Magda's Daughter (3 page)

‘So you're expecting Helena to look after you?' Andrew didn't conceal his amusement at the thought.

‘We'll look after one another, with more than a little help from you and Granddad. We'd be renting, not buying a house, if he hadn't left me a trust fund. And it would have taken me years to buy into a partnership in a general practice, if you hadn't offered me a place in yours.'

‘That's down to pure selfishness. Aside from the fact that I could do with your· professional help, with Rachel intent on working abroad next year, your foster-sisters all married, and Evan and Penny heading for university in the next couple of years, your mother and I appreciate you settling close to home.' Ned's foster-sisters were four orphaned sisters Bethan had adopted during the war. Evan and Penny were his younger brother and sister.

‘In any case, Helena wouldn't consider living anywhere except Pontypridd.'

‘She's a marvellous girl. We're proud to have her in the family and look forward to eating Sunday lunch with you at least once a month – your place, of course,' Andrew joked.

‘I didn't know Evan was intent on going to university. Penny, possibly, once she calmed down, but Evan?' Ned looked quizzically at his father. Evan was his least academic sibling, and Penny had earned herself the reputation of being the wild one. Keener on boys, dances and parties than studying for her GCE examinations, she had been forced to repeat her fifth year in the Grammar School.

‘Penny has discovered art and decided to make a career of it. I haven't dared ask in what branch. But the school seems to think that if she works, which your mother and I are realistic enough to know is a big if, she might get a place at art college.'

‘And Evan?'

‘You know Evan. All he's interested in is music, or what passes for music these days.' Andrew offered Ned a cigar.

Ned shook his head. ‘Last I heard, the Royal Academy of Music wasn't taking pop or rock musicians.'

‘He's not aiming that high. But he's taken up the violin again. Although that hasn't prevented him and his friends from making an almighty din in the barn behind the house every evening with their electric guitars. They call it practice. I call it cruelty to all living creatures within earshot.'

‘I can't wait to see him, Penny and Rachel.'

‘Magda invited them to supper, but Saturday nights are sacrosanct. The management of the Regent Ballroom wouldn't bother to open if the Johns ceased to patronize the place.'

‘It seems a million years since I was there,' Ned mused.

‘Spoken like an old man. You ready for General Practice after the excitement of a hospital?'

‘Coughs, colds and minor injuries will be a welcome relief after two years in a city casualty department.'

‘More like miners' chests, rheumatism, arthritis, emphysema, housemaid's knee, and the bugbear of a GP's life, the hypochondriacs.' Andrew lit his cigar.

‘You get many of those?'

‘Our fair share,' Andrew replied evasively. ‘When do you want to start?'

‘How soon do you want me?'

‘A week Monday? That will give you time to buy a few things for your new house and get it sorted the way you and Helena want it, as well as do last-minute things for the wedding. If the lists Alma, Magda and your mother were compiling over supper are anything to go by it will take you and Helena a week to run all the errands they've earmarked for you two. By the way, your mother and I thought you might need a bit extra to furnish the house. It would be false economy to dip any more into your trust fund, so we put five hundred pounds into your bank account to cover it.'

Ned was overwhelmed by his father's unexpected generosity. ‘Five hundred pounds, Dad …'

‘You've your grandparents to thank for it. You weren't the only one they left money to, and we've done no more for you than we will for your sisters and brother. You haven't too heavy an overdraft, I hope?'

‘Nothing I can't handle.'

‘Good.' Andrew knew better than to probe deeper. ‘Just remember to buy quality, not quantity, when it comes to carpets and furniture.'

‘Helena has very definite ideas. She prefers old to new.'

‘Wise girl.' Andrew looked up as Helena returned with the other women. ‘We were talking about your house. Ned said you prefer old furniture to new.'

‘He's right, Doctor John,' Helena smiled shyly. Despite the warm welcome Ned's parents had given her, and their friendliness towards her, she was still slightly over-awed by them.

‘How about calling us Andrew and Bethan instead of Doctor and Mrs John?' Bethan suggested.

‘I'll try if you want me to.'

‘That's not an order, Helena!' Andrew smiled as he left the table. ‘Marvellous meal, Magda, thank you, but I'm afraid we have to go. I've an early meeting with the Welsh Regional Hospital Board tomorrow.'

‘On a Sunday?' she asked in surprise.

‘It's the only day that suits all of us.'

Bethan reached for the cardigan she'd draped on the back of the chair. ‘Thank you for a lovely dinner, Magda. I'll look forward to seeing you on Thursday. You too, Alma.' Bethan hugged and kissed both of them. ‘I've had a sudden thought. The farmer sent us two legs of lamb yesterday to thank Andrew for curing his gout. Why don't you all come for lunch tomorrow, to help us eat them?'

