by Beth Miller
‘Amen.’
Ooh, a word I recognise.
Now the Rabbi begins speaking about Michael. Mama weeps quietly at my side. Heifer’s wedged in tight on my other side, bust akimbo; Christ knows why we have to keep getting so cosy. She clasps my hand into hers, which is hot and clammy. I stare at her sleeve against mine. Although her dress looks identical to all her other black tents, this one seems to be a blacker black.
The Rabbi is an uninspiring elderly man in a dark-blue suit, going through the motions, white prayer shawl round his shoulders. As he’d never met Michael, I presume Danny has briefed him, but the person he describes could be anyone. In broad strokes he tells us of a good man, a devoted husband, a loving father. These things are prized above rubies. He says that Michael performed the sacred duty of family man to the best of his ability. Hey, it was better than that, Rabbi: he performed that sacred duty for two families!
For some reason, I remember the good-looking young Rabbi at Edgware, someone I haven’t thought about for years. Miffy was madly in love with him. I smile, thinking of it, and Heifer squeezes my hand harder. I pull it away on the pretext of getting a tissue out of my bag.
Mercifully this interlude about some bloke called Michael is brief, and after a final prayer we’re on our feet, jostling politely down the stairs to get the hell out. In the foyer the Rabbi wishes Mama and me long life. We both mutter ‘thank you’. Heifer leads us away, and as I turn, I see Danny say something to the Rabbi. The older man looks over at us and nods. Outside, Mum hugs Julie Owen tightly, and Danny shakes hands with Michael’s old friends, then just the family set off for the cemetery. For some reason, the gender divide continues in the cars. I’m driving Mama’s big old Peugeot, and on the way here I had Mama, Evie, Huw and two of the Cline kids, but now Huw’s somehow been swapped for Heifer; she squats, toad-like, in the back with the children, baby asleep on her lap, and spends the fifteen-minute journey babbling about the service, the fabulous rabbi and the general superiority of Judaism over everything.
‘He was such a learned man. He spoke from the heart. It was almost like he knew Michael, don’t you think, Olivia?’
Evie asks me if we can have some music, but before I can reply Heifer says, ‘It’s not appropriate, Evie. Today is a day of mourning, not a day of music and festivity.’
Mama frowns at me, so I say nothing. I don’t want to upset Mama, though I’d very much like to upset Heifer.
Heifer babbles on and by the time we pull into the cemetery car park, the wheels crunching across gravel, I’m in a trance, Danny and Miffy flitting in and out of my thoughts. I turn off the engine, undo my seatbelt and say, ‘Ready?’
Mama and Evie open their doors and Heifer cries, ‘Where are you going?’
We all stop, twisting in our seats to look at her.
‘Where are we going?’ I repeat, and Mama says uncertainly, ‘To the cemetery?’
Heifer looks so outraged there’s a mad moment in which I wonder if one of the superior things about Judaism is drive-through burials, and we’re all meant to stay in the car until a signal instructs us to move slowly forward in first gear.
‘Women can’t go to the cemetery,’ Heifer says. ‘I thought you knew.’
So that’s why Heifer infiltrated our car! She wanted to make sure we didn’t break any orthodoxies.
‘How would we know?’ I ask.
Heifer says, ‘It’s common knowledge.’
‘Not amongst shiksas, it’s not.’
Heifer winces at my using the rude word for non-Jewish women. Shiksas aren’t meant to know that Jews call them that. My brain must have dredged up the word from my Edgware days. Heifer’s girls – fifteen-year-old Chanah and eleven-year-old Atalia – stare at their shoes.
Mama says pitifully, ‘I want to say goodbye to Michael.’
‘Of course you do, Mama.’
Heifer says, ‘Honestly, Olivia, it’s better for women not to be there.’
‘Better for who?’ I ask. I know Huw would tell me it’s better for whom, but he’s not here. Yes, why isn’t he bloody here? What a wimp, letting Heifer muscle him out of the car.
Heifer fixes me with her piggy eyes – if ever a woman could use a little mascara! – and says, ‘Pregnant women must avoid situations where they might meet the evil eye.’
