by Annie Murray
She still couldn’t take it in. ‘Would you really do that? You wouldn’t mind?’
‘No, I wouldn’t mind.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘I am ready for a new start. You are making me younger every day!’
They began to make their wedding plans swiftly, but unfortunately other events moved even more quickly. Martin arrived from the Congo, looking bronzed and, Edie thought, actually more handsome with age. It was lovely to see him and Janet together, and see how devoted they were to the little girls. He and Anatoli also seemed to find a lot to talk about when they were introduced, and Edie and Janet smiled at each other and winked.
But within the week Frances began suffering a lot of pain. Neither Edie nor Janet were getting any sleep sitting up with her, and Martin advised them to have her admitted to Selly Oak Hospital. When Janet had been to take in a few of her things, she came back in tears.
‘She’ll be better off in there,’ Martin told her, holding her, stroking her shoulders. ‘I know it’s hard, but they can keep the pain at bay better, and she has almost reached the point when she doesn’t know where she is. You and Edie can’t go on like this.’
‘I know,’ Janet sobbed, tired and distraught. ‘I don’t know if I’m relieved or horrified at her going in there! It feels as if we’ve let her down, packing her off like that.’
‘She wouldn’t think that, darling,’ Martin said. ‘That’s what hospitals are for.’
‘No – she wouldn’t,’ Edie added doubtfully. She also felt she had let Frances down. It had felt so final, seeing her being taken into the ambulance on a stretcher, her pinched face yellow against her white nightgown. She had barely been conscious. But Edie was exhausted herself, pale and wrung out with emotion and lack of sleep. She had sat up with her the night before. Early on in the night she had combed Frances’s hair, the front parts which she could reach. It was so thin now. There were hollows under her eyes, and the skin seemed to have stretched tight round her jaw now she had lost so much flesh. Most of the time she slept, her energy spent. Edie sat in the chair beside her, dozing.
But in the small hours, Frances surfaced, her eyes opening, still radiant lights of life in her face. For a few moments she was alert.
‘What time is it?’ she asked, hoarsely.
‘Three o’clock – nearly,’ Edie told her.
‘In the afternoon?’
‘No, the morning.’ They left a sidelight burning in the room. It was hard even for Edie to tell whether it was day or night in her weary state.
Frances frowned. ‘Why aren’t you in bed then, dear? You’ll be tired.’
‘Oh, I just thought I’d sit by you for a while,’ Edie said, taking her cool, bony hand.
Frances’s eyes fixed on her face, looking deeply into her. Solemnly, she whispered, ‘You know I love you, dear, don’t you? I want you to be happy.’
Edie wanted to howl. How could she begin to say to Frances what she had meant to her? All the love and care she had given her and David when they had really had no one else to care for them. She’d been a mother and friend all in one. No words could ever be enough. Through the big lump in her throat Edie managed, ‘And I love you too . . .’ She was about to try to say more, but Frances nodded with a faint smile and closed her eyes again.
Edie knew now that Frances would not return home, and was not going to be at her wedding. The thought grieved her enormously. But Frances had now given the only sort of blessing she could manage.
Two days later, as soon as Edie walked in from work and saw Janet’s face, she knew.
‘We’ve only just got in.’ Janet was blotchy from crying. The twins were on her and Martin’s laps and they were feeding them fingers of bread and butter. ‘She died this afternoon. I got in there just in time, but she didn’t come round. They had her on morphine and she was quite peaceful. I would have sent a message for you – but it was too late. Robert didn’t manage to get there until afterwards.’
Edie sat down shakily at the kitchen table, coat on, still holding the handles of her bag. Although they had known it was coming, it still felt like a terrible shock. Martin sat opposite her, looking serious, and sorry.
‘I’m sorry, Jan.’ Tearfully, Edie got up and kissed her, squeezing her friend’s shoulders.
‘I’ve contacted the undertakers. The funeral’s on Friday. She’d only want it very simple.’
‘Look, we’ll postpone the wedding,’ Edie said at once. It was due to be on the Saturday.
‘No!’ Janet protested. ‘Don’t do that. That would be awful.’