‘I'd like to, but if I do, I'll have to leave early. I promised Father O'Brien I'd help out at the church. We've organised a tea party and prize-giving for the Sunday school.'

‘Of course I don't mind you dashing off, Magda. We're family now,' Bethan answered.

‘In that case, Helena and I would love to come.' Magda returned Bethan's kiss.

‘Thank you, Beth,' said Alma. ‘I've been looking for an excuse to postpone a meeting with my accountant.'

‘You work Sundays, too?' Andrew asked.

‘It's the only day when the telephone doesn't ring. Apart from Theo, that is.'

‘He's coming home from Oxford for the summer?' Bethan asked.

Alma's son, Theo, was a favourite with all his mother's friends. ‘Soon, no doubt with a mountain of washing.' Alma looked happy at the prospect. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Magda. See you tomorrow and on Thursday.'

Ned opened the door for his parents and Alma. ‘I'll be home after I've given Helena and Magda a hand to clear up.'

‘Nice try, young man, but it won't take us a minute to clear the table and put away the leftover food,' Magda said firmly. ‘And you need your sleep after driving all that way today.'

Ned knew when he was beaten. ‘Pick you both up tomorrow morning, to drive you up for lunch? We'll go on up to the house in the afternoon, Helena, and measure for curtains and carpets.'

‘And make a list of what we need to buy,' she added.

‘Don't forget I promised you a fridge and cooker as wedding presents.'

‘We remember, Mama,' Helena assured her mother.

‘You will choose good ones, not rubbish? And don't turn up too early in the morning, Eddie. Helena and I are going to mass.' Magda gave Ned a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.

‘I won't.' Ned led the way down the stairs and out to the street. He lingered, while everyone said goodbye, then waved his parents and Alma off. ‘Tomorrow,' he whispered to Helena, kissing her goodnight after Magda went indoors. ‘It's going to be a long cold night without you.'

‘Don't remind me.'

Magda's voice wafted down the stairs. ‘Helena, don't stand around out there. It might be summer but it's cold. You'll catch a chill.'

‘Coming, Mama.'

‘Sweet dreams.' Ned gave Helena one last kiss, jumped into his car, started the engine and drove away.

Chapter Two

Andrew John sat back in his chair at the head of the table set up in his garden. He looked around at those of his family and friends who hadn't disappeared into the barn after lunch to hear his younger son's pop group, breathed in deeply and smiled.

‘Feeling just a little bit smug, darling?' Bethan teased. She set a tray of coffee, strawberries and cream on the table.

‘Why shouldn't I?' He refused to rise to her bait. ‘I've just eaten an excellent Sunday lunch, my compliments to the chef,' he nodded to his wife, ‘and I haven't a blessed thing to do before tomorrow morning. My garden is looking its best, my roses are blooming, and Evan has shut the barn doors so we can still hear the birdsong.'

‘I hate to disappoint you, but you promised to pick Penny up from the stables later on this afternoon.' Bethan lifted the bowls from the tray.

‘That's hours and a pleasant drive away.'

‘Thank you.' Magda took the coffee cup Bethan handed her. ‘I love eating outdoors in summer. It reminds me of home, although your garden is much prettier than my family's farmyard. And there aren't any animals to be seen.'

‘Not since Andrew built a fence to screen the chickens.' Bethan handed Magda the milk jug and Alma the sugar bowl.

‘My father and brothers used to carry the big old table out of the barn every spring and leave it on the veranda until autumn. We used to eat all our meals there in the warm weather, and we children especially liked eating there in the evening, because our parents would drink one or two glasses of wine or beer, which would make them mellow, and then they would allow us to stay up past our bedtime. My mother would light the lanterns and place them on the table, and all the farm workers and any neighbours who called in would join us. After we'd eaten, the grown-ups would play music and sing …' Magda glanced self-consciously at her fellow guests and coloured in embarrassment. ‘I'm sorry. I always get carried away whenever I talk of home.'

‘Home?' repeated Ronnie Ronconi, Bethan's brother-in-law. ‘You left Poland, what, twenty-odd years ago? And it's still home? Magda, we'd like you to think of Pontypridd as your home and us as your family now.'

Everyone around the table laughed.

‘Do you think of Pontypridd as your home, Ronnie?' Magda asked seriously.

‘She has a point.' Bethan passed Ronnie the bowl of strawberries and jug of cream. ‘You were born in Italy.'

‘I left there when I was five,' Ronnie reminded her.

‘But you went back when you were in your twenties,' Andrew said thoughtlessly. ‘I'm sorry,' he apologised when Bethan gave him a reproachful look.

