by Annie Murray
‘I just . . .’ Here, Anatoli’s own eyes filled with tears and the ache in Greta’s chest became so sharp she felt it might burst open. He wiped his eyes on his handkerchief, and looking at Edie, went on. ‘I have a life with you which is so good, so happy – all of you.’ He encompassed Greta in his loving gaze as well. ‘All I want is that, until I am too ill . . . Until I die . . . I just want to live, you understand? To carry on just as we are and be with you all – my loving family.’
Greta couldn’t help it. The tears flowed down her face. Edie was crying too, quietly, and Peter had buried his face in her chest. The only one in the room chatting happily to herself was Francesca, now she had all the toy cars to herself, and this made them smile through all the tears.
‘Now there is someone who knows what I mean,’ Anatoli said, wiping his eyes again. There was a pause, as he pushed his handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘I still have to let this sink in – we all do. And I’ll try not to be a dreadful nuisance of a patient . . .’ He held up a hand against their protests that they would look after him whatever, that they would do anything for him. ‘Let us try to be of good cheer.’ He gave a watery smile. ‘Life is for living while you have it – that is my way of looking at it.’
They continued as usual then, swallowing down their tears, Anatoli calling Peter to him and reading his favourite Thomas story. Greta sat with Francesca and enjoyed it all. Afterwards though, she went up to her room, lay on the bed and sobbed and sobbed. She had lost one father, now she was about to lose another, a real flesh-and-blood person, not a smile from a blurry photograph. Anatoli had been so kind and loving to her. It felt as if everything was falling apart. But it was so much worse for Edie, she knew, losing a husband who she loved so much. She resolved that she must be strong for Edie and help her as much as she could.
Within a short time, Edie had another shock. On one of the days she was at home, there was a knock at the door. When she found Trevor on the doorstep, still in his white overall from the barber’s, she knew there must be something wrong.
‘Greta’s not here,’ she said, leaning on the doorframe. She didn’t intend to ask him in, whatever he wanted. Edie didn’t think much of Trevor. ‘She works on Thursdays.’
‘No – it’s you I’ve come to see, Mrs Gruschov – it’s about yer Dad . . .’
Edie only noticed then that he looked pale and shaken.
‘He’s collapsed, just a while ago. They’ve taken him up the hospital.’
Edie’s father, Mr Marshall, had run the barber’s shop in Charlotte Road all her life.
‘Oh my goodness – is he going to be all right?’ She was putting her coat on, ready to go straight up to the hospital.
‘I dunno,’ Trev shrugged. ‘They took him off in the ambulance.’
Mr Marshall had had a stroke. It was a serious one and he only lingered for one day, dying in the small hours of the following night.
‘I suppose it was a mercy,’ Edie said to Greta. ‘He would’ve hated to be paralysed or anything like that.’
‘I’m ever so sorry,’ Greta said. She hadn’t heard until she came home from work. ‘You are having a rough time, aren’t you? Look, let me make the tea and everything tonight – you’ve got enough on your plate.’
‘No – I’ll do it with you, love,’ Edie said, as they went into the kitchen together. ‘I’ve only got a bit of liver. I thought it might build Anatoli up a bit. Tell you the truth I’d rather keep busy.’
She filled the kettle and then turned, her face thoughtful. ‘I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong impression. I was never close to my Dad – nor Mom. She was worse. A bitter, cruel woman she was, and I never found out why till she was dying herself. My dad had been through it with her all right. But he and I were never close either. He never said much.’
‘Yes – Trevor said that. It was the customers did nearly all the talking. Your Dad just told them how much they owed him!’
Edie laughed. ‘Yeah – that was our Dad all right. Funny thing was, he had quite a few pals. I s’pose he never argued back to them! It’s no wonder our Rodney has hardly a word to say for himself either. There was never anyone to teach him how to do it.’
‘He was still your Dad though,’ Greta said. That must mean something, she thought. Having a father at all still seemed something to envy.
‘Yes,’ Edie said flatly. ‘I suppose it’s the end of an era. He’s always just been there, in the same place, ever since I can remember.’
