22 Britannia Road Part 31

Dear Mother and Father, I hope this finds you in good health. I have some news... I hope this finds you in good health. I have some news...

He folds the paper in three and slips it into his shirt pocket, sliding the pen in beside it. Picking up his cigarettes, he lights one and wanders back out into the garden. How can he tell them their grandson is dead? If they ever got the letter, it would break their hearts. He looks at his trees and the blue sky above them and remembers the day he first held his son in his arms. The love he had felt that day.

Standing under the oak tree at the bottom of the garden, he swings the rope ladder dangling from the tree house back and forth. He takes a last deep drag on his cigarette, throws the stub to the ground, steadies the ladder and puts a foot on its lowest rung, hoisting himself up. He's clumsy, but he manages to clamber onto the platform. He crawls into Aurek's den and lets his eyes adjust to the light. That's when he sees the wooden rattle. It's lodged against a branch inside the tree house. Is it really the one Silvana's father made? And does it matter? Now he remembers that she never answered him when he asked her. It was he that believed it to be a family heirloom.

He picks it up. A small line of writing is etched on one side of it. Made in England. Made in England. Ja.n.u.sz gives the rattle a shake. The tree creaks in the wind, an answering voice. Ja.n.u.sz gives the rattle a shake. The tree creaks in the wind, an answering voice.

Sitting in the tree house, knees bent, his back against the rough bark of the tree trunk, he pulls out the letter and his pen and starts writing again.

I have built a tree house for Aurek and he enjoys it just as I did when I had one as a child. In fact, your grandson is more agile than I remember I ever was. I would like you to be able to see how fast he can climb the rope ladder into it. You would be proud of him.

Felixstowe

The boxes have mostly gone. The only room in the house Tony stores things in now is the kitchen, and soon everything will be gone from there too. They will be moving to London, and Tony is winding the business down as fast as he can. Silvana likes the cluttered feel of the kitchen. The rest of the house is spick and span, but the kitchen is filled with boxes of soap powder and Bird's Custard packets. She has moved the piles of newspapers from the stairs into it. She has to squeeze past them to get to the back door.

During the week, when Tony is in Ipswich working in the pet shop, organizing the move, she spends hours sorting through the newspapers, scissors in one hand, the other turning the pages. She goes to bed late and thinks about Ja.n.u.sz, trying to imagine his grief, but she has too much of her own to put herself in his place.

She takes her folder of newspaper clippings up to bed with her and sleeps with it under her pillow every night. She feels like a mother hen with all those little faces under her head. The print from the pictures smudges on the pillowcase, and the children leave their features on cotton. She never washes her pillowcase because of them. So many children, but she will gather them in.

At night her hands touch the newspaper cuttings while the faint, gravelled sound of the sea and the wind outside lull her to uneasy sleep. In her dreams, the children climb out from under her hair and dance on her bed, linking hands and singing, and her own dead son rises up from his handcart grave, his blankets tumbling around him. The bedcovers are heavy with the weight of the children. All the babies, the boys and the girls, the innocent, come to Silvana, and she says sorry to each one of them. They rise up out of shallow graves, bombed houses, prison cells and eyeless forests, forgetting their pasts, free and beyond harm.

In the morning they are gone, under the pillow once more, and Silvana gets up, washes in cold water and turns her scrubbed face to the new day.

Ipswich

The windows are boarded over and a sign pasted onto the door details planning permission for a change of use. The pet shop is going to become a hairdresser's. Ja.n.u.sz turns on his heels and walks briskly away. He walks on up the cobbled road and into the market square, crossing it in long, loping strides, disturbing the pigeons that settle there. He buys himself a cup of tea and a scone in Debenhams.

And if he went to Felixstowe and asked her to come back to him, what would he do if she refused? He slams his coffee cup onto the table and spills most of it. Of course he can't go. Doris said she looked well. What did that mean? Did it mean she was in love with Tony?

In his mind, he sees Silvana with Tony and Aurek, all of them smiling at him. He grunts audibly, like he's been punched in the head. Oh, Christ. Why is he doing this to himself? And what else? If he's going to beat himself up, he may as well do it right.

How about Aurek sitting on Tony's knee? That image hurts. And Aurek making a tree house with Tony, all three of them laughing at him as he asks Silvana to come home. No. He can't go and ask Silvana to come back. She's where she wants to be. He gets up and walks out.

