by Annie Murray
Gila reached out a bony hand and said mechanically, ‘Thank you. It was nice to meet you also.’
And she walked off towards the kitchen. Greta watched the heartbroken, scrawny woman moving away from her and felt such pity for her, but she felt so sad for David as well. The picture of them when they were first married, which Edie kept propped on the mantelpiece, showed them looking so happy and hopeful together.
They were on her mind all day at work, the sadness of it weighing her down. She imagined David waving goodbye to Gila at Heathrow airport, how awful it must be. Her mind was with him every step of the way, as if she wanted to hold his hand and give comfort.
‘Wakey, wakey – I’m talking to you!’ a voice said close to her ear, and she jumped. One of the other women was standing beside her, grinning. ‘That’s the third time I’ve said it. Must be love!’
‘Oh no – it isn’t that,’ Greta snapped. ‘Don’t be stupid.’
But the woman’s words burned in her. How stupid she was! Was that it, the way David brought her alive every time they were in the room together, the way her mind flew to him constantly and she lay awake thinking of him, longing for him, the way he had become the most important person in her life apart from Francesca, even more important, she realized with a shock, than Anatoli? Was this how it was: the way her heart reached out for him, the feeling that she would do anything for him to make him happier? Could that be it – she was in love with David? David, who would never look at her because she was not good enough for him, David, who was married, and confused and heartbroken?
The hopelessness of her feelings made her angry and wretched all day. How could she have been so stupid as to fall in love with David of all people? Who did she think she was, a factory hand having stupid dreams about him when he was a doctor?
When she left that day, walking out towards the men’s grounds, she met John Foreman. She had a feeling he had been waiting for her but she wasn’t sure. But John was not one to pretend.
‘Hello!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘I was hoping I’d meet you. Came this way specially.’
He was a tall lad, about her age, she guessed, with thick, wavy blond hair and blue eyes.
‘Oh, hello, John,’ she said. Seeing him did cheer her up a fraction, and she liked his straightforward friendliness towards her.
‘You off home?’ he said, walking beside her.
‘Yes – done for the day.’
‘Only I was wondering if you’d come out one night – for a drink or to the flicks or summat. Or you could come and hear us play if you like.’ John was in a band called the Banana Boys, one of the many hopefuls playing in pubs all over Birmingham.
Greta hesitated for a second. She didn’t really want to go at all. She should be at home with Francesca and Anatoli, with . . . No, not with David. A surge of determination passed through her. She managed to smile at John.
‘Thanks. That’d be nice. When were you thinking of?’
John’s face broke into a delighted grin. ‘You serious? I thought you’d turn me down! Well how about tomorrow? We’re playing over at the Greyhound.’
They arranged a place to meet and John said, ‘That’s great – I’ll look forward to it! See ya tomorrow, Greta!’
He almost skipped away and his enthusiasm made her smile for a moment. Above all though she felt she’d done something right, and she felt lighter for it. She had to get David out of her mind and this seemed a way to do it. John seemed a nice enough bloke, a bit of a laugh. And these days a laugh was certainly something she could do with.
She walked into the house smiling and heard Francesca call ‘Mamma!’ as she opened the door and saw her come toddling out to greet her.
Edie followed her, smiling bravely, but Greta could see the tension in her.
‘Did they get off all right?’ she asked, scooping Francesca into her arms.
‘Yes. She should be on the plane by now. I expect David’ll be making his way back.’
Greta didn’t hear David arrive home because she was with Anatoli. The days when he got up were becoming fewer now. They were keeping the pain at bay with morphine. She tried to spend time with him every day, reading to him or talking as he lay propped on his pillows. He was always pleased to see her and she treasured every moment as he grew thinner and more sick.
‘Hello, my dear,’ he greeted her. ‘You’re looking very cheerful today.’
She could see that this pleased him. There had been a lot of sadness in the house.
‘Ah well.’ She put down the tray of tea she had made and settled on the chair by his bed. ‘I got asked out on a date!’
