The Two Hearts of Eliza Bloom

by Beth Miller

  Snow White. My grandfather got taken to this when it came into the cinemas in the 1930s, he was about four, and he screamed so much his mum had to take him out. Scary. Also, rosy lips.

  Singin’ in the Rain. It’s a musical but I’m giving it a pass because it’s so funny and it has great dancing. You may fall in love with Gene Kelly.

  Some Like It Hot. Probably my favourite film. Even you must have heard of Marilyn Monroe? There’s a reason she was so famous and you can see why here. Really funny but also dark.

  Citizen Kane. Total classic, on every top ten list there’s ever been. (Secretly, I’m not sure I love it, but it’s very impressive, esp when you know that Orson Welles was only twenty-five when he made it. What have I been doing with my life?)

  Roman Holiday. Audrey Hepburn was my first love. You are prettier, though.

  Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Two total divas acting each other off the screen. Camp classic.

  The Godfather. Parts 1 and 2, not 3. Epic, amazing. You will learn loads about the mafia, crossing off a section on the modern history list. Plus, Brando.

  The Princess Bride. Bit left-field but something about your sense of humour makes me think you’ll like this.

  Sophie’s Choice. Traumatic, intense. The first film I ever saw about the Holocaust, and I’m not sure I ever got over it. I’ll be interested in your take.

  Star Wars. Everyone I know likes it. Leaves me cold, but it’s a significant cultural thing so you ought to see it.

  Crocodile Dundee. This is just sheer fun to watch. And it’s a kind of fish-out-of-water thing, which might appeal, given the circumstances.

  Casablanca. One of the greats. Bogart and the incomparable Ingrid Bergman. All the most famous lines from movies are in this film, including ‘the usual suspects’.

  The Usual Suspects. I fell for this hard when I saw it. Clever, twisty, great actors.

  Apocalypse Now. One of the greatest ever films. You’ll like the backstory about what a nightmare it was to make. Also, crosses off Vietnam War from the history list. And Brando again.

  Chinatown – Gotta have a crime movie in there, and there’s none better. Shocking at the time, still grips now.

  Eight

  December 1999

  Today I celebrated Christmas in a Christian house. I couldn’t wait till Alex and I were home again, so I could write and tell Deborah. She was always fascinated by Christmas, right from when we were little. You couldn’t hide from it, even in our area.

  ‘Trees indoors, oy!’ she would say. ‘Meshuggeners going crazy in the shops.’

  She would have loved to have seen me at Alex’s brother’s. Well, other than hating that I was with Alex, and at his brother’s.

  Alex always spoke so fondly and proudly of his brother Kim that I felt terribly nervous about meeting him. I wondered if he would approve of me. But he was lovely from the start. We arrived at his house this morning, and when he opened the door, he was beaming from ear to ear.

  ‘Ah ha! The woman who tamed Alexander Symons!’ He made no attempt to hug or kiss me, which I assumed Alex had warned him about; he just smiled at me, before throwing his arms round Alex, and hugging him so vigorously that I took a step back. But that was as exuberant as he got, I discovered. Kim was a toned-down version of Alex: the same dark hair and blue eyes, but not as head-turningly handsome; the same ready smile but hesitant where Alex’s was confident; quieter all round.

  The house was cosy and glittery with Christmas. Kim’s sweet baby Holly even seemed to be named for the holiday. She toddled up to us on her plump little legs, and Alex sat on the sofa and pulled her on to his lap.

  They had an indoor tree, covered in sparkles – Deb would have been in heaven. Tinsel hung from every surface, decorations dripped from the ceilings. When Kim’s wife came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea-towel, and she was covered in sparkles too, I felt quite dazzled.

  ‘Ah, here’s Vicky,’ Kim said, jumping up.

  ‘Every year I ask myself, why do I fucking do it?’ Vicky said. It didn’t seem that she was addressing anyone in particular, but she was looking at me, so I said, ‘I don’t know.’

  She didn’t acknowledge me. ‘Gorgeous to see you as ever, Ally-boy,’ she said, and reached across Holly to kiss him on the cheek, very near his mouth.

  ‘Vick,’ Kim said, ‘this is Alex’s fiancée, Eliza.’