He's halfway up Britannia Road before he realizes he didn't pay for his coffee in the cafe and has to walk all the way back into town to put things right.

Felixstowe

Silvana is cleaning the stove when the doorbell goes. She listens for a moment and the bell sounds again. Should she leave it? n.o.body calls at this time of day. She hears the sound of knuckles rapping on the door and pulls off her ap.r.o.n, tidies her hair and walks into the hallway. Whoever it is will not go away, it seems. She opens the door a fraction.

'Oh,' she says, pulling the door wider.

Peter's grandmother steps inside without being asked. She takes off her gloves and looks around at the hallway, its polished floors and vase of flowers on the table.

'So Tony has finally got this place cleaned up,' she says.

Silvana notices Aurek standing at the end of the hall watching, and motions to him to come and stand beside her. She blushes and holds her hand out.

'I am Mrs Nowak,' she says. 'I'm the housekeeper. And here... here is my son, Aurek.'

'I know who you are,' says Peter's grandmother, ignoring Silvana's outstretched hand. 'I think you know who I am too. I used to see you walking your son to school. You can call me Moira. I'm Tony's mother-in-law. And this is Peter's friend? h.e.l.lo there.'

She fishes in her handbag and brings out a small paper bag.

'Peter tells me you like sweets. Come along, young man. I've brought you a bag of sherbets.'

When Aurek refuses to come forward, Moira simply holds the bag out. Silvana is sure she is going to drop it and so she reaches out for it, grabs it like a ball suddenly thrown in her direction. She puts the paper bag on the hall table and in the moment it takes her to do it, she sees the old woman seize the chance to look at her. There is a strong sense of curiosity in her eyes, and surprisingly a look of nervousness too. Silvana has no idea why this woman is here. Should she tell her Tony is in Ipswich?

'Peter says they are friends, the two of them?'

'That's right.'

Moira puts her gloves in her handbag. 'He's shy, isn't he? My Peter is a very sensitive child too. Goodness, it's a frightful day. Far too hot. Could you make me a cup of tea? I'm absolutely parched.'

Silvana serves the tea in the front room. Moira has half closed the curtains so that the sun drives only a blade of light across the room. She stands in the shadows, sharp and immobile as a piece of polished furniture, and her voice rises out of the folds of the curtains.

'Tell me, can you play cards?'

'I haven't for a long time.'

'You never forget. Pour the tea and then sit down and have a game with me.'

Moira is a canny player. They have a hand of rummy and then whist (she teaches Silvana the Portland Club rules), and Silvana teaches her how to play mizerka and tysiac, both card games she used to play in Poland.

Several hours pa.s.s and the sun tracks round so that Silvana is obliged to open the curtains to let the afternoon light bathe the room. Moira has just won another round and looks flushed with her success.

'Tony is like a son to me,' she says, apropos of nothing. 'I'm not used to him being so busy with his life. He usually spends more time with us. You know we brought his son up? Peter is our only grandson. My daughter died when he was just a baby.'

So this is what the old lady has come to talk about. Her family.

'Tony has told me how much you care for Peter,' says Silvana carefully.

'Has he? Did he tell you we bought my daughter this house as a wedding present? It's in Peter's name now, did you know that? Tony doesn't have a penny in it.'

Silvana turns over her cards. She has lost again.

'Yes, I know that,' she lies. She is not going to let the old lady think she is a fool. She wonders if Moira knows about London, that Tony has already put money down on a flat. Does he talk to her about these things?

'The thing about Tony,' says Moira, flicking her cards face up, 'is that he is too kind. People take advantage of him.'

Silvana takes the pack, reshuffles and deals herself another dreadful hand. She stares in dismay at it.

'So tell me about yourself,' the old lady says, laying a pair of queens down. She smiles pleasantly. 'I gather you are married?'

Silvana blushes. 'That's right.'

'Are you going to be staying here long? Has Tony discussed properly your terms of engagement with you?'

'My terms of engagement engagement?'

'Yes. You are the housekeeper, aren't you?'

'Well yes, but I...' Silvana casts around for something to say. Something to stop this conversation. She will not let this woman get the last word.

'Tony has asked me to stay indefinitely,' she says. 'Those are his terms of engagement.' She'd like to add that he wants to pretend they are married too, but she stops herself.