‘But we can’t have it the day after the funeral!’
Janet looked thoughtfully at Martin for a moment. ‘No, I think you should carry on. Think what Mom would have said if you’d talked about putting it off!’
Edie smiled wanly, imagining Frances getting going on the subject of death being a natural part of life. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’
Those two days – funeral, then wedding – felt to Edie like a see-saw of emotions. On the Friday morning, before the funeral, she received a letter from David. She was already dressed and ready when it arrived, in her best green and white dress that she knew Frances especially liked. David’s letter had a slightly agitated air about it. He wrote partly to congratulate Edie on her marriage to Anatoli, saying how delighted he was, what a marvellous thing it seemed that she had found happiness by meeting someone through the links which already connected him to herself. She smiled, tears welling in her eyes as she read his warm words, his attempts always to make her feel loved and appreciated. But reading on, her face sobered.
I have some other news to tell you, Mom. I hope you will be pleased about it, though Gila and I are still having to come to terms with it. She is expecting our child. She only discovered this a few days ago and to begin with she has been very upset. She had so many plans to study, to become a dentist, and we do not know how this will be managed now. But we do know that we shall be together and that we shall do our best to support each other and work out a way. Gila keeps saying she does not want to give up everything and be a housewife in Jerusalem, but she is not sure either that she wants to stay on the kibbutz for ever instead. Our plan for the short term is that when I start my studies in Jerusalem, she will come with me and we shall find a little room or flat to live in. I know we shall be very poor and it will be a struggle, but we want to be together – we know this much. I hope you are not disappointed with me about this . . .
‘Oh . . .’ Edie let out a long, groaning sigh and handed the letter to Janet. Janet read it and looked across at her soberly.
‘There’s nothing whatever I can do, is there?’ Edie said. ‘I’ve very little money, although I’d give them whatever I can spare.’
Janet shook her head. ‘Poor David. He’s right – it is going to be a struggle. But we mustn’t disapprove.’
‘I just wish I could see him,’ Edie said desperately. ‘And her! I mean that’s my grandchild she’s carrying – sort of!’
Janet gave an ironic smile. ‘The begetting of children is a real game of dice, isn’t it?’
Edie found herself thinking about this as they made their way to Frances’s funeral: all the ties she had in her life, her rag-bag family who were nothing to do with blood but everything of love and steadfastness. Ties with Frances, Janet, David, Anatoli. And in a way, with Gerda Mayer, and with the fragile German man who was David’s father, Hermann Mayer. Now, with Gila’s pregnancy, they would soon have a grandchild in common.
It was a grey, windy day, suitably desolate for death and goodbyes. The Friends gave Frances a peaceful goodbye, witnessing about her life, her goodness, in the Meeting they held for her. Then the family stood around the grave in the wind, holding their hats on, each parting with Frances in their own way. Edie scattered her bunch of freesias on the coffin, sweet-smelling yellows, purples and white. She followed behind Janet and Robert, with Martin and Robert’s wife Marian, having said her goodbyes quietly, with love and gratitude.
The n
ext morning they were all up early, decorating St Francis’s church, on the Green, for the wedding. Anatoli’s family had left the Russian Orthodox Church and joined the Church of England soon after they arrived in the country and he was keen to be married in church.
After all the events of the week, Edie felt very emotional when she saw Anatoli waiting for her as she walked up the aisle. How long ago her first wedding seemed! And how much deeper and more full her feelings now. Her dress was very pretty, in cream, calf length with lacy neck sleeves, her hair pinned up and a tiny veil fastened to it. Janet and Ruby, her two matrons of honour, each wore matching lilac frocks.
Edie had never seen Anatoli looking so spruce, in a black suit, hair trimmed and immaculately tidy. He stood very straight, his dark eyes searching her out along the aisle. Her heart full of tenderness for him, Edie walked side by side with her father, to join him at the altar. When she reached him he grasped her hand and they exchanged tremulous smiles.