  ‘You’ve done well,’ Vicky said to me, smiling with all her teeth. ‘He never wanted to marry any of the hundred others he’s brought round.’

  ‘Vicky!’ Kim said.

  ‘What? I’m giving the girl a compliment, aren’t I?’ She turned to Alex. ‘Yes, very pretty, Ally. Well done. Loving her retro blouse. Your mother rang,’ she continued, addressing both brothers, ‘and she couldn’t start the car but it’s all right now. Why she had to phone to tell me that when I’m in the middle of basting the fucking potatoes, I have literally no idea.’

  ‘Mama!’ Holly said, from Alex’s lap. She held up her arms towards her mother.

  ‘I’m busy, Holly,’ Vicky said. ‘Ask Daddy.’ She turned and went back into the kitchen.

  There was an awkward pause. ‘Sorry about that,’ Kim said. ‘She finds Christmas a bit stressful.’ He picked up Holly and took her into the kitchen; almost immediately we could hear raised voices.

  ‘So, now you’ve met Vicky,’ Alex said, and laughed. He seemed unbothered, so I acted like I was too, but I was actually wondering what the hell I was doing, meeting the brother, the sister-in-law and the mother all in one go.

  ‘I must really love Alex,’ I said in my head to Deborah, and imagined her laughing at me. ‘Trust you to do something so mad,’ she was saying. ‘Only you, Aliza, only you.’ I knew she wouldn’t be so forgiving in reality, but it gave me strength to think of her.

  ‘Is my blouse so terrible?’ I asked Alex. It was one of my burqa blouses, it being too cold for one of the new short-sleeved ones.

  ‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, which didn’t answer the question. I thought about Vicky kissing him, and about the hundreds of other women he’d brought here.

  Kim and Vicky reappeared. He was carrying Holly and a bottle of wine, and Vicky was holding four glasses.

  ‘Kim says I was rude,’ Vicky said, without preamble. ‘Sorry about that. But you’ll have to take me as you find, I’m afraid.’

  I didn’t know how to answer, but they all seemed to be waiting for me to speak. I said, ‘Your dress is very pretty,’ trying to imagine Deborah’s reaction to it. It was made of red sequins, rather like the one Alex had held up in the shop for a joke. The neckline was ‘way down low’, low enough to see the top of Vicky’s lacy bra, which was purple. She looked like one of the women Deborah and I giggled over whenever we were out and about in Hackney, the ones who walked round constantly tugging down their skirts.

  ‘Festive, isn’t it?’ Vicky said. ‘We like to dress up for Christmas.’

  The ‘we’ very much left me, in my non-Christian plain blouse and skirt, out in the cold.

  Alex frowned at her, thinking I couldn’t see him frowning at her. I honestly didn’t think I could feel any more uncomfortable, but there it was: I did.

  ‘Well, duh,’ Deb-in-my-head said, ‘how were you going to feel anything other than out of place, Crazy Kid?’ Of course, she was right. It was Christmas Day, birth of the Baby Jesus. What was I doing here?

  Kim handed me a glass of wine, accompanied by a small, ‘I’m sorry’ smile.

  ‘She probably doesn’t drink,’ Vicky said. She sat next to Alex and pushed her bosom out so that he either had to let it touch his arm, or move along the sofa. He moved along the sofa, closer to me, but she moved as well. Pretty soon the three of us were squashed together at one end. Planning how I’d describe this later to Deborah was the only thing keeping me going. Then I thought: But Deborah isn’t my friend any more. I took a big sip of wine.

  Deborah was born seven weeks before me, and always liked to remind me that she was o
lder. She lived two doors down, our mothers were best friends, and she was like an extra sister. Not that I needed another one, but she understood me in a way that none of my siblings did, not till Dov came along, anyway. When Deborah married Michael, she and I actually became related – Michael’s sister, Esther, was already married to my eldest brother Uri, meaning Deb and I now shared Esther as a sister-in-law. I don’t know what that made us in terms of our relationship, but we liked that we were more than just friends.

  Deb was lucky in her marriage; she fell madly in love with only the second man she was introduced to, and she and Michael Lived Happily Ever After. Deb didn’t seem to realise that not everyone got so lucky.