The old lady lays her cards on the table. Silvana picks up another card. For once luck is on her side. She almost laughs out loud. She can't lose this time. Not with a hand like this. She lays her cards in front of her and looks at Moira.

'I've won.'

Moira clears her throat, gathers up the cards, sits back in her chair and begins to shuffle them. 'We'll play another, shall we?'

She deals the cards, picks up her own and studies them.

'Marriages are awkward things, my dear, but one must stick at them. Has Tony talked to you about the summer holiday?'

Silvana hesitates. She says nothing and Moira doesn't seem to notice. The old lady carries on talking.

'We have relatives in Sidmouth. Normally Tony drives us down there for a fortnight. Peter adores the West Country.'

Silvana tries to remember if Tony has mentioned this before. If he did, she can't remember it.

'I know all about the summer holiday,' she says.

Moira puts her cards down and smiles at Silvana.

'Do you? Then you'll know that Tony says he can't come with us this year. Apparently he is too busy busy.'

Silvana picks up a card. A queen. She studies Moira's face, the sharp grey eyes, the neat mouth. If only she hadn't answered the door. If only she had hidden and waited for the woman to leave.

Moira continues. 'Of course, I would have thought that selling his pet shop would mean Tony has more time on his hands, not less. Wouldn't you agree?'

Silvana says nothing. She waits for the old woman to make her move, but Moira folds her cards into the pack and reaches across the table for her hat.

'I think I'm a little tired now. I have to get the train back to Ipswich and I can't stand catching the six o'clock. There are always far too many people.'

In the hallway, Silvana sees the bag of sweets is still there. She hopes Aurek is not making nests in the last bales of cotton sheets Tony has stored in the kitchen. When Tony gets back, she will tell him the sooner they move to London the better. She opens the front door and steps outside, letting Moira walk past her.

The afternoon light is golden and the heated air carries the drifting scent of drying seaweed. Bareheaded girls and freckled boys run across the sands, turning cartwheels, tightrope-walking along the narrow wooden groynes of the beach, avoiding the war defences that are still there, the jumbled rolls of barbed wire heaped in rusting mounds. Silvana watches the scene for a few moments.

'Lucy always loved the sea,' Moira says, as if remembering some specific day.

She turns to face Silvana. 'I hope Tony manages to come to Devon with us. It would be such a shame if he didn't get to spend some time with his son this summer. Quite unforgivable.'

'I don't know,' says Silvana. She will not be bullied by Moira, and she is tired of these conversations. 'Perhaps you need to speak to him yourself. I'm only the housekeeper here, after all.'

'Yes. That's true. You are just a housekeeper. Perhaps I was mistaken.'

Moira steps onto the pavement and looks up and down the road.

'By the way,' she says. 'The way you wear that blouse with the silk skirt? It's not very pleasant to see another woman in Lucy's clothes, but I have to concede that they suit you. You're about the same size as she was.'

She gives the road another sweeping glance and steps off the pavement.

'I can see why Tony likes you. You do resemble her in a way.'

Silvana feels a chill run through her. Even with the sun beating down on her, she shivers. She follows the old woman.

'What did you say?'

'The blouse with the skirt. Lucy never wore them together.'

'I think you've made a mistake,' Silvana says coldly. She has had enough of Moira and her haughty ways. 'These are my clothes. Tony bought them for me.'

'Really, I knew I had to come. This has gone far enough. You are wearing my daughter's clothes. But you know very well. Must you act so stupid? Has he given you the mink? I do hope not. It was a present from us.'

'The mink? With the brown silk lining?'

Silvana can feel her legs giving way under her.

Moira is halfway across the road. A car moves slowly between them both, and her black hat with its single pheasant feather is all Silvana can see of her.

Silvana steps back onto the pavement. She steadies herself. Touches her throat, feels the tiny pearl b.u.t.tons of her blouse, moves her hand away quickly, as though she has been burnt.

In the kitchen she washes the teacups, swirling her hands in soapy water. Aurek comes in carrying a handful of large white feathers.

'Where have you been?'

'On the beach.'

'Well, don't go off on your own like that. I was worried about you.'

He pulls on her skirts until she stops what she is doing, wipes her hands on her ap.r.o.n and turns round.

'What is it you want? Something to eat?'