‘No, not for me,’ says Tony. ‘Doris is right. If I’m babysitting, I had better keep a clear head.’
‘Oh, a cup of tea perhaps?’ Janusz says. ‘With a currant bun?’
‘No, nothing. Thank you.’
Silvana watches the way Tony smiles at them all. He should be a politician. He has all of them eating out of his hand. And her, too. He leaves and then comes back into her life as if she is a doll he can pick up and put down at will.
‘I’ll have a top-up,’ says Gilbert. ‘Rabbit, eh? I haven’t had rabbit for quite a while. Doris, you used to do a lovely rabbit casserole. Do you remember?’
‘Gilbert, sometimes I wonder if you look at what you eat. We had rabbit just last month. Got it from a lad that works over at Chantry Park.’
‘How could I forget? You had any luck getting potatoes lately? Doris queued outside the Co-op for hours the other day.’
‘Hours, I stood. Doesn’t it craze you? We fought Hitler for six years and had all the spuds we wanted. End of the war comes and not a spud in sight. We’ve not even got proper fish for fish and chips. I tell you, things can’t get worse.’
‘How do you manage to run that car of yours, Tony?’ Gilbert asks. ‘You still getting your petrol on the black?’
It is always the same talk. The shortages of this and that and the government letting people down. Sometimes Silvana imagines herself telling them to shut up. To put a sock in it, as Doris would say. To belt up good and proper.
‘Liverpool are at the top of the first division,’ says Tony, who appears not to have heard Gilbert’s question. Silvana notices how carefully he changes the subject. Janusz comes back into the room.
‘What do you think?’ Tony asks him. ‘Do you support them?’
‘I prefer cricket,’ says Janusz.
‘I’m an Ipswich Town fan myself,’ says Gilbert enthusiastically. ‘Got to support our local lads. They’re the middle of the third division and climbing. They’ll give Liverpool a run for their money one day.’
Tony laughs. ‘I won’t hold my breath.’
‘Ah, you wait. When I win the football pools I’ll buy Ipswich and train them myself.’
Doris looks at her watch. ‘We should go. No more football talk, please, gentlemen. We don’t want to miss the beginning of the film.’
And then they are all gathering up coats and out of the door, an icy wind hitting them full in the face. Silvana turns to look at Tony. He doesn’t meet her gaze. Janusz steps up beside her.
‘It’s very decent of you, Tony. We appreciate it.’
‘Yes, yes we do,’ Silvana says.
‘Have fun, children,’ says Tony jovially, waving them away.
Silvana looks up at the bedroom window. Aurek has pressed his face to the glass.
‘I think Aurek wants something,’ she begins to say, but Doris takes her arm firmly.
‘Come on, Sylvia. You’ve got to leave him sometime. Let him grow up.’
A night out without Aurek. The first since they arrived in Britain. She doesn’t know if it is leaving the boy or the way Tony brushed his hand against hers, but even in all her splendour, her new dress and gloves, she feels exposed and vulnerable.
Janusz is wearing his demob suit, the one he was wearing when he met her at the train station, a single-breasted jacket and trousers with turn-ups. He looks handsome. A good man, solid and respectable.
‘Smile,’ he says. ‘You look as though you are in pain.’
‘I don’t like leaving Aurek.’
‘Why? What could happen? This is a good town. We’re safe here.’
‘Sometimes I don’t feel safe.’
‘Well, you should. I’ll get a promotion at work soon. There’s a man retiring and I’m in line for his job. I’ve worked overtime and extra hours to make sure I get it.’
‘Think you will?’ asks Gilbert, coming up alongside them. ‘Sorry, couldn’t help overhearing. Think you’ll get it then?’
‘I don’t see why not. I work hard. I deserve it.’
‘That’s just it, isn’t it? You foreigners work too bloody hard.’
‘We finish when the work is done.’
‘That’s why you’re unpopular. It upsets the system.’
‘In the mood for a film?’ says Doris loudly, and Silvana sees the way she jabs Gilbert in the ribs with her elbow. ‘And I want to watch it all, Gilbert Holborn, so don’t even try to get me to sit at the back with you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you,’ says Doris. ‘You won’t get me sitting with the courting couples. I’m too old for all that.’