‘No need to be sorry. As you all know, I spent some of the happiest years of my life there.'

Everyone fell silent. Ronnie had returned to Italy with Bethan's younger sister, Maud, after they'd married in the late thirties. He had only returned to Pontypridd after she had died of consumption during the war.

Bethan broke the silence. ‘If Maud's letters were anything to go by they were the happiest years of her life as well.'

‘But neither of us thought of Italy as home when we were living there, any more than I do now.'

‘You visit the country often enough.' Andrew passed the coffee pot down the table. Ronnie and his ten brothers and sisters hadn't sold their grandparents' farmhouse after the old couple had died, and the extended family frequently returned to Bardi for their summer holidays.

Ronnie thought for a moment. ‘It's like having two homes. But Italy is definitely the second or holiday home. Whenever I'm there I think of Pontypridd and the house in

‘Not much if that din is anything to go by,' Ned remarked.

Ronnie glanced at the barn where the sound of off-key guitars and Catrina's voice vied for supremacy. ‘I am so glad you have a barn, Bethan, otherwise that lot might be tempted to practice in my attic.' He turned to Alma's stepson, Peter, who had arrived in Pontypridd as a teenage refugee after the war. ‘What about you? Do you think of Russia or Wales as your home?'

Peter lifted his youngest daughter, who was only three and prone to falling asleep after every meal, from her chair and onto his lap. ‘Pontypridd is the first home I had.' He glanced at his wife, Liza, the eldest of Bethan and Andrew's four foster-daughters. ‘Before I came here my entire life had been spent in camps. First Stalin's then Hitler's. So, yes, Pontypridd is definitely my home because here I have a family, and I've been able to make my own decisions as to how I want to live my life.'

‘So, there you have it, Magda.' Ronnie poured cream over his strawberries. ‘Peter and I are both of the opinion that it is where you live, not where you were born, that dictates the place you should think of as home.'

Peter stroked his daughter's hair as she snuggled against his shirt. ‘You wouldn't want to go back to Poland, would you, Magda? Not while the Communists are in power.'

‘No, I wouldn't. But I have to disagree with both of you. For me, the place where I grew up will always be home.'

‘We have been happy here in Pontypridd for seventeen years, Mama.' Helena tapped Ned's hand playfully when he stole a strawberry from her bowl.

‘Yes, we have been happy here, very happy,' Magda agreed, ‘but I think in Polish, and when I dream I roam the countryside surrounding my father's farm, not the hills around Pontypridd. And in my best dreams your father is with me once more. So, in my opinion that makes Poland my home, not Pontypridd.'

‘The best dreams are always those in which our dead are alive again.' Ronnie held out his coffee cup to Bethan for a refill.

‘I think everyone our age would agree with that.' Alma looked at Peter. Although he was her stepson, she was as close to him as she was to the son she had given birth to. And one of the reasons she loved him so much was his strong resemblance to her husband.

Magda glanced at her watch. ‘But now I am very much in Pontypridd, and I have to leave if I am going to help Father O'Brien with the Sunday school tea party.'

Ned rose from his chair. ‘We'll drop you back at the shop, collect the things you need for the party, and drive you to the church, Magda.'

‘There's no need to take me to the church. Father O'Brien is picking me up in half an hour, and the trays of sausage rolls and pastries are all ready to load into his car. He told me to thank you for selling them to the church at cost price,' Magda said to Alma.

‘As he always does, and I've no doubt he'll want the same for the next party.'

Magda hugged and kissed everyone. ‘Thank you for a lovely lunch, Bethan, Andrew.'

‘Don't forget we're all meeting on Thursday to buy Helena's trousseau.' Alma returned Magda's hug.

‘We won't,' Magda assured her.

‘Go on, admit it,' Andrew grimaced as an unearthly wail issued from the barn, ‘there is no Sunday school tea party, and you two don't need to measure for curtains. You just want to escape that screeching. ‘

‘I'll tell my daughter what you said about her singing, Andrew.' Ronnie blew a kiss to Magda. ‘Any time you want to visit the Regent Ballroom on a Saturday night, Magda, give me a call. We mature people can't let the young ones have all the fun, now, can we?'

‘I'll think about it, Ronnie, but it would mean you staying up past your bedtime,' she joked.

‘For you, Magda, I'll make an exception,' he called after her as she climbed into Ned's car.

Ned unlocked the door of their new house and stepped inside. ‘Just look at this place! All spotless, waiting for us to mess it up.'