‘Aha!’ Anatoli said, with great interest. ‘And who is the young prince who has dared to request such a thing?’
Greta laughed. ‘His name’s John – he works in the Chocolate Block. Seems nice enough – I don’t know him yet, really. He plays the guitar in a band.’
‘Hmm – nice enough?’ He teased. ‘I’m not sure that’s good enough for you my dear. Whoever goes out with you needs to be very special.’
‘Well, we’ll see, won’t we? P’raps he will be special. Now here’s your tea – and would you like another chapter?’
‘Ah yes – we had reached the crucial moment, hadn’t we? I have been trying to puzzle it out, but he has defeated me, as ever.’
She set off reading another chapter of their latest Maigret mystery. Greta was enjoying the story herself and Anatoli usually listened with great attention, trying to guess what would happen next. At the end she put the bookmark back in, closed the book and looked up at him, smiling.
But instead of looking back at her with his usual twinkling expression, Anatoli’s head was lolling to one side on the pillow and his eyes were closed. Greta froze. She stopped breathing in those seconds. He looked . . . Surely he couldn’t be . . . ? His face was so sunken and lacking expression! Heart pounding, she got to her feet, groping for his pulse. Then she heard him breathing, and her own breath flowed again. He had fallen asleep, that was all!
She watched him for a moment, with sad tenderness. He had never once fallen asleep before while she was reading. Though she kept trying to deny that he was getting worse, she knew this was a sign. She drank in the sight of him. Here he was, still alive! How many more days would she see him for? Tears pricked her eyes as she left the room.
Downstairs she wanted to find Edie for comfort. She would not tell her what had happened. She just wanted to be with her and do ordinary things like making the dinner in the nice bright kitchen.
But she came upon another sad sight. Edie and David were sitting at the kitchen table, her arm round his shoulders, David had his face in his hands and both of them were crying. Edie looked up at her, tears running down her cheeks.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Greta said, blushing.
She went to leave but Edie said, ‘No, it’s all right love, come in. David’s just got in. You don’t mind, do you, Davey?’
David took his hands from his face, which was also wet, and he seemed rather stunned, but not embarrassed or angry that she had come in and found them like that.
‘No, come in, it’s OK,’ he said, wiping his face. ‘I’ve just got back from London. It’s been a hell of a difficult day.’
‘I bet it has,’ Greta said. She stood feeling helpless for a moment, so frantic at the sight of his distress that all her determination earlier in the day was completely lost. ‘Look – have you both had some tea? I made Anatoli some, but no one else was about.’
‘No, we’d love some, wouldn’t we?’ Edie said.
Greta took refuge in making tea but she was full of emotion.
‘It was a bit delayed,’ he was saying. ‘I felt I should wait with her but I think both of us were desperate to get the goodbyes over with. In the end she just said, “Look, Doodi . . .” His voice broke again when he used her nickname for him. ‘”Please, you just go. Let me be alone.” So we just sort of held one another and said goodbye as if this was almost normal and I would be hom
e in a few days, like when I was in the army. And she turned and went.’ He was crying as he talked. ‘I just watched her walk down the corridor until I couldn’t see her any more. And all I could think about was the first time I ever saw her at Hamesh, out in the fields, and how she was – fierce and girlish at the same time . . .’ He stopped, unable to speak for a moment. ‘That’s what kills me – that we are estranged is bad enough, but the real thing is, what has happened to her. What this has all done to her . . . So sad, and thin and far away, when she was so alive before . . . And I wonder how much of it is me, what I have done to her . . .’
Greta spooned tea into the warmed pot, hardly able to see for her own tears as she listened to him pouring out his grief.
‘Oh, love, of course it’s not you!’ Edie said. ‘It was the explosions, the shock, losing Shimon and the baby. And there’s instability in the family – you’ve always known that. How can any of that be your fault?’
‘But it wasn’t just that – it was before. Things were wrong, as if everything was slipping away from me and we were becoming strangers – and I couldn’t seem to stop it. What happened just made it worse. It finished us off . . .’
Greta took the tea to the table and sat down.