She walked out beaming on his arm, into a day which was warmer and sunnier by far than the previous one. Ruby, Janet and the others showered them with rice and confetti and, tears wiped away now, Edie laughed and flung her arms round Anatoli’s neck. They lined up for photographs, and afterwards all walked happily back across the Green to the house. Soon everyone was tucking into a good lunch. It was even warm enough to open the back door and spread out on to the grass. Mrs Jones next door had iced the cake, and Anatoli had insisted on contributing some champagne – ‘They may have no pubs here, but I’m not getting married without a drink!’ – and they all toasted Edie and Anatoli over the cake.
Edie was glad that her dad had come along, though she knew Dennis would have been happier with a pint in his hand. He and Rodney and some of the other guests drifted off after a decent interval, but the others stayed on, taking chairs out on to the lawn in the warm afternoon. Janet laid a rug on the grass and Naomi and Ruth sat playing with a few old toys.
‘It’s marvellous when they’re too young to move about, isn’t it?’ Ruby carried her plate over and sat with Janet, watching them. ‘You wait – you’ll be chasing them round everywhere in a few weeks!’
‘Oh, I know,’ Janet laughed. ‘Look at their faces – there’s just mischief written all over them! This is the calm before the storm!’
‘What’s the calm before the storm?’ Edie came over, and they both smiled up at her.
‘Ruby was saying I’ll soon be run ragged chasing these two. D’you know, twins can move in six different directions at once!’
They laughed, and Edie settled herself carefully on the rug as well, tucking her dress under her . . .
‘You look lovely, Ede,’ Ruby said.
‘Ta – so do you.’ She finished arranging her skirt, then looked bashfully up at Ruby. ‘Who’d have thought – eh?’
Ruby nudged her. ‘I know. And he’s a lovely fella, your Anatoli. So romantic.’
‘I know—’ Edie reached for little Naomi’s plump, warm hand. ‘I can’t believe how kind he is. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up soon.’
‘No—’ Janet said. ‘It’s your turn now.’
‘When’s it going to be mine?’ Ruby asked, lugubriously. ‘Eh – where’ve the fellas all got to, anyroad?’
‘Martin said something about making tea,’ Janet said. ‘At least that was when he disappeared about half an hour ago.’
‘Oh, he’s probably dozed off in a corner somewhere,’ Ruby said. ‘Anyway, Anatoli’s gone off as well. What are those two up to, d’you think?’
Edie was puzzled by this as well, but then she caught sight of Martin coming out of the house bearing a large tray of tea cups. ‘Look! Good for him, he has done the tea!’ she cried. ‘Ooh, I could just do with that.’
Martin brought each of them a cup and the three of them stayed chatting on the rug, playing with the little girls.
‘I don’t know how you can live all the way over there,’ Ruby said to Janet. ‘America was bad enough.’
‘But you were unhappy there. That’s probably why you didn’t like it.’
‘Yes – I s’pose so,’ Ruby said gloomily. Then she grinned. ‘Eh – never mind. There’re always more fish in the sea! Did I tell you about Kevin . . .?’
‘Oh Ruby,’ Janet cried. ‘You’re unbelievable!’
‘No, just unlucky!’ she pulled a mock doleful face. ‘Oh – it’s nice to be with you two again. Nothing like old pals.’
‘A toast!’ Edie joked, holding up her teacup, and the others joined in. ‘Wherever we are we must keep in touch – pals, eh?’
‘Pals!’ the other two agreed. And solemnly sipped their cups of tea, before erupting into laughter again.
‘Where did you get to this afternoon?’ Edie asked.
She and Anatoli were lying naked under the sheets in Linden Road. They were leaving for a few days away by the sea the next day, but had decided to celebrate into the evening with their friends and not to rush away on their wedding night. After all, Janet and Martin wouldn’t be here much longer. Late that night, warm from love-making, they lay together in Edie’s bed, in the soft light of the room.
‘I was talking to Martin.’
‘But you were in there for ages!’ Her curiosity was aroused. ‘What on earth were you talking about?’
‘Well – we were making a plan . . .’
‘Plan?’ she said, rather huffily. ‘What on earth d’you mean?’
‘OK – promise me you will just be quiet for two minutes while I tell you – with no interruptions?’