Greta went to the funeral, at the Crem at Lodge Hill. In fact Anatoli asked her to.
‘I want Edith to have as much help as she can,’ he said. ‘She has so little family now.’
It was a small occasion, the day very cold. A few customers came, who had had their hair cut for years at Marshall’s ‘Gentleman’s Barbers’. The family contingent was small. Edie’s younger brother Rodney was there with his wife, and Edie and Anatoli, and of course Trevor. Marleen stayed away, with the children. Dennis Marshall was dispatched quickly and with the minimum of ceremony and they were all outside again, walking off along the tree-lined path to make ready for the next funeral party.
Anatoli was with Edie of course, and Greta found herself beside Trevor. It was funny how familiar he felt, and yet she could hardly believe now that she was married to him and had lived with him all that time.
‘So,’ she said to him. ‘You’ll take over the shop now I s’pose?’
‘Yes,’ he said proudly. ‘Mr Marshall always said I’d step into his shoes managing the business.’
Greta saw that Trevor seemed to have grown in the past days. He was standing more upright, looked actually physically bigger.
‘Well,’ she said, with the usual mixture of fondness and irritation. ‘Good for you. Your own business.’
‘Yes—’ Trevor drew himself up even taller. ‘And Greta – Marleen wants us to get married. So you and me – we need to get a divorce. Do things properly.’
For a second she felt a pang of loss, then dismissed it. Of course they had to get divorced. She didn’t want to carry on being married to Trevor did she?
‘Our Marleen wants to get married does she?’ She was amazed.
‘She’s having another babby. It’s time we made it legal, like,’ Trevor said proudly.
They reached the road and Greta could see Anatoli waiting for her with the car door open.
‘All right then, if you want,’ she said lightly.
Chapter Forty-Four
Anatoli did not give up work at first. He went to the pharmacy in the mornings as he had always done. But he drove to work now, and more and more often he came home at lunchtime looking drawn and exhausted and had to rest, leaving the work to his trusted assistant.
Everything kept going almost as before – but nothing felt normal or the same. They knew they were waiting for Anatoli’s operation, clinging to the hope that this could make him better and save him. His face told the story of his increasing illness even though he was almost always cheerful and courageous.
Edie tried to carry on as usual too, and with Anatoli she was gentle and loving and put on a happy face. When she broke down it was often when she and Greta were alone. Sometimes she would come in and sit at the kitchen table and just put her head in her hands.
After a moment she would say, ‘If only he could eat a little bit more – I can’t bear to see him wasting away.’ Or, ‘When I look at him, the way he is, it breaks my heart.’
Then they would look at each other, with a deep, knowing look, then wipe their eyes and carry on. What else was there to say?
Anatoli’s illness was the agonizing chorus that ran through their lives now. The routine continued, with work and children and Greta trying to make sure that Francesca saw something of her Nan. Soon after Mr Marshall’s funeral, she went round to see Ruby. It was a Saturday afternoon and there was a fog which had barely lifted all day, making the little terraced streets seem ghostly and quieter than usual.
Greta pushed Franc
esca up the hill in the little pushchair. As she went through Bournbrook she passed the second-hand bookshop where she had bought the Christmas present for Dennis Franklin and where the man had been kind to her and given her a book.
She had walked past the shop again many times and hardly given it a thought. What a long time ago it seemed that she had spent her time running after Dennis, trying to impress him! Occasionally now she saw Dennis at the works. She had heard that he had married recently, though he could still barely bring himself to acknowledge her. She still remembered what had happened with Dennis with burning embarrassment, but she could see now that he was stuffy and self-important, even in the way he walked round the factory looking so full of himself.
‘Pompous prat,’ she said, out loud. ‘Who the hell does he think he is?’
When she got to Ruby’s she found her in a mood.
‘Thought you were coming earlier than this,’ she snapped as Greta hoiked the pushchair up the two front steps into the front room and started to get Francesca out. ‘I’ve been waiting since eleven. Hello, sweetheart . . .’ she greeted Francesca.
‘Sorry,’ Greta said, to keep the peace, even though she didn’t think she was late. Under her breath she couldn’t help adding, ‘Yes and it’s nice to see you too.’
