you. She’s ever so clever, Mary Lou is.’

While the others played cribbage, Marleen talked about her children, a subject she never tired of. Greta heard all about their ailments, their achievements, their diet, their school, and her mind wandered. How were things at home? How was David . . . ? Her mind leapt to him so often, dwelling on things he had said to her, on the look in his eyes . . . She was so . . . involved with him. More and more she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him: he moved back and forth through her thoughts and dreams, his face, things he had said to her, his imploring expression when he had asked her out for a walk . . . She dragged her attention back to her sister.

‘Well, I s’pose you’ll call it a halt there won’t you, Marl?’ she asked, when she could get a word in edgeways. ‘Stop at four kids, I mean?’

‘Ooh, I don’t know,’ Marleen said. ‘The doctor said I’m
remarkably fertile.
Just made to have children. So you never know. And . . .’ She leaned forward over Sandra’s head and whispered. ‘And Trevor’s got a lot of lead in his pencil. He just needed a fertile wife to bring out the best in him.’

She sat back again and looked at Greta. ‘Anyway – when’re you going to stop rotting away with all those old people and find yourself a bloke? It’s high time your little ’un had a brother or sister, isn’t it?’

Greta flushed in irritation. ‘I like living with Edie and Anatoli, thanks very much!’ she retorted. ‘They’ve been ever so kind to me!’

‘How is Anatoli?’ Ruby called across.

‘He’s very poorly today,’ Greta said, tears filling her eyes.

‘Oh dear.’ Ruby said. ‘Poor thing. He’s a lovely man, Anatoli,’ she told Mac, then whispered,
‘Got cancer,
I’m afraid.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear, ‘Mac said. ‘Poor fellow.’

He said it with such feeling that Greta looked at him. He really is nice, she thought, surprised.

‘Would you like a cuppa?’ Ruby said. ‘Gret’ll put the kettle on, won’t you, bab?’

Greta went into the kitchen, smarting from Marleen’s nosy remarks. She had been living in a safe little cocoon since Francesca was born, but she couldn’t stay there for ever. And seeing her sister and Trevor together she saw that she was missing something. That having someone to share her life, her children, could be a good thing and not just a burden.

It’s time I started making a life for myself, she thought. Maybe I’d better say yes and go out with John. She knew he was interested in her and she liked what she knew of him well enough. I’ll make a point of speaking to him after Christmas. Then swiftly, her mind wandered to David again, to their conversation in the kitchen that morning.

Marleen appeared in the kitchen then with the baby, who was just waking.

‘What’re you smiling at?’ she asked.

Greta found herself staying on late at her Mom’s, playing cards, watching
Christmas Crackerjack
and entertaining the children. The room was a fuggy mess of dolls and bits of Lego, of sweet wrappers, half-eaten mince pies and cans of ale. Trevor and Marleen left early, as Elvis and George were getting really fractious and Marleen decreed that it was time they went to bed.

‘They’ll be impossible in the morning else,’ she said. ‘Trev – you get their coats on.’

Francesca was looking sleepy once the other children had left, and Greta realized that her Mom and Mac, who were warm and comfy on the sofa, really fancied being left on their own.

‘I’ll be off now, Mom,’ she said, come nine o’clock. ‘And thanks – it’s been nice.’ And she meant it.

Greta pushed a sleeping Francesca home through the cold darkness. The streets were very quiet, everyone behind closed doors and the pubs shut. The place felt like a ghost town, no trains or cars moving. She felt as if she was the only person left in the world, in this strange, peaceful night, and for those moments she felt mellow and hopeful.

But as soon as she opened the front door, all sense of calm was lost like a slap. Edie was sitting on the third step of the stairs and Greta could see something was dreadfully wrong.

‘What’s the matter?’ She parked the pushchair and rushed to Edie’s side, feeling terrible now for being out so late. ‘Is it Anatoli?’

‘No . . .’ Edie began to sob, her shoulders shaking, as if Greta’s arrival had released her feelings. ‘He’s not been well all day, but he’s asleep . . . It’s the others. Listen!’

