Edie busied herself clearing away the dishes, making more noise than she knew was polite, but she had to rid herself of her fury somehow.
Edie heard whispers and swung around in surprise to see a group of familiar women; at their helm stood Benjamin’s mother, Dena.
‘W–what’s this?’ she stammered.
‘Morning, Eden, darling,’ Dena said, overly brightly. ‘In the absence of our beloved Nina,’ she nodded at Abe politely, as though practising rehearsed lines, ‘I have agreed to be your guardian in the week prior to the marriage ceremony.’
‘What?’ Edie replied dully. ‘The wedding . . . i–it . . .’ She glanced at her father, stammering. ‘I don’t understand.’
The women advanced. There were only three but they were like a trio of fat, black mother hens who gave an impression of the armoured vanguard of an operation that had been set in motion.
‘Edie, last night we sensed some reticence on your part regarding this marriage that has been planned for most of your life. Dear, we know it feels like a big step, but it is the most natural journey in the world for a woman of your age, of your faith, and especially with an ideal man who worships you. Benjamin doesn’t want to wait.’ She beamed her pleasure to everyone, taking in Edie with her scan of the dining room where they now all stood. ‘Ben and your father both agree we should bring the wedding forward.’ Edie had to repeat the word forward in her mind silently. She wanted this to be a joke but no one was smiling . . . no one but Dena, and Edie knew Aunt Dena well enough to sense when she was faking it. ‘Why wait?’ Dena was saying with an obvious shrug. ‘You two precious souls have been joined and promised since birth.’ She tittered, glancing at her sentinels. Edie was sure they were going to pounce on her and truss her up, ready to present to Ben. ‘Samuel and Ben are speaking with the rabbi now about the ketubah – we must get the marriage contract officiated.’
‘Abba?’ Edie moaned, her sense of betrayal escalating. ‘What’s happening?’ He must have used the shop’s telephone, which her father was so proud of, to call the Levis last night; she felt ill at the thought.
‘It’s for the best, daughter,’ he said but his voice was not steady, his mouth trembled as he spoke.
‘Come, Edie, we must prepare you for your wedding.’
‘Prepare? When exactly are you thinking this marriage might take place, Aunt Dena?’ Her mind was filled with dread and even though she’d demanded her question, Edie shook her head as though she didn’t want to hear the answer.
Dena giggled but behind the amusement, aimed to disarm, pressed a fierce determination to have her way. ‘We thought tonight. The Levi family is ready; it has been for years.’ She glanced at Abe. ‘Your father is also ready, child, to hand you over to your husband . . . a very special man.’ Edie was so shocked by Dena’s admission that she had heard nothing more since Dena had uttered the word ‘tonight’. Tonight? It was ridiculous. It was cruel. It was not going to happen. Tom! Where are you? her head and heart screamed.
If Dena saw it, she ignored Edie’s dismay. ‘There is the ritual bathing, and —’ She shook a fat finger. ‘No meeting of your betrothed. Not until tonight, anyway, when the ketubah will be read and the Torah, and we shall witness the joining of our families.’
‘Stop this!’ Edie interrupted.
The three older women gasped and the porridge bubbled angrily behind her. She could feel its heat on the stove and it echoed how she was feeling in this moment – churned up, ready to boil over.
Edie rounded on her father. ‘Abba, what have you done? How could you discuss such a turn of events behind my back? This is between —’
Edie felt the light sting of a slap. Dena had clearly lost patience. It wasn’t hard; it wasn’t even a full-handed, open-palmed swing. It was the sort of tap that a parent might give a wayward child speaking back to them. It didn’t hurt, it barely made a sound, and still Eden gave a choked gasp, inhaling with horror as she understood what had just occurred.
‘Listen to me, Eden Valentine,’ Dena was saying, but Edie wasn’t listening. She didn’t want to hear another word from Mrs Levi, who had just taken a step too far. She glanced at her father with his head hung, and eyed the two silent friends who suddenly looked as uncomfortable as Abe.