‘Thanks, love,’ Edie said. ‘You’re a gem, you are.’
David thanked her too, and took in the fact that she was crying as well. She saw the surprise on his face, and then for a second, through his tears, he smiled.
Chapter Sixty
‘Well, it’s time I went in,’ Greta said, as they reached the gate of the Gruschovs’ house. ‘Thanks, John – I’ve had a really nice time.’
It was her third date with John in the past two weeks. Twice she’d stood in smoky pubs tapping her feet to songs by the Banana Boys and admiring John’s guitar playing. He looked good on stage with his thick blond hair and he moved well. And tonight they’d been dancing in town, leaping about to the Hippy Hippy Shakes, the Beach Boys, the Beatles . . . Greta had not had so much fun in a long time, not young people’s sort of fun! She and John had grinned with pleasure at each other on and off all evening. She was still tingling all over and could feel her cheeks glowing in the cold air. John was an easygoing companion and they’d chatted on the way home in a relaxed way about work and their families. But now things felt awkward.
Greta wanted to get inside. She liked John, he was good company and up until now he had behaved like a gentleman, but she could see he was rapidly becoming besotted with her.
‘I hope we can do this again soon,’ John said, moving closer. They were in the shadows of the tall bushes by the gate.
‘Yes, I’m sure we can. Thanks,’ Greta said, trying to step away. Things were moving more quickly than she wanted. She remembered the way she had thrown herself at boys before, the humiliating disaster with Dennis Franklin, and she didn’t want a repeat of that. She didn’t feel anything special for John. He was just nice, that was all, and not at all full of himself like Joe, the lead singer in the band. Maybe something could develop . . . But he was in more of a hurry.
‘You’re so lovely, Greta.’ His voice turned low and seductive and he put his arms round her. The light from the street lamp lit up the top of John’s blond hair, while the rest of his face was in shadow. ‘I don’t think I can stand it if I go home without kissing you.’
Greta found herself up against the gatepost, John pressed against her, his tongue pushing into her mouth. She was full of confused feelings. It was nice to be kissed again and feel desirable after all this time! She felt herself begin to respond, but thoughts came into her mind like a cold shower. This didn’t feel right. It almost felt as if she was being unfaithful, which was ridiculous – unfaithful to who? But she wasn’t going to throw herself at him, or lead him on – she was determined!
Managing to free her arms she pushed against the wooden gatepost so that John let go, startled.
‘What’s up?’ he asked huffily. ‘I thought you liked me.’
‘I do,’ she said, straightening her clothes. ‘But let’s not go too fast, eh? We hardly know each other, and I’ve got a kid, remember? I can’t just muck about. It’s been a nice evening, John, and I’ve really enjoyed myself – thanks.’
She thought for a moment he might turn nasty as she had rejected him, but he was too nice a bloke for that.
‘All right,’ he said dismally. ‘Sorry – I was pushing it. I just like you – a lot. It doesn’t bother me that you’ve got a little girl’ He turned away as if he was going to walk off, then looked back at her. ‘So d’you want to come out again?’
‘Yes,’ Greta said, relieved. ‘That’d be nice. Somewhere quiet maybe, where we could have a chat. Shall we just go for a coffee or something?’
John shrugged. ‘All right. Tomorrow?’
‘Can’t tomorrow. Day after? And John—’ She went a bit closer. She wanted to like him, she wanted to fall in love. She just couldn’t force it to happen. ‘Don’t get the hump will you? I just want to do things right.’
John looked appeased. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘All right then. See ya.’
‘Why don’t you come out with us – both of you?’ she asked Pat the next day on the way to work, their breath white on the bitterly cold air. Pat had finally admitted that a young man from her church was paying her attention.
‘Oh, I don’t know . . .’
‘You can’t just stay in for ever,’ Greta encouraged her.
‘Yes I can – I think being an old maid will suit me,’ Pat said ruefully. She hammed it up, pushing her hands further into her coat pockets and walking with a stoop. ‘I’ll just stay on the shelf, thank you very much!’