Raised voices came from upstairs, David shouting, distraught, shrieking and sobbing from Gila, then moments of silence between as if the raw pain of each outburst was forced out, jagged, not flowing.

‘Oh God,’ Greta said.

‘It’s been awful,’ Edie wept. ‘I don’t know how we got through the day. Gila barely said a word, she was so down and closed in on herself, and I could see David was getting more and more upset and not knowing what to do. He’s so hurt and she’s in terrible pain . . . I just don’t know how to help them . . . And my poor Anatoli’s been so sick and wretched . . .’

‘I’m sorry I went out,’ Greta said miserably. ‘I’ve been no help.’

‘No – you’ve got to see your family. I’m glad you went.’ Edie rallied herself. There were more sounds from upstairs. ‘Look, let’s go in the kitchen and make a cuppa. I can’t interfere. They need to do this on their own.’

Chapter Fifty-Seven

They made tea and sat drinking it at the kitchen table. About twenty minutes passed. Edie asked Greta about her day, but all the time they were tensed, listening for sounds from upstairs.

‘Won’t they wake Anatoli?’ Greta said.

‘No, I don’t think so.’ Edie, all nerves, kept chewing at the ends of her fingers. ‘He’s weak – I could scarcely rouse him to get him to have a drink. I’ll go and see in a minute.’

A moment later she said, ‘I don’t know if I’m doing the wrong thing. Maybe I should go up there and see if I can help . . . I don’t want to interfere – I mean it’s high time they had it out, but Gila seems so . . . Well, I don’t think she’s very well. But she won’t hear of having a doctor.’

Greta stared at the pale blue top of the table. She thought she heard a door open and close upstairs and things seemed to have quietened.

Then they heard someone coming downstairs, and a moment later David appeared. He looked exhausted, and distraught. Edie got to her feet immediately.

‘Oh love, how is she? Are you all right?’

David sank down at the table. He seemed stunned and his face was pale, dark rings round his eyes. The sight of him moved Greta desperately, but she wondered if they would rather talk in private.

‘Look, I’ll go, shall I? See to Francesca?’

‘No, stay – please.’ David spoke with such conviction that she sank back down, glowing with gladness at his including her, even in such a sad situation.

‘She says she’s going to sleep.’ David wiped his hands over his face. ‘She’s getting ready for bed.’

‘Here, love—’ Edie poured tea for him, stirred in sugar. ‘Get that down you.’

Greta watched David’s expression as he took the mug of tea and cupped his hands round it as if longing for comfort. He looked so hurt and bewildered and boyish all at once, and her heart seemed to melt at the sight of him.

‘I just don’t know what to do,’ he said, staring ahead of him. ‘What to do, what to say, how to be with her. I can’t handle it. I’ve no idea who she is any more.’

‘She’s in a terrible state, love,’ Edie said gently. ‘I really don’t think you should be trying to manage it all on your own any more. Why don’t you let me call a doctor – not just anyone. We could ask Martin to come and see her . . .’

David was shaking his head. ‘She won’t. I’ve begged and begged her.’

‘But why?’

‘Her mother. She’s got an obsession, a phobia about doctors of any kind, but especially anyone in the psychiatric line. She’s got a history – she’s not an easy woman at all – well, you remember.’ Edie had met Rachel Weissman several times when she and Anatoli had visited Israel.

‘Yes – she always struck me as nervy,’ Edie admitted. She had told Greta that she found Gila’s mother quite strange and abrasive.

‘She had some kind of depressive illness in her youth, before they left Germany. I gather she was put in an asylum there for a time. I don’t know what happened but she’s been terrified of anything like that ever since.’

‘Poor thing,’ Greta said.

‘She hasn’t had an easy life altogether.’

‘There can’t be many people in Israel who have,’ Edie said.

‘She wants to go home.’ David brought out the words in a hard, flat voice.

‘What – straight away?’ Edie did not manage to hide her relief completely. ‘Have you told her – that you want to stay?’

‘That’s what set it all off.’ He put his head in his hands for a second, then looked up at them again. ‘I can’t go back there, I’m certain of that now. Not after all this. But she won’t hear of staying.’ There was an angry edge to his voice as he said, ‘She wants to go home, and she says she doesn’t care if I go with her or not.’