‘You call this spotless?' Helena followed Ned into the living room of their house, which, given it had only one small bedroom upstairs and one large downstairs, was more like a bungalow. ‘It's filthy. Can't you see the dust on the mantelpiece and skirting boards, or the plaster and paint marks on the floor? You'd think that the builders would have been more careful given that it's costing us over two thousand pounds. As for the window, to quote one of my mother's favourite expressions, you could grow potatoes on the glass.'

‘It's nothing a good clean won't cure. I'll give you a hand, if you agree to move in with me, right now, this minute.' Ned put down the box of books he'd brought in, and took the carton of linen Helena was carrying from her, dropping it onto the floor. Then he danced her around the room before kissing her slowly and thoroughly.

‘Aside from the dirt, I prefer real to imaginary furniture,' she murmured when he released her.

‘Who needs furniture?'

‘Have you forgotten the night we slept on the floor of your sister's flat in London? You didn't stop complaining about your back for a month.' Helena studied the parquet wood-block floor. In between the scuff marks were deeper scars, which she suspected no amount of polishing would remove.

‘We'll use our imaginations and improvise.'

‘A bed?'

‘Let's start with the small things. This will be our coffee table,' he pointed to the box of books, ‘and I spy a telephone.' Ned fetched a white plastic telephone from the corner of the room and set it on the box.

‘Does it work?'

He lifted the receiver. ‘I have a dialling tone.'

‘That was quick.'

‘Doctors have priority over mere mortals when it comes to connecting a line, and I told my father that I might move in here before the wedding. Although, after the early hours of this morning, “might” is becoming a certainty. You should have heard Evan bumping around when he came in at two o'clock. Everyone within five miles of Penycoedcae knew he was drunk, even before my father started shouting.'

‘Poor Evan.'

‘Inconsiderate Evan,' he contradicted. ‘Now all we need to finish this room is a television.'

‘Before a sofa, chairs, carpet, curtains, lamps and bookshelves?' she asked in amusement.

‘I've spent the last six years studying. It's time to catch up on the rubbish that's broadcast every night so I can join the people who complain about it in the pub.'

‘So that's where you intend to spend every evening after we're married.' She grabbed him and began tickling.

‘Mercy!' he shouted.

‘No mercy.'

He retaliated by imprisoning both of her hands in one of his and holding them fast. ‘If I want to spend every evening in the pub after we're married, I will, woman. And I'll expect you to wait up for me with my supper on the table and my slippers warming in front of the fire.'

‘Been having dreams of living in Victorian times lately?' she retorted, knowing he was goading her.

‘Roll on a return to the good old days when females knew their place, that's what I say.'

‘Let me go and I'll show you where a woman's place is.' She shrieked when he responded by tickling her with his free hand.

‘Not until you promise you won't nag me after we're married.'

‘That will depend entirely on what sort of a husband you become.'

‘I was nice to you in Bristol, wasn't I?'

‘We weren't married in Bristol.'

‘How about you move in with me now, so we can carry on pre­ tending?' He dropped his bantering tone.

‘Aside from my mother, there's still the question of furniture.

‘And we might not even have electricity and running water.' He went to the light switch. ‘Damn, no bulb.' He walked down the passage to the airing cupboard, opened it and switched on the immersion heater. ‘It's glowing red.'

Helena went into the kitchen and turned on the tap. ‘And we have water. Switch off the heater or we'll run up a bill before you've even moved in. ‘

Ned returned to the living room, picked up the carton she'd brought in, and hauled it into the downstairs bedroom.

She followed him and watched him open it. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Making us a bed.' He lifted out the hangings, towels and cheap Indian bedspreads they'd brought from Bristol, and spread them over the floor.

‘There are no curtains. Anyone can see in.'

‘Not here, at the back. The houses behind us are too low down the hill.'

‘We're supposed to be making a list of what we need and measuring for curtains and carpets.' Her protest was half-hearted, even before he kissed her again.

‘We haven't celebrated your new job yet.' He caressed the sensitive skin below her ear, something she'd never been able to resist.

‘We have so much to do …'

‘None of it can be done on a Sunday afternoon when the shops are closed.'

‘The cleaning and measuring can.'

‘I'd prefer to measure these.' He slid his hands along her legs, moving gently upwards to her thighs, over her tights and under her skirt.

‘You're seducing me.' She allowed him to unbutton the jacket of the suit she'd worn to church.

‘Now that I no longer have to work shifts in the hospital, it's a new John tradition. Sunday love-ins.' He unzipped her skirt and it fell in a puddle at her feet. He slipped the pearl buttons of her blouse from their loops. ‘Will you take your tights off, or shall I?'

‘I will. You always ladder them.'

He watched her wriggle out of them as he unbuckled the belt on his jeans. ‘I love seeing you in knickers and nothing else, especially those green ones.'