I give Heifer the evil eye in the mirror, but she doesn’t notice. ‘If we can’t go into the cemetery, why are we here?’
‘To support the men. And pay our respects. We can pray just as well for Michael here as anywhere.’
I know Mama doesn’t want a fight, but I do. I really bloody do.
‘Mama, Evie, out you get.’ I say this in Heifer’s own bossy tones, and they comply immediately, scurrying out of their seats.
‘Please, Laura!’ Heifer says.
I stare at her, astonished all over again that this ugly old cow is married to Danny. To Danny! How is this possible? If nothing else proves there is no God, this alone is enough. All the rage I’ve suppressed since meeting her comes bubbling up. I lean towards the back seat, slightly impeded by my bump, and under my breath say, ‘Hella, my stepfather has just died. My mother wants to say goodbye to her husband. So do you think you could do us a big favour, and just shut the fuck up?’
Heifer jerks away from me as though she’s been shot, her face puffy and startled. The baby stirs on her lap, waves an arm in its sleep. Her daughters gape at me, their mouths little circles of shock. I get out of the car and slam the door. Mama clutches my arm. ‘What did you say? What did you say?’
I’m so angry. I say, ‘We’re late, let’s go.’
We walk quickly across the grass to where the men are standing. Our breath steams into the frosty air. I remember Miffy and I, one dark winter on our way home from school, buying sweetie cigarettes and blowing pretend smoke into the sky.
As we approach the grave I see from the sombre faces that they’re not thrilled to see us. Despite my fury I want to laugh, to yell and shout, that painful feeling of forbidden giggles welling up, like in school assembly or church. I push my freezing hands into my coat pockets and spike nails into palms to stop myself laughing. I nearly slip on the silvery grass, and only just get my hands out in time to grab Mama by the sleeve of her soft fur coat. Danny glances at me for a moment, then looks down. He and the other men stand under a kind of canopy formed by bare-limbed trees. In his oversized black coat, if you didn’t know him, if you didn’t look at him properly, you would think he was like all the other religious men here. An image of his younger self flashes into my mind: Danny at fifteen, beautiful, reaching for me with a persuasive smile. A long lean body. I don’t feel like laughing any more.
Huw walks over to us, having no idea that anything’s happened. Stupid bastard, it’s all his fault. I shake my head at him and he gives me a ‘what have I done now?’ look. I put my arm round Mama. She whispers, ‘What did you say to Hella? I hope you haven’t upset her, Laura. I hate any kind of bad feelings.’
I take my arm away.
The Rabbi starts reading a prayer and all the men join in, swaying and intoning at different speeds, which makes me feel properly upset, as if everyone is mourning in their own way. Mama cries as though her heart is breaking.
‘Yit’gadal v’yit’kadash sh’mei raba …’
If this were a film, this would be the big reunion scene. Miffy appears at the last possible minute, screeching up to the gate in a fast car. She runs towards us, as we stand waiting at the graveside. She wears something black and chic, dark glasses covering her eyes.
‘Oseh shalom bim’romav …’
In truth, if she’s anything like the Miffy I remember, she’d probably pull up in a knackered old taxi, the diesel engine drowning out the sound of prayers while she fumbles for change and drops her purse. She’d be wearing a hideous olive-green hat like the one she had at school, with tassels and earflaps. The thought of it makes me smile. But the smile hurts my face.
‘Hu ya’aseh shalom …’
‘Aleinu v’al kol Yis’ra’eil v’im’ru amen.’
The men finish chanting, bow their heads; the Rabbi starts to sing in a clear deep voice. Huw turns to me and whispers gently, ‘Are you okay, cariad?’
Because now, finally, I am shedding unstoppable tears.
23 FEBRUARY 2003
So we’re having a full-blown, week-long shiva. What’s a shiva, boys and girls? Well, I’m not entirely sure, despite being on the fourth day of it. Mainly we sit in the living room crying, and people come and visit, and bring food because we’re too upset to cook. Sounds a laugh, right?
Mama has handed Heifer responsibility for all the arrangements, to make up for my behaviour. ‘I feel so bad you went against her wishes.’