‘But if she went,’ Edie probed him gently, ‘you’d have to go with her, surely?’

David leaned back and gave a long, sad sigh.

‘Not necessarily.’

There was little noise from Francesca in the pushchair, and Greta went out to take her up to bed.

‘Shall I look in on Anatoli?’ she asked Edie.

‘Yes love, if you would.’

All seemed quiet at the back of the house where David and Gila’s room was. She imagined Gila in bed, her hair startlingly black against the pillow and her sad face.

Anatoli was in a deep sleep, on his back. Greta straightened the sheet, caressing it over Anatoli’s chest. He looked so old now, especially in sleep, his cheeks sunken, hair thinner, and his left arm, outside the bedclothes, pitifully bony. He had had a sick, draining day. She wanted to stroke his head, his arm, she loved him so much, but she didn’t want to disturb him.

‘Don’t die, you lovely man,’ she whispered, tears filling her eyes. ‘Don’t leave us!’

In a turmoil of feeling she knelt by his bed and let the tears run down her face. She didn’t know who she was crying for most, for Anatoli, for David and Gila’s pain and grief, for herself, knowing that this man who had been like a loving father to her was slowly dying.

Wiping her eyes, she got up and went downstairs again. David and Edie were still at the table.

‘Everything all right?’ Edie asked anxiously, seeing her tear-stained face.

‘Yes – he’s still fast asleep.’ She went to the sink. ‘I’ll just wash up the cups before I go up.’

‘I’d better turn in,’ David said. ‘Thanks – both of you.’ When Greta turned to say goodnight, he was looking across at her with a slight smile.

‘Goodnight,’ she said softly, and watched him leave the room, feeling as if he was taking her heart with him.

As Greta rinsed the cups, Edie sat in silence, pulling her hairpins out until her long hair untwisted down her back. Slowly she began to tie it in a loose plait. She had just begun saying something when the kitchen door burst open and David appeared again. He looked frantic.

‘She’s not there – in bed. I don’t know where she is – she’s gone!’

The first thing that came to them was to run out of the house after her.

‘Where would she go?’ Edie panted as she and Greta hurried along together, following David towards town. The road was deadly quiet and ice crystals could be seen forming on the pavement in the light from the street lamps. Greta felt the cold air stinging her nostrils. After a few moments she and Edie slowed to a walk.

‘I s’pose there’s no point in us all running after her in the same direction,’ Edie said. ‘If anyone can catch her up it’s David. Unless she’s gone a different way. What can she be thinking of? There are no trains running or anything.’

‘I don’t s’pose she’s thinking straight at all,’ Greta said.

‘Perhaps we should have gone another way?’ Edie stopped. ‘I mean where on earth would you go? She could have gone in any direction. She doesn’t really know the way because she’s hardly been out since she’s been here . . . Honestly, the state she’s in, I knew we should have phoned Martin . . .’

They decided to walk back and check whether Gila had already returned home, or was wandering nearby in distress. After they had walked some way along the deserted streets of Selly Oak, they went back to the house. Edie ran up to the bedroom, but came down shaking her head.

‘No sign of her. I’m going to call the police. And I think we’d best wait here in case she comes back.’

Edie telephoned the police station, and together she and Greta relit the fire in the living room. Edie went to look in on Anatoli, and then they sat up to wait.

‘It’s awful, this sitting, isn’t it?’ Greta said as they sat staring into the flames. All she could think of was David, her mind following his frantic quest through the streets. ‘She could be anywhere by now.’

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked deafeningly. The hour from eleven to midnight seemed to take three. As the hand moved round to half past midnight, Edie said,

‘Look, love, you go to bed and I’ll wait up. There’s no point in us all being exhausted is there?’

Greta shook her head. ‘I’m not leaving you with all this! I couldn’t sleep if I tried!’

As they waited the silence took on the echoey strangeness of the small hours of night, when tiny noises sound exaggerated and you can start to imagine things, so that at first, when they heard footsteps on the fine gravel outside the house they both thought for a moment they were imagining things.