‘You don’t mean that. Come on – you don’t have to marry him, do you? Just come out and have some fun. You could come and hear John’s band – they’re a bit like the Beatles really.’
Greta was keen to be out as many evenings as possible at the moment. She had to get over her crush on David, and stop kidding herself. David had taken Dr Ferris’s advice and gone off walking for a few days on his own. He came back saying he had taken the train to Aberystwyth, where he had been on holiday as a teenager, and walked along the coast, beside a rough winter sea. Edie told her that David also said he was thinking about going to finish his medical training somewhere else. New York, he thought, or Boston. When she heard this, Greta felt a massive stab of pain, and then a surge of relief. She was nothing to him and she could close the door on this painful, confusing time and stop thinking about him all the time. She told herself it was only because she felt sorry for him that she felt so much. There wasn’t anything else. She could see that Edie wanted to argue, to beg David to stay because she needed him, but she managed to be selfless and kind, and listened to all he had to say.
So that was that, Greta knew. He would soon be gone. She spent as much time as she could with Anatoli, but tried to keep out of Edie’s and David’s way. There was so much pain in the house that sometimes it was easier to go out and get away from it.
Pat’s date turned out to be an earnest young man called Andrew.
‘I put my foot in it straight away by suggesting we go to the pub,’ Greta told Edie later over a late-night cup of cocoa. ‘Course he doesn’t drink, so we went into town to a coffee bar instead. I mean, he’s nice enough, but I think Pat needs someone with a bit more life in him.’
‘And what about John?’ Edie asked with a smile. ‘You seem to be seeing quite a bit of him.’
‘Oh yeah – he’s nice, John is,’ she replied, carefully.
‘I know it’s selfish of me,’ Edie said, looking up at her rather shamefaced, ‘but I hope in a way he’s not too nice. If he is, he’ll take you away from us, won’t he?’ Her eyes filled with tears suddenly. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. What with David – and Anatoli, it feels as if everyone’s going. And poor Peter! He knows his Dad’s poorly and he asked me yesterday if he’s going to die. He’s never said that before.’
‘Oh dear,’ Greta said, feeling a lum
p come into her own throat. She tried not to keep thinking about how sick Anatoli was, and the reality of it hit her afresh and was almost unbearable.
Very soon it got worse. One night, when she had been out with John, Pat and Andrew, she let herself into the house after John had walked her home and insisted on kissing her goodnight. These days she felt she had to let him. She couldn’t just keep stringing him along. She crept in, trying not to disturb anyone, but as soon as she was in the hall she realized things were not quiet in the house. A door opened and closed upstairs, letting out the sound of men’s voices.
While she was changing into her nightclothes in her room, she heard someone leave the house. There was a tap on her door.
‘Gret? Sorry to bother you,’ Edie said. She was trying to speak normally but Greta could tell there was something terribly wrong.
Edie came and sank down on the edge of her bed. Greta didn’t need to ask what had happened. Edie started to shake, and the tears came.
‘He’s been in such pain. It just came on really bad, all of a sudden. He couldn’t speak with it, he was just moaning – it was terrible. I had to call Martin – he’s so good, he said to call any time – and he’s given him a higher dose . . .’
Greta sat beside Edie, an arm round her shoulders while she cried in shock and grief, her loose hair falling forward.
‘Martin said he may have to go into hospital. He said he knew we’ll do our best to look after him at home but that at the . . .’ She caught her breath, weeping again. ‘At the end, it’ll be too much for us. He’ll need drugs and proper nurses and everything . . . Oh God, it was awful. He was in agony. I’ve never seen him like that. . .’
A tight ball of pain formed inside Greta. Anatoli had hung on so long, so much without complaint, that sometimes it had been easy to forget just how ill he was, what a short time he might have left.
‘Oh—’ Edie remembered. She sat up, pushing her hair back. ‘And today there was a call – from his daughter Caroline. She’s coming to see him on Saturday.’ She added bitterly, ‘It’s a good job she didn’t leave it any longer.’