Edie wished she could slap Dena Levi right back but her small remaining reserve of patience and respect forced her to clap her hands loudly instead, surprising herself but mostly surprising Dena, whose words died instantly.
‘Dena, be quiet!’ She frightened herself by her outburst and her courage to snap at an elder. ‘Tonight is Shabbat. I would like you and your family to join us for dinner and I am going to have a private conversation with Benjamin and then we are all going to say prayers together, take bread together and sort out this situation. But I can assure you I will not be getting married tonight, certainly not on Shabbat, nor in the immediate future either. You can take your bathing implements back to your house and you can tell Ben and Samuel that no marriage contract will be discussed with any rabbi without my father present and without my sanction. I have rights, Dena, the main one of which is to agree to my wedding . . . which I do not agree to tonight.’
Dena’s mouth was open but her voice silent. Edie’s gaze slid to her father, who nodded once.
He sighed. ‘Dena, my daughter is right. Shame on us. This is an ambush. Although our ancestors might have done such a thing, I cannot. Please come tonight as Edie suggests. We are family. We will sort this out.’
Dena glared at them both. She raised the same forefinger now in threat; bangles jingled at her wrist and she took a step forward so that Edie could count the spidery wrinkles forming at the woman’s lips, making her lipstick bleed slightly into the grooves. ‘Do not,’ she began, in an icy voice, ‘hurt my son.’
Edie swallowed, and could feel a blockage of tension in her throat. ‘I do not wish to hurt Ben.’ She turned away deliberately, leaning against the sink to steady herself, and waited for her father to show their visitors out.
When he returned she was waiting for him, but despite her scrambled thoughts, past experience of intense grief had taught her how to find calm through the greatest storms.
‘Abba,’ she said softly as he arrived, his expression sheepish.
‘I know you’re angry, Edie, I —’
‘No,’ she said, taking a slow breath as she lied, ‘I am not angry. I am disturbed.’
He raised his gaze to meet hers but said nothing.
‘I feel frightened that you would put me into such a position as you did just now.’
Abe sat down heavily in one of the dining-room chairs and held his head. ‘What a mess.’
Her heart hurt for him. She knew he wanted only happiness for them both; in his mind Ben represented that for her – she understood this. Edie quickly moved to reassure him, crouching by him and taking his hands. ‘It needn’t be a mess,’ she said, tears springing, but she refused to let them spill. ‘We just have to be honest.’
‘I only want what’s best for you!’
‘I know, Abba, I know. But Ben is not the one.’
‘Are you sure?’ he pleaded, searching her face. She knew he referred to Tom but couldn’t bring himself to say it.
And she faltered . . . how could anyone be certain about something as capricious as matters of the heart, which she knew so little about anyway? ‘No. But is there any surety in life? All I know is that marrying Ben now is a mistake.’
Abe gave a long sigh of regret. ‘I suggest, child, that you make Benjamin aware of your feelings before you explore those you have for Tom. The Levis do not know about a change of heart . . . towards another. All they know is that I was anxious about your modern thinking and whether your commitment to the marriage this year was still there.’
Edie wanted to wince but surprised herself by seizing her chance. ‘I certainly will,’ she said and watched her father’s expression change to wary.
‘He’s going to break your heart, Edie.’
‘Why?’ she asked with soft exasperation.
Abe shook his head. ‘Intuition.’
‘You’ve been wrong before. He may surprise you.’
‘I cannot change your mind so I must now fall back on my duty as your father. I insist that Tom show me his worth to you. I presume you are not denying me my paternal right to make sure my daughter is well cared for.’
‘I would be upset if you didn’t. But be fair. Give him a chance – that’s all I’m asking.’
He blinked and she saw he was angry with her. ‘Benjamin will return with me from synagogue. Samuel will bring his mother over later. I cannot throw Tom out, but when he returns I will ask him to spend the evening elsewhere.’
At least her father anticipated his return. ‘What do you expect him to do?’
‘I don’t care. He can go amuse himself in a pub again or at the cinema but this is family business and does not include him . . . even if he is a marriage wrecker.’