Edie nodded, vigorously.
‘Right. OK. It’s very simple. Frances said we could live here for a time after we were married in any case. She has a tenancy with the Bournville Village Trust – so for the time being we can keep that on. I was having a few words about the details of this because now Frances has passed away we need to organize things. I am selling my house in Wimbledon. No, you said you’d be quiet!’ he protested as Edie was almost bursting, wanting to ask questions.
‘Soon we can look to buy a place of our own, but for the time being it means that we also have some spare money. So – what we will do first is to buy two tickets to Tel Aviv, and go and visit that son of yours.’ He grinned, as Edie was pressing a hand over her mouth to try and stop herself exploding with excitement. ‘What do you think of that, Mrs Gruschov? Umm?’
Fifty-Three
Israel – July 1959
‘Edith, my love. Wake up now – we’ re nearly there.’
Edie came to, aware of something hard pressing against the left side of her head. It was the windowframe of a clanking, ramshackle bus. Groggily she opened her eyes. She’d fallen asleep when she’d vowed she wouldn’t!
‘Drink.’ Anatoli handed her a bottle of water. ‘You must drink. You are not used to this heat.’
Obediently she swallowed, making a face at the lukewarm water which tasted as if it had come out of a swimming pool. Her head throbbed. The windows were open all along the bus but the breeze that blew in was so sultry it barely cooled at all. She was damp with sweat between her legs, and shifted her position on the sticky seat, trying to straighten out her skirt. She had bought it for the trip, a soft cotton, in sky blue.
‘Bother!’ she smiled at Anatoli, gradually reviving. ‘I was determined not to fall asleep. I didn’t want to miss anything.’
But the heat and rocking rhythm of the bus had been too much for her. The last twenty-four hours had been exhausting, and different from any other she had experienced, and she was already very tired from all the sleepless nights at home worrying about coming to Israel in the first place. She was going to see David – that thought in itself was enough to keep her awake! But she also had to contend with his fierce young fiancée Gila, and all the other people with whom his life had become entwined. And she had to fly! She had kept herself awake with terrible visions of disaster – opening a wrong door and falling out of the aeroplane . . . Then the journey itself had been exhausting. Landing at Lydda airp
ort to the hot, sulphurous smell of Israel. All the noise and clamour. Everyone here seemed to do everything at full volume – a cacophony of guttural voices, blaring horns of cars and buses as they were driven to a place where they could sleep for the night, along Tel Aviv’s busy streets, between pale blocks of buildings. All night there was a humming sound somewhere close, perhaps a generator, but it did not keep her awake. She woke refreshed, in the cool of the morning, to soft, coppery sunlight through the slats and the echo of sounds from the city outside.
On the bus journey she wanted to take in everything. As the sun moved higher in the sky, the land appeared harsher. How dry it was, she thought, seeing dust rising from the wheels of the truck in front. How inhospitable the earth looked where it was uncultivated, scattered with white, sharp stones between scrubby plants. Even the sheep and goats appeared wiry and dried up, like the plants, and the little black hens pecking by the roadside did not look as if they had much flesh on them. Then they would pass irrigated areas, where the land sprang into green fruitfulness: tomatoes, aubergines, cucumbers, and plantations of date and banana. She was astonished at the verdant growth, especially as they moved further north. And what a mixture of people! She stared fascinated at the women she saw, who reminded her of a page in a childhood encyclopedia of David’s entitled Peoples of the World. There were women working the fields in trousers like landgirls, the way David had descibed Gila. Others pushed prams wearing frocks and cardigans. Some women were dark-skinned, some fair. Some wore short skirts, others long colourful ones, and scarves covering dark hair, long black bedouin robes, shawls, and there were even, as Anatoli pointed out when they stopped in a place called Hadera, women in saris.
She had spent the first hour drinking in every detail, but gradually she had grown more and more drowsy.
They were coming into Tiberias. Hazy in the heat, Yam Kinneret, the Sea of Galilee as she knew it from the Bible, appeared in glimpses of deep blue between the buildings of the low, jumbled little town.