They are going to see Top Hat. It’s an old Fred Astaire musical, and Silvana’s choice. Gilbert says he’d rather see a war film, but Doris reminds him it is Silvana’s birthday treat, not his. The four of them walk through town, past Woolworths and Lipton’s with its pretty green-tiled shopfront, Smith’s the butcher’s, the dry cleaner’s and the chemist, towards the Odeon cinema.
‘There was a dirty great crater here,’ says Doris as they pick their way along a temporary path of gravel with muddy earth either side of it. ‘A parachute mine right at the end of the war. They filled the hole in pretty quick. It looked like someone was trying to build a tunnel right through to Australia. A ruddy great hole. It was a miracle nobody was hurt.’
The Odeon is a grand-looking building with long windows like a church and lots of peeling pink paint. Gilbert tells them all how he was one of the workers that built it back in ’29. Doris shows them shrapnel damage on the front steps, and Janusz and Gilbert follow the pockmarks on the stone, bent over like doctors examining old scar tissue. Silvana just wants to get inside. It has been years, too many years, since she was last in a cinema.
Inside, a blue neon light glows and thick velvet curtains drape over ribbed plasterwork. An usherette in a neat-fitting navy suit with white piping and a hat to match takes their tickets and shows them to their seats.
‘I was one of those,’ Silvana whispers to Doris.
‘What?’
‘An usherette. In Poland. That was my job before I married.’
‘Really? Not a big cinema like this though?’
‘A beautiful cinema,’ says Silvana. ‘And the usherette uniforms were smarter. You see that girl? She has holes in her stockings and her jacket is too tight.’
Doris purses her lips. ‘Give her a chance. We had a war here, you know. Mend and make do …’
‘Do you remember my uniform?’ Silvana asks Janusz, whispering to him in Polish.
He answers her in their mother tongue. ‘Burgundy with gold ribbons on the sleeves. You looked wonderful in it.’
‘The uniforms were much better in Poland.’
Janusz is quiet for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I think you are right.’
‘So you had cinemas all over Poland?’ Doris asks.
‘Everywhere,’ says Janusz. ‘Much bigger than this one.’
Silvana is grateful to him for defending her memories. She can’t stand the way the English think everything they have is bigger and better. If you listened to Doris, you’d think wild bears ran through the ruined streets of Europe.
The moment the red curtains part and the screen comes to life, Silvana is entranced. The story is simple. Fred and Ginger are in love. Anyone can see it – except for them. Every word that falls from their lips is the wrong one, and they argue their way through the first two-thirds of the film. Finally, just when it seems they have really lost each other, the right words come to them and the truth tumbles out.
‘I love you,’ says Fred Astaire. ‘Despite everything.’
‘I love you too,’ Ginger Rogers replies.
And they never lose sight of each other again.
‘Beautiful,’ whispers Silvana as the credits roll. ‘Just beautiful.’
By the time they are walking back home, up the hill to Britannia Road, Silvana’s new shoes have given her blisters. Doris and Gilbert are up ahead, Gilbert complaining about the pubs shutting
early and not getting a drink, Doris talking about sponge cakes and whether her grandmother’s recipe is better than Gilbert’s mother’s.
Silvana stops walking. She takes her shoes off and feels the pavement wet under her feet.
Janusz takes her shoes from her. ‘Did you enjoy the film?’
‘I loved it. It’s been so long since I last went to the cinema. Fred and Ginger are wonderful together.’
‘Wonderful. And what about us?’
‘Us?’
‘Silvana, why don’t we try for a baby? It would be good for Aurek to have a brother or a sister.’
She tries to think of something to say, but all she can think of is the impossibility of having another child.
‘Look,’ he says. ‘I went to see the doctor … I went to ask him about … about us. I know you’re not happy. You hardly let me touch you these days, and the thing is, the doctor thought that what would do you good – what might make you happier – is another child. I told him I agreed. Another child would be right for all of us.’