Edie refused to react to the sting of her father’s words. ‘I shall need money to buy food for our guests tonight.’
‘Buy for five, not six,’ he warned and walked away from her. ‘Take the money from my drawer.’
_______________
Edie escaped into the High Street, her mind scattering with worry for Tom. She didn’t believe her father would send him off with the deliberate intent of becoming disoriented and lost. But she could sense the depth of her father’s disappointment and despair. The thought of losing Edie to a stranger might prompt him to act irrationally. Nothing in his life had gone to plan, and now here she was denying him the one brightness that might bring him happiness in his remaining years.
Edie felt the familiar prick of duty but it was instantly challenged by the memory of last night’s kiss. Tom’s recklessness and physical display of his emotion was seductive beyond all her previous fantasies. She’d caught herself smiling this morning as she’d brushed her hair. Marry me, Edie! he’d implored.
And he’d meant it. Of this she was certain. The curiosity, though, was that she had woken with no doubt in her mind, either – she wanted to say yes. It was laying her open to pain, beginning with her new role as an outcast amongst her community if she did marry a non-Jew. Denying her father of watching his only child marry properly in the faith beneath the gaze of the rabbi would bring shame to their house, plus it would tear apart the two families who had been friends for all of her life. Was she ready to cause such despair?
Yes. She loved Tom. And no amount of soul-searching could change that fact.
Love at first sight. Tom had changed everything and Edie now refused to settle for anything less than this incredible new feeling. Suddenly she didn’t even want to lose sight of Tom, not for a moment. But there was also the notion that if her father’s warnings came to pass and Tom offered her no financial security in her future, she didn’t care because it was enough that Tom was in her future. Just the thought of being able to embrace him each day, kiss him, hear his gentle voice, catch that lovely smile . . . Edie sighed silently as she walked past familiar stores: the cobbler, the tobacconist, the greengrocer. Even though she’d known him only for a few days she’d caught herself studying the minutiae of Tom; liking the angle created by his lowest knuckle on his thumb when he held a mug of tea, listening for that soft way he cleared his throat, observing the neat manner in which he manipulated his spoon while eating his breakfast porridge, or how he worked his knife to butter his toast. And when he was contemplative she noticed that he silently drummed a tune on the table, a wall or his thigh with the middle finger of his right hand. She’d wondered repeatedly at which tune might be in his mind. She wanted to know everything about him but she wanted to know nothing about his past, for there, of course, lurked others . . . perhaps a romantic connection. A man of his looks and charm would hardly be unnoticed by women. No, Edie didn’t want to know a single moment of what had gone before in Tom’s life since he’d taken her hand and she’d led him onto the bus.
And since the kiss she’d been thinking about his hands in an entirely different way, imagining them on her, reaching for her, squeezing her close, holding her tight, touching her —
If her father asked her that question of this morning again – about whether she was sure – she’d say she was . . . one hundred per cent sure. Edie wanted Tom.
And she made a decision then and there, queuing to get into the butcher, with the familiar raw smell leaking out of the carcasses of animals that hung behind the shop counter. If Tom asked her again to marry him, she would say yes, but she had to be certain he hadn’t been carried away in the passion of the moment last night. She would wait for the question to come and it would need to be sincerely asked.
‘Don’t let me down, Tom,’ she murmured and then cast out silently, Come home safely.
She finally stepped into the butcher’s shop, scuffing through the sawdust, and was standing at the marble counter within a couple of minutes.
‘Cold enough for you, Edie?’ Eli was an old friend of the family.
She grinned her answer. ‘Hello, Eli. Is that joint of beef tender?’ She pointed behind him.
‘Yes, my girl,’ he said, reaching over the counter and pinching her cheek, as he had done since she was a child. ‘Just like you. I’ve just butchered that leg. It’s beautiful meat.’
‘I’ll take it, please.’
He nodded, picked up the joint, slapping it into his palm and smoothing the layer of fat on top. ‘Should feed six. Don’t cook it too long, Edie.’