Holding Francesca she led the way into the kitchen. There was a tall coffee pot on the table, in an orangey-brown pottery, with a long spout and patterns on it like snowflakes. Greta had never seen it before.
‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘Where d’you get that?’
‘Mavis got it me cheap somewhere,’ Ruby said. Mavis was one of her pals. ‘Nice, ain’t it? It’s meant to be for coffee but I’m going to use it for tea . . .’ With Francesca on one hip she put the kettle on with one hand.
Greta waited for her to ask how Anatoli was. She knew Ruby had had her differences with Edie, but surely when something so sad and serious was happening she could put that aside. But when she had first told Ruby that Anatoli was sick, that it was serious, for a second she had seen an expression creep over her mother’s face which looked like triumph. Huh, it seemed to say. Time something went wrong for little Miss Perfect. There was spite in her face which sickened Greta. Could she not put her envy of Edie aside even when something as bad as this was happening? Ruby recovered herself and made the right concerned noises, but Greta could not forget it and it made her feel even closer to Edie.
Instead of asking about Anatoli, Ruby turned to glare at Greta.
‘So – he’s divorcing you?’
‘Who?’
‘Who? Trevor, yer silly bleeder, who else?’
‘I think you’ll find I’m divorcing him,’ Greta said pertly, sitting down at the table. ‘After all, he’s the one who’s committed adultery.’
Ruby was frowning at her, pouting almost.
‘What’s up with you? We can’t exactly go on with him married to me and my sister popping out one of his babies every five minutes, can we?’
‘We’ve never had a divorce in the family before,’ Ruby said, pursing her lips primly. ‘It’s not very nice, is it?’
‘What?’ Greta exploded, astonished. ‘What’re you on about? You’re a fine one to talk! You divorced Carl Christie, didn’t you?’
A haunted look came over Ruby’s face and she turned red.
‘What’s the matter, Mom?’ Greta pressed her.
Ruby turned back towards the stove. ‘I didn’t divorce Carl Christie . . .’
‘But . . .’ Greta stuttered. ‘How could you . . . ? You mean you married Herbert when . . . ? But that makes you a whatsitsname – a bigamist! Oh no – of course! You didn’t marry him!’
Ruby’s cheeks were puce.
Greta stared at her incredulously for a second, then started to laugh. ‘Oh my God, Mom! . . .’ She put a hand to her head, wondering if she was going crazy. ‘But – hang on, you did marry Carl! That weekend . . . You were having a quiet, romantic wedding, by that lake in Virginia or whatever it was – that’s what you told Marleen and me. And we cried because you wouldn’t let us have new frocks and be your bridesmaids. You said you wanted no fuss . . . We stayed with Ed and Louisa and they took us to the farm show and we had corn on the cob . . .’
‘Yes, well . . .’ Ruby looked down, taking refuge in fiddling with Francesca’s little socks. ‘That’s what we told them. They were so churchy, Bible this and Bible that – I thought it would keep them happy. I loved Carl, or I thought I did, and I thought he loved me. Only I didn’t want to get married again. Not in America. It was all too far away from home.’
‘Mom!’ Greta said, laughing now. After all, what could you do but laugh? Two pretend weddings! Sometimes she felt as if she was more grown up than her own mother. ‘You’re terrible, honestly you are. So stop giving me lectures about me and Trev – you can’t exactly talk, can you!’ Another thought struck her. ‘Hang on though – isn’t Marleen still married? To that Brett bloke?’
Ruby looked stricken. ‘Oh my God – I’d never thought of that! Well she’ll have to get that sorted out before she even thinks about marrying Trevor, however many kids they’ve got!’
It was a relief to be at work and try to forget the heartbreak of the Bristol Road house, of watching Anatoli become more drawn and yellow-skinned by the day.
She was taken on again at Cadbury’s with the other seasonal workers for the Easter rush and was put to work filling Easter eggs. The endless parade of Dairy Milk chocolate half-eggs, with their smooth, shiny insides, slid towards her along the conveyor belt. She had to drop the five chocolates inside, the orange cream first, then the others on top and a piece of tissue paper, before it moved on for the other half of the chocolate shell to be added, before it was wrapped in tinfoil, then encased in the colourful ‘Waddies’ for the shops.