Silvana can see Janusz is waiting for a response, his face lit by the streetlamps.
‘I have blisters,’ she says.
Janusz hands her back her shoes. ‘Is that all you have to say?’
‘Yes.’
He turns his back on her and walks on. She hurries behind him.
‘I’m sorry. Give me more time. Aurek is still so young.’
‘He’s nearly nine. He needs a brother.’
‘But we can’t afford another child.’
‘We can if I get this job as foreman.’
‘Isn’t Aurek enough for us both?’
‘So you don’t want to try?’
Silvana shakes her head. The thought of another child terrifies her. She mustn’t have one. She doesn’t deserve one. And how can he ask this of her when he loved another woman – indeed, might still love her?
Janusz shoves his hands in his pockets and hurries his step. She watches him catch up with Doris and Gilbert and begin a discussion about the film. The moment is over. Silvana has ruined it. She walks behind them, her shoes in her hand. She’d like to return to the darkened cinema. To sink into a velvet seat and lose herself again in the film’s plot.
‘Are you coming?’ calls Doris. ‘Only I want to get home before it rains.’
Silvana looks at Doris, Gilbert and Janusz waiting for her, their breath misting in the night air.
‘Of course,’ she replies, and quickens her pace, the feel of the cobblestones under her bare feet cold and wet.
Aurek is asleep by the fire when they get back, Peter curled up in the armchair and Tony reading.
‘Hello,’ he says, putting down his book. ‘Had a good time?’
Silvana stands dejectedly behind Janusz. Her stockings have holes in the toes and one of the blisters on her heel is weeping.
‘Very nice,’ she says. ‘I’ll just put Aurek to bed.’
‘No.’ Janusz bends down and takes the sleeping boy in his arms. ‘I can do it.’
Silvana’s heart splinters slightly at the sight of him holding the boy. She watches him carrying Aurek out of the room, the way he presses his cheek tenderly against the child’s face.
‘So, have you forgiven me?’ Tony asks her. He crosses the room and shuts the door quietly.
‘Forgiven you?’ Now she is alone with him, Silvana can feel her heart beating too fast. She was so sure she wouldn’t weaken like this, but the nearness of him is overwhelming.
‘For not seeing you. I’ve missed you. I tried to stay away. I didn’t want to complicate your life. Will you meet me?’ He steps closer to her. ‘When you get Aurek from school? Meet me in the park? I have to talk to you.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Silvana, I need to see you. I can’t pretend any more.’
Silvana is desperate to escape his gaze. She can feel it slipping over her hair, across the bodice of her dress. I am a housewife, she wants to tell him. Not a character in a film.
‘This is impossible. Peter is in the room.’
‘He’s asleep. Next week,’ he says. ‘Tuesday. I’ll be at the school gates. Will you come?’
She doesn’t get a chance to answer. The door swings open and they both look towards it.
‘Can I get you something to drink, Tony?’ says Janusz, coming back into the room. ‘A cup of tea? Or wine or sherry?’
Standing between the two men, Silvana can feel the heat of Janusz’s controlled displeasure towards her.
‘A nightcap,’ says Tony, who acts as though he is completely unaware of the cold wind that has just blown in with Janusz. ‘What a good idea.’
There they all are, Tony talking with his hands, gesturing to an imaginary audience; Janusz holding his hands firmly behind his back, speaking of work and the weather; Silvana turning a blank gaze towards the fire, the mantelpiece, the door, the sleeping form of Peter by the hearth, the area just above Tony’s right shoulder, the crease in his elbow. The corner cupboard behind his head.
‘I was just asking Silvana if you would like to take the boys to the woods after school next week,’ says Tony.
‘I don’t think we have time,’ Silvana says, trying to sound calm.
‘Well, if you do, I’d be delighted to meet up with you all on Tuesday.’
‘I don’t know if I can make it,’ says Janusz. ‘I’ll try, but we’re changing hours at work at the moment. I may be on nights again.’
‘Oh well, we can wait until you’re free, Jan.’