He began wrapping it in large white sheets of paper, then pulled a pencil from behind his ear and totted up something on a small notepad. He twisted it around so she could see the amount and then put a finger to his lips and winked.
Eli was too good to her. She dipped into her purse for the few shillings he was charging her. ‘Are you sure?’ she murmured as she handed over the coins and ration coupons.
He nodded. ‘Of course I’m sure. Your father has done my family many good turns. And meat is at a ridiculous price at the moment.’
She shrugged back and grinned. ‘Thanks, Eli.’
‘My best to Abe.’
She put the beef into her basket and decided she could afford some eggs. She’d noted Tom liked to drink milk, so she considered an extra pint, and perhaps an extra loaf of bread. Then she remembered tea-leaves. That would all tally up to another sixpence. She darted into the bakery and the grocery shop, making conversation with the women alongside her about the weather, what she was cooking tonight, her father’s health . . . the usual topics, while adroitly steering their attention away from her personal life. Out of respect for Shabbat, which demanded no toil be done from sundown, Edie calculated when she must get her beef into the oven before the hour arrived when her father would no longer want her working in the kitchen. Edie mentally ticked off the meal – it would go far if she added some additional vegetables. The potato casserole could cook alongside the beef.
By the time Edie arrived home, put her food away and prepared the meat, it was nearing one p.m., and still there was no sign of Tom. She duly made her father a simple lunch and a pot of tea, which she carried down on a tray into the shop.
‘Ah, you’re back, my love.’
She nodded and pecked him hello. ‘I thought you’d take it down here as you’re busy.’
‘Thank you, child. Are you feeling brighter?’
She nodded, giving him a sad smile. ‘I’m not looking forward to this evening.’
He reached for her hand and kissed it. ‘We shall stick together, us Valentines.’
‘Promise?’ she replied, slightly archly.
He nodded. ‘I couldn’t bear for you to be unhappy when I knew only happiness with your mother.’ Her spirits rose. ‘Two new suit orders today,’ he continued.
‘You see? We’re going to be fine.’ She looked genuinely happy at the news.
‘If I was a younger man I might entertain that idea of Savile Row.’
‘Abba, you
have no intention of opening your shop on Savile Row. I think you’re just too comfortable here.’
Abe sighed. ‘We do all right, don’t we, Edie?’
‘Of course we do. There are so many people in a worse situation than us.’
‘You sound so like your mother.’
She grinned. It was one of his favourite sayings. ‘Do you want me to hem Mr Goldstein’s trousers this afternoon?’
‘Yes, thank you, dear. Will you watch the shop while I drink my tea?’
She shooed him to the back and sat at the counter watching the world go by from the shadows of the shop, looking out of its large front window, getting on with her hemming, but really with an eye on the passers-by, hoping to glimpse Tom. She disappeared to check on her food and to iron a tablecloth, taking pleasure in using the damask in his honour – even if he wasn’t welcome to share the meal with them – before returning to her spot near the window to gaze out and hope to see him arriving home.
There was no sign of Tom by nearly quarter to four and Edie had kept a lid on her panic by ensuring every long minute of the day was as occupied as the previous one. She’d even cleared out a drawer of old cotton reels . . . anything to remain distracted.
She heard the bell on the door jangle but knew it was simply her father seeing Mr Tomlin on his way. Abe reappeared where she was working, brushing lint off two new suits in readiness to show customers on Monday.
‘Well, my child, it is time for Shabbat. I have closed the shop.’
‘You go on up, Abba. I’ll be a minute or so more.’
‘The sun is nearly set, Edie.’
‘I know.’ Normally she might have left it at that but today had heralded a new beginning in Edie’s life, in her attitude. They both knew it. ‘I want to unlock the side door before I come,’ she said. She put the brush away and busied herself as though it was a perfectly feasible notion.
Her father did not turn and leave but regarded her. ‘Edie, maybe this is for the best . . .’ he began.
She would not permit him to say it. ‘I’m sure he will be home shortly. He knows we observe Shabbat,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘And I’ll leave it to you to tell him he is unwelcome at tonight’s dinner table.’
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