She soon got to know the other women and enjoyed being there in all the company and chatter. And it meant that at least sometimes she saw Pat, who was always over the moon to see her.
‘Hello, Gret!’ she’d call across the girls’ dining room, whoever else she was with. ‘Come and sit here!’
Pat’s life had settled into a quiet, quite dull routine, but she seemed content with things.
‘I don’t want any excitements,’ she said. ‘I’ve had quite enough of that. Come to work, go home and have a bit of peace – that’s me.’
Greta worried for her sometimes. There was something closed down about Pat, as if she had shut the door on life after the tragedy of what happened with Ian. But then, she thought, her own life wasn’t so very different. Neither of them had the cosy marriage and couple of kids that seemed to be held up as the perfect life. And Pat’s predictable life felt comforting at the moment, when other things were changing in a way that was sad and frightening.
Chapter Forty-Five
Anatoli went into Selly Oak Hospital on a bleak March day. Martin Ferris came and drove him, bringing Edie back home afterwards, where Greta was waiting.
The wind gusted through the front door as Edie and Martin came in. Daffodils lay flattened on their stalks on the front garden and the door closed with a slam. Martin smiled hello to Greta.
‘Can I make you a drink?’ Edie asked, after thanking Martin distractedly several times. ‘Tea, coffee?’ Greta could hear what a state she was in, as if her wits were scattered.
‘No thanks, Edie – I’d love one really, but I’d better get back to the surgery.’
Martin, who was normally very reserved, put his hands on Edie’s shoulders and looked down at her with gentle eyes. ‘He’s in good hands.’
Edie nodded, trying not to cry. ‘I know.’ She looked down, the tears falling anyway.
‘Janet will be round later,’ he promised, on his way out.
Edie sat down at the kitchen table with a ragged sigh saying, ‘Dear oh dear . . .’ She seemed smaller, her hair less bright, as if she had faded since this morning.
Greta wanted to comfort her, to say everything would be all right, so she didn’t say
anything, just put the kettle on and arranged cups and saucers, milk and sugar. The familiar ritual felt comforting.
She could feel Edie watching her. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Gret,’ she said.
The doctors said the operation had gone well. Edie went in to visit the first few times, while Anatoli was at his weakest after the surgery. The first day she came back looking very pale and worried.
‘It was terrible,’ she told Greta, ‘seeing him lying there, with that thing in his arm. He looked so poorly, so old all of a sudden. When he opened his eyes . . .’ And here her own filled with tears, though she was smiling at the same time. ‘He managed to give me a little smile and he said, “So, I assume I am looking my age at last?” ’
Despite her worries, Anatoli rallied quickly. Soon she came home from visiting and said that he had been asking for Greta.
‘Me?’ Greta felt a great surge of happiness. ‘He actually asked for me?’
Edie looked fondly at her. ‘What he actually said was, “So where’s that lovely girl of mine?” And I said, “I thought I was your lovely girl,” so he said, “Of course you are – I mean the one who is like my daughter.”’
Greta blushed. ‘Can I go and see him tomorrow then? When you’ve finished, maybe? I don’t want to tire him out.’
‘Course you can, love. He’s asked you to, hasn’t he?’
She went in the next day on her way back from work, with a big bunch of daffodils for him. The hospital felt big and bewildering and Greta didn’t like the idea of Anatoli being in here. He belonged in his house with his comfortable armchair, his clutter of music scores and violins, his colourful pictures, his big cup of tea. When she saw him, halfway along the ward, he looked smaller too, and defenceless.
‘Ahh!’ he cried, his face lighting up. ‘Hello, my dear! I was hoping you were going to come and had not deserted me!’
‘I brought you these daffs—’ Shyly, she held them out. ‘Oh – I’ve got something to put them in.’ She had taken with her a big jam jar from home so that she could arrange them for him and not have to ask anyone. She was glad she had because the ward was busy with visitors and the nurses looked forbidding.