‘It wasn’t just me, Mama!’
‘We are going to do everything right from now on. Todo.’
I tell Heifer that I don’t mind cooking; it’d give me something to do. But she says in a patronising voice that I’m in shock, and should rest. Presumably ‘shock’ is how she’s making sense of the incident in the cemetery car park.
‘What about the kids?’ I ask. ‘They have to eat.’ She opens the freezer to show me it’s packed with delicious kosher ready-meals.
I don’t know who all these people are that are going to come round. A couple of neighbours did pop round the day after the funeral. They were visibly puzzled by the tea-towelled mirrors and the low stool Mama was perched on – actually a pouffe, if we’re still allowed to call them that. Old Mr Henderson from next door was so thrown by the seating arrangements that he stayed for two hours, long after we’d run out of small talk. I asked Danny the significance of the stool but he said Heifer – he didn’t call her that, unfortunately – is the one who knows the traditions: she was brought up with them. But I’m not sodding asking her.
On the third day, Huw told me if he sat through another minute there would be a new death to mourn. I wasn’t sure if he meant himself as a suicide, or Heifer as a murder victim. I was trying to be good for Mama’s sake, and felt obliged to stick it out, but I suggested Huw took Evie to the cinema. He jumped up faster than Mr Henderson when he realised he could leave. I realised too late, seeing the look on Heifer’s face when Huw offered to take some of the Cline kids along too, that it was Saturday, so we were breaking all the Sabbath rules as well as the shiva rules. The poor kids gazed longingly at Evie, prisoner on day release, as she skipped out the door.
After they’d gone, Heifer told me proudly that neither she nor her children had ever been to the cinema. I glanced at Danny, who’d taken me to see Life of Brian when it came out, and put his hand on my tit in the back row. I wondered if he was remembering that too.
Today it’s pouring with rain; the boring Sunday to end all Sundays. Huw takes Evie to a pottery-painting place they found yesterday, but once again the Cline kids aren’t allowed to go out. Their shrieks upstairs indicate some desperate kind of torture game. Mama, Heifer, Danny and I sit around doing nothing. Danny is calm and composed, says little. Perhaps he’s meditating, tuning Heifer out. She keeps trying to encourage us to talk about Michael, tell stories, but Mama’s too sad, and looks increasingly uncomfortable perched on that damn pouffe, and I don’t want to indulge any further Heifer’s notion of the ideal family bereavement.
A spine-chilling yell makes us all jump. Heifer leaps to her feet and starts shouting in Yiddish, though who it’s directed at, I’m not sure. Danny takes hold of her, talking gently, trying to calm her down, and it’s left to Mama and me to check no one’s been murdered. One of the smaller Cline children is floundering in the bath, fully clothed and soaked, a sibling having turned the shower on him. Mama towels down the sobbing child and asks me what we can do to distract them. For some reason I think of the flour and eggs Heifer brought, and suggest to the children that we make pancakes. The poor things are so deprived of fun that they greet this idea with whoops of joy, and hurtle down to the kitchen.
Heifer, having finished her tantrum, comes in to see what’s happening. For a moment I panic that pancakes aren’t kosher, but then remember that she brought the ingredients. She says, through tight lips, ‘That’s fine. They can do cooking. If they are incapable of playing quietly, or just sitting still.’
She sweeps out, leaving behind the clear implication that if even adults such as myself are incapable of sitting still (or playing quietly, come to that), how can she expect children to know better? I give her the finger as she leaves, but I’m pretty sure none of the children see. They are enthusiastic cooks. Only one pancake ends up somewhere it shouldn’t (stuck to a curtain). The cooking and eating is a big hit, and I congratulate myself as I watch the row of Heifer-like heads, bent over the table, chewing the cud. When they’ve finished, I shoo them out of the kitchen, on the basis that it’s now someone else’s responsibility – who knows, even their parents’! – to entertain them. I go to clean myself up, and bump into Danny as he’s coming out of the bathroom. I fall against him, perhaps a little more enthusiastically than necessary. His body is warm against mine.
‘Oops!’ I say.