‘No, don’t wait for me. I’m trying to get in as much overtime as they’ll let me at the moment. I’m hoping for a promotion, in fact. But Silvana can go with Aurek. I know Aurek’s missed having Peter to play with. Silvana?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps. Please excuse me,’ Silvana says, rubbing her eyes. ‘I am tired. I think I’ll go up to bed.’
‘So I’ll see you and Aurek on Tuesday?’
Janusz and Tony are both looking at her.
‘Not next week,’ she says. ‘Perhaps another time, when Janusz is not working.’
She slips out of the door and hurries up the stairs, deciding she will sleep in Aurek’s bed tonight.
When she brushes her teeth and washes her face, she tries not to look at herself in the mirror. She doesn’t use her jar of cold cream. Her face can feel dry and sore. And she won’t brush her hair out tonight. Satisfied with the small punishments she metes out to herself, she takes off her new dress and lays it carefully on the chair in her bedroom, smoothing the fabric with her hand. The dress means no harm, after all. And it is new. It carries nothing inside it but the possible beginnings of her downfall.
She goes into Aurek’s bedroom and climbs into his bed. She waits for sleep to take her. No dreams of Poland, she thinks. Please, no dreams of planes and snow and the sound of children crying tonight. Aurek stirs in his sleep, throwing an arm around her, his skin hot against her neck.
Her intentions have always been clear to her. To give Aurek a father. If the boy is safe, she is safe.
‘I’ve got you, my darling,’ she whispers to Aurek, and she knows it is he who holds her. In the rough seas she feels she is floating in right now, it is the boy who is the life raft. Try as she might, she cannot lose this image. This floating in dark waters. But it is not her watery thoughts that bother her; it is the knowing that as surely as the boy holds her up, he is also pulling her under.
Poland
Silvana
Silvana woke to find an old man grinding snow into her chest. It was such a ridiculous sight she closed her eyes again, but still he went on, pushing and pummelling her until she couldn’t ignore him. She had snow in her mouth, and as she woke again she thought of the boy and tried to speak, to ask the man where her son was, but words wouldn’t come.
The next time she opened her eyes, Aurek was bundled onto her chest. She wasn’t lying on the red chaise longue but on a pile of logs on a sledge, a goatskin wrapped around her and the boy, being dragged through the fore
st.
They arrived at a cottage, where a dog barked and two women stood watching them. Silvana tried to focus, to see who they were, but she kept drifting into a light sleep. She saw one of the women bend towards her and Aurek being taken from her. Then she was picked up herself and carried into the cottage, where she was laid on the table, her clothes stripped from her.
‘Mama,’ said one of the women. ‘Maybe we should get them by the fire? She’s like a wet stone.’
‘No, too much heat’s bad for them. Antek, keep rubbing the boy with that towel, especially the skin that’s gone yellow. We’ve got to get them warm from the inside.’
Silvana heard them talking as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Had she been lucky? she wondered. Should they both have died? Or was it the boy’s luck that had saved them? She shut her eyes. Her head burned and her body felt like dough, but her heart filled with love for the child.
They were poor peasants, these people who had saved Silvana and Aurek’s lives, their clothes no better than rags. Several times when Silvana woke from the deep sleep she kept falling into for the first few days, she thought she was at her parents’ home again, her mother standing over her.
The woodsman was delighted by his rescue. He looked in on them each day as they began to recover. He was called Antek, and his wife, a smaller, sober version of Silvana’s own mother, was named Ela.
Ela stood crookedly, shaped by her meagre life like a tree shaped by the wind. When she walked she carried her head low, her back bent like a shelf for the snow to settle upon. She complained of stomach pains and drank bottles of medicine the colour of charcoal.
They had just one daughter, a stocky young woman called Marysia.
‘There are soldiers in the village, an hour’s walk along the river,’ Ela said as she sat massaging Silvana’s legs with goose fat. ‘You should stay close to the house.’
‘Germans?’ Silvana asked. She had been at the cottage for a couple of weeks and was just beginning to feel strong enough to take notice of where she was.
‘A few hundred of them. We have no problems with them.’
22 Britannia Road Page 20