  ‘What was wrong with that one?’ she’d say, when I turned down another possible match, and I’d explain about not seeing eye to eye, or there being no warmth. ‘Ha, warmth you can get from central heating,’ she said, but she was being disingenuous. She and Michael adored each other.

  ‘Alcohol is a central feature of Judaism, Vicky,’ Alex said, practically sitting on my lap in his attempt to get away from Vicky’s roving chest. ‘In fact in one festival, Purim, the adults are expected to get drunk.’ He had clearly been mugging up on my list, the only one I’d written in the Re-Education book so far, which was about Jewish festivals. He put his arm round me, making me jump, of course. My wine splashed slightly out of the glass, and Vicky’s eyes followed its trajectory.

  ‘I’ll get a cloth,’ she said, and shimmied out to the kitchen.

  ‘Christ, Kimbo,’ Alex said quietly. ‘What the fuck’s up with her?’

  Kim shook his head. ‘She’s already had more than her share of alcohol, without the excuse of Judaism.’

  ‘Eliza’s feeling bloody awkward enough,’ Alex said. ‘I’m about ready to take her home.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not all right.’ Kim looked at me. ‘I’m really sorry, Eliza. She’s so anxious about getting everything right.’

  ‘We don’t care about everything being right,’ Alex said. ‘We only want to feel welcome.’

  ‘You are, man, you know that. You both are.’

  Kim sat next to Alex and the brothers hugged. Then Alex pulled me into their embrace, saying, ‘Don’t jump, now.’ I felt Kim’s unfamiliar hand rest tentatively on my shoulder, Alex holding me tight. Then Vicky came in and said, ‘Oh how cute, a seasonal orgy,’ and we broke apart.

  25 December 1999

  Dear Deborah

  It’s late and I think Alex is already asleep in the spare room, but I wanted to tell you that today I had Christmas dinner. I imagine that’s not a sentence you ever thought you’d hear from me.

  I met Alex and Kim’s mother, Sheila, and she was very kind. I wish she’d arrived earlier as Vicky (Kim’s wife, she doesn’t like me) was a bit more pleasant once she was in the house. Sheila took care to include me in everything. I can see where the boys get their gentleness from. She’s not particularly religious, Alex says, just Church of England, but it must still be weird for your son to suddenly marry a Jewish girl. On the other hand, I am definitely nicer than Vicky.

  Vicky made a fuss about me not eating turkey. ‘Jews can eat turkey,’ she said, ‘it’s not pig, right?’ I started to explain about the difference between kosher and non-kosher meat, but when Vicky rolled her eyes I gave up. I ate a potato, even though I suspected it had been cooked in meat juices, and I tried Brussel sprouts, which aren’t all that nice.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Vicky said, as I passed round a heavy jug without taking any, ‘There’s something wrong with my gravy.’ I’d drunk three glasses of wine, Deb, so I wasn’t at my most diplomatic. I said, ‘I’m sure it’s delicious gravy, Vicky, but I’m not used to such riches.’ Kim laughed, bless him.

  Alex is the good-looking brother. I know you haven’t seen him, so you’ll have to take my word for it. He’s tall, more than six feet. Remember that one boy I was introduced to, who said I’d have to wear flat shoes when we got married? Ha ha, when we get married, I liked that! Alex is dark, his hair in fact is the same nearly-black colour as mine, but his eyes are an extraordinary blue, almost royal blue. His grandfather on his father’s side was Italian, which explains his olive colouring. His father died several years ago, incidentally. Kim is shorter than Alex, a bit podgy, and his face is covered by hair and glasses. He has masses of black curly hair and a huge bushy black beard and the biggest, thickest specs you have ever seen. I told him he wouldn’t look out of place in Stamford Hill, with that beard. He thought that was funny.

  I miss everyone so much. I miss Zaida, and Dov, and Mum, and most of all I miss you.

  Miss you.

  Love,

  Your Friend Who Ran Away But Is Still Your Friend,

  Aliza xxx

  Nine

  27 December 1999

  Alex offered to come but I said I wanted to go alone, that it wasn’t the sort of thing a man should get involved with. And, I said, making more of a case, I hadn’t been anywhere on my own yet, since I moved here, and I needed to start finding my own way around. He said he completely understood.