He sidesteps me. ‘Don’t, Laura, please.’ He sounds like he’s going to cry.
‘It was an accident!’ I say, but he turns and gallops down the stairs.
I can’t remember why I’ve come up, so I go and sit in my bedroom. What does he think of me? Is he still angry from all those years ago? We were just kids, after all. I root around in my dressing-table drawer till I find that old Valentine’s card. Danny sent it, the day after I danced with someone else to make him jealous. ‘You didn’t dance with your true admirer.’ It was the first time he’d said anything about liking me. I sit there a long time, staring at the card. I can only recall fragments. Danny sitting staring. Me slow-dancing with – who? I can’t think. Was Miffy there? I can’t remember.
The front door slams, and a few minutes later Huw appears in the doorway. I shove the card in the drawer.
‘How was pottery?’
‘Shite. Listen, I’m really sorry for Olivia and everything, but that’s bloody enough now. We need to go home.’
I don’t argue. Even the secret compensation of being able to gaze at Danny all day is wearing off. I’ve done all the fantasies to death, my favourite one being that he and I are the only two people in the house and he strides over and sticks his hand up my skirt. Heifer usually puts the kybosh on that little daydream by starting off on one of her inane streams of consciousness. Or unconsciousness, in her case.
Huw sits down on the bed. ‘I only brought enough pants for two days.’
‘I wondered what that whiff was.’
He sticks out his tongue at me. ‘I didn’t realise Jewish mourning rituals took so long. Or that we’d be doing Jewish mourning rituals, come to that. Anyway, Evie’s back to school on Tuesday.’
‘We could offer to take Mama home with us?’ I say, expecting him to protest.
‘Laura! You are fucking brilliant. It gets us out of here, without making us look heartless. And she’ll be company for you in the evenings, too. You look charming with batter in your eyebrows, by the way.’
‘Why, where will you be in the evenings?’
‘I told you,’ he sighs, in his usual tone. ‘I’ve got weeks of deadlines, tons of papers to finish, conference stuff to prepare, theses to read and …’
‘Yeah, okay. Mama and I can be widows together, you’re saying.’
‘I’m still alive, aren’t I?’ he says.
‘For now.’
We go downstairs and I ask Mama if she’d like to come back with us tomorrow.
‘Oh yes, please, bebita.’
Heifer frowns. ‘But we won’t have the full week, then, Olivia.’
Huw and Mama immediately start in with explanations and reasons, and I can see they’ll be fine so I go into the downstai
rs loo to clean myself up. The worst is off my face but I’m trying to wipe the batter from my hair when there’s a knock at the front door. I hear Heifer go to answer it, lecturing Mama as she stomps down the hall. ‘This is why you have a week of sitting shiva, Olivia, to give everyone time to come round.’
I come out of the loo, trying to undo my apron ties.
Mama says, ‘It’s probably Julie Owen, she said she’d visit again today.’
But when Heifer moves back from the door, the tall elegant woman who steps over the threshold is definitely not Julie Owen. She is a completely different species from both her and the dumpy Heifer hopping up and down beside her. The new woman wears a cherry-red coat, speckled with rain. Her hair is a long curtain of gold. I take all this in, and Heifer’s strange expression, but it still doesn’t click who she is until Danny runs into the hall and hugs the woman tightly, calling out her name.
24 FEBRUARY 2003
I sit down. I stand up. I sit again, in a different chair. Mama watches me. ‘Ah yes, I remember that well.’
She thinks I’m uncomfortable because of the baby, and I don’t contradict her, but the reason I can’t sit still is because I’ve got ants in my pants, as we used to say at school. We once actually did put ants in Fiona Bryan’s knickers – she was a willing participant – but they wouldn’t stay in long enough for her to report back. Now I know exactly what it feels like.
Mama hands me some lukewarm tea, then the door opens and I jump, spilling tea down my trousers. But it’s just Heifer. After nearly a solid week, I already wish her a long way from me, and right now I wish far worse things than that. She pulls a dubious-looking tissue out of her sleeve and starts mopping me down against my will. ‘Oh, these will stain; you’d better change. I’ll give them a quick hand-wash.’