  But the truth is, I didn’t want a repeat of the shopping experience from before Christmas. It felt too pressurising with him there, trying to persuade me to buy the sort of clothes I wasn’t ready for. I still saw that unspeakable image of my backside in trousers whenever I closed my eyes.

  The person I really wanted with me, of course, was Deborah. She’d helped me choose the other wedding dress. She was so funny about all the ones I tried on. I spent almost the whole day laughing. Then she stopped being funny when I came out in the dress I eventually chose, the ivory one with the little pearl buttons. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you look beautiful.’ Deb never normally said things like that.

  I wasn’t yet feeling confident enough to travel into the West End on my own, so I went to a boutique on Brixton high street, not far from Alex’s flat. I didn’t have anything in mind, other than I wanted it to be as different as possible from the first dress. I wondered what had happened to it. Perhaps my father would be able to get some of the money back.

  The boutique was empty, and the lady left me alone, which was what I needed. I saw several nice things, but then I noticed a long dress of red silk, and knew I had to have that one. Even thinking about choosing something red made my skin prickle. It was another defiant act, though my father would never know about it. I put it on, and stared at myself in the changing room mirror. I could scarcely believe it was me, wearing that forbidden colour. My heart beat so hard I could have been running.

  31 December 1999

  Dear Deborah,

  I don’t know if you’ll read this, Deb, or if it will go in the bin. Please read it. Please read the others I’ve sent. Please write back.

  This afternoon I went to a pub! And met some of Alex’s friends! And they all kissed me on both cheeks! I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to get used to all this.

  We’re going out again in a minute, to the park, to watch fireworks. I’m scared of how noisy it will be, but excited too. And tomorrow I get married. I’m scared of that, but excited too. Scared and excited (and somewhat confused) is the way I am negotiating everything in the Real World.

  My whole life, I always assumed that when I got married I’d have you to talk to about it, my wise friend, and that Zaida would be there, and Dov and Gila, of course. I don’t have any of you, and yes, I know that’s my fault, I can see exactly what expression you’re wearing as you read this (I hope you’re reading this), I know I’m the only one to blame. But.

  But I wish you were here.

  This is now the longest we haven’t spoken since, well, since we met, I think.

  Love,

  Your Friend Who Ran Away But Is Still Your Friend,

  Aliza xxx

  PS Happy New Year, as they say round here. Happy New Millennium.

  Ten

  December 1999

  I held the thin metal stick carefully, and Alex pu
t a match to the top of it. Nothing happened for several seconds, then it flashed into life, fizzing and firing all over the place. It was so alarming I nearly dropped it, but it was also startlingly pretty. Alex lit one for himself from mine, and showed me how to make patterns in the sky. He drew a bright white heart, over and over, then wrote my name. I tried to write his but didn’t move it fast enough. Then we turned them round and round, making overlapping circles.

  I thought that, in a way, I was like that sparkler. I was dormant, unlit. Then I met Alex, and I burst into life, sparks shooting off everywhere as if someone had thrown a box of sequins into the air.

  All too soon, the sparklers sputtered and went out. We dropped them on the ground, and Alex put his arm round me as we walked up the road to Brockwell Park. It was freezing, and I was glad for my old wool coat, which went down to my ankles. When we reached the main road there were lots of other couples like us, heading in the same direction, our breaths making patches in the dark sky.

  Tinsel, sequins, sparklers, and now fireworks. The Real World continued to be a very glittery place. In the park we stood in the middle of the crowd and gazed up at the sky at the most incredible light show. All around me people were wincing at the louder bangs, and a few children wore protectors over their ears. But I loved the noise, and the shouts, and the people. It was so quiet being with Alex in his flat. I loved it there, of course I did, but I was used to living in a house with lots of people, and I was surprised how much I missed the clamour and activity.

  I felt Alex’s eyes on me, watching my reactions to the display. The fireworks were beautiful. I’d never seen anything like them, and I gasped along with everyone else. It was an important date out here, the last day of a century, 2,000 years since Jesus was born. Back home, it was 5760, and not a special date at all. I wondered what they were all doing there.