Magda's Daughter (25 page)

‘And was there space?'

‘Yes.'

‘So you went back and argued with him?'

‘As Josef reminded me, I'm in no position to argue. My uncle is paying to have my mother's name added, not me, so I have no right to dictate the inscription. And, now people know there are two Helena Janeks, it might look odd …'

Ned leaned on the rail. Helena looked so forlorn sitting on the landing surrounded by photographs that his anger faded, but not the jealousy that had given rise to it. ‘It might,' he agreed.

‘I feel that in bringing my mother's ashes here to be buried, I have returned her to her Polish family.'

‘I thought that was the point of the trip.'

‘I didn't realise that I would lose her all over again,' she murmured.

‘Was it that realisation that made you turn to Josef?'

‘Pardon?'

‘I saw you in his arms.'

‘In his arms? I don't understand … I was upset. He …'

‘I saw what he was doing.' Ned pulled the heavy key from his pocket, reached over her and unlocked the door to their room.

‘Ned, you're being ridiculous.'

‘Am I?' he asked coldly.

‘Of course you are. There's nothing between Josef and me.'

‘I'm glad to hear it.'

‘Sarcasm –'

‘I'm not being sarcastic.' Suddenly weary of arguing with her, he changed the subject. ‘It's lunch-time. Anna has made an enormous pot of what looks like spinach soup. It's on the outside table.'

Helena gathered the photographs together and returned them to the box. ‘I'm not hungry.'

‘You look as though you should be in bed.'

‘I'm going for another walk. This is my mother's home village. Who knows when, if ever, I'll return? I'd like to explore. I haven't even taken any photographs yet. I'd like some reminders of the square, the church and the Niklas farmhouse.'

‘I'd wait until you've spoken to your uncle before taking any there, if I were you.' Ned stepped past her, went into the room and opened the window. ‘It's stuffy in here.'

She rose to her feet and joined him, dropping her cardigan on the chair.

‘Can I come with you?' he said eventually, trying to make amends.

‘If you want to.' She shrugged.

‘Helena, are you all right?'

She wanted to scream that of course she wasn't all right. Would never be right again. That she couldn't bear being cold-shouldered by her mother's brother, or thinking such dreadful things about her mother, but most of all she couldn't bear that he was talking to her as if she were one of his patients.

‘Helena –'

‘I'm fine.' She straightened her T-shirt and hitched her duffle bag higher on her shoulder. ‘If you want to come, let's go.'

Yet again, Ned felt that Helena was shutting him out. When she bothered to reply to his attempts at conversation she did so in monosyllables. She ignored all his suggestions about composition when she took photographs of the square and churchyard. Afterwards, and only at his prompting, they walked out to the lake where she finished one film and put another in her camera.

They returned to the bar, ate dinner at the table in the courtyard with Josef, and then went to their room. She unpacked the black suit and blouse she had brought with her, hung them up and checked that her low-heeled court shoes – the only shoes she had brought with her aside from her canvas running shoes – were clean. Then, just as she'd done the night before, she went to bed before Ned and turned her face to the wall.

Knowing he wouldn't get any more conversation out of her that night, Ned checked his own clothes, then sat in one of the chairs and read his James Bond book. But when he climbed into the second bed an hour later, he knew she was as wide awake as he was.

Recalling what Josef had said about the market in the square opening at six o'clock, Helena set her travelling alarm clock for five, but she was awake at half past four. Light was already shining through the thin cotton curtains when she slipped out of bed, switched off the alarm, and picked up clean underclothes and the jeans and T-shirt she had worn the day before. She wrapped her robe around her nightdress and went down to the wash-house.

The local farmers were laying their wares out on trestles when she wandered into the square half an hour later. There were only a dozen traders, and their efforts were amateurish compared to the stall-holders of the colourful twice-weekly markets in Pontypridd. The only produce on offer was home-made or grown: cheese, butter, eggs, sweet and sour cream, and yoghurt on the two dairy stalls; cured sausages and salamis on the meat stall, but no fresh meat; and mounds of potatoes, carrots, cabbages, turnips, swedes, spinach, kohlrabi, tomatoes and lettuces on the eight vegetable stalls. Another stall offered cloudy bottles of homeopathic remedies labelled as cure-alls for animals and humans, neatly arranged in rows next to a mess of fuses, electrical wires, sockets, rusting tools and bits of metal she couldn't identify. Nothing looked as though it had travelled more than a kilometre or two from beyond the village.

She found what she wanted on the last stall she looked at. Next to a few dozen bunches of radishes, mint and strings of garlic lay ten short-stemmed cream roses. As they were the only flowers she had seen, she paid the old woman manning the stall her asking price, and watched while she wrapped them in a sheet of damp newspaper.

‘You will make it difficult for the rest of us, buying without bartering. You could have got those for half the price.'

Taken aback by the venom in the reprimand, Helena glanced over her shoulder to see Anna staring at her. ‘As they were the only flowers here I thought I'd better grab them before someone else snapped them up,' she retorted.

‘Only rich Westerners have money to spare for flowers.' Anna examined the potatoes on the next stall. After checking them for firmness, she ignored Helena and barked her order to the man behind the counter.

‘Is this the foreigner everyone is talking about, Anna?' the stall­holder asked as he weighed out the potatoes.

The landlady shrugged dismissively. ‘People round here have nothing to talk about except the price of carrots – and you're asking too much for these.'

‘Everyone?' Helena echoed in surprise.

‘You don't know you're famous?' It was Josef. He pushed his way between her and Anna. ‘Westerners are rarer than hens that lay golden eggs in this part of Poland.'

‘Her Polish is good,' the stall-holder commented.

‘My mother taught me.' Helena answered him directly.

‘And your mother was Magdalena Janek?'

‘She was.' Helena began to realise just how much gossip her appearance in the village had given rise to. ‘Did you know her?'

‘I remember her, but not well. I was a child when she left, but not as young as Josef here.' He slapped him on the back. ‘But my mother knew her. We will all be at the church at nine o'clock to see her laid to rest.'

‘All?' Helena looked at Josef.

‘Everyone who knew your mother will be there, and probably everyone who has been born since. It's the Polish way. We laugh, cry, celebrate and mourn together.' He picked up the sacks of potatoes and carrots that Anna had bought. ‘I'll take these back for you, Anna, and return for whatever else you buy.'

‘I won't be buying much more, certainly not more than I can carry.' Anna counted her change and put it into her purse. ‘When you've carried those sacks down to the cellar you can lay breakfast for Helena and Ned in the courtyard.'

‘What it is to be worked like a slave,' Josef joked before falling into step alongside Helena. ‘Are you going back to the house?'

‘Yes.'

He looked over his shoulder. ‘It's not much of a market to a Pole; it must seem even less to a Westerner.'

She searched for something to say that wouldn't sound patronizing. ‘It's a typical local farmers' market.'

‘You have one like it in your home town?'

‘No, because the town I grew up in is much larger than this village and well-known for its market, which sells everything people want, as well as things that they don't.' A woman bumped into her, jarring her duffle bag. She lifted it from her shoulder, set the flowers on top, wrapped her arms protectively around it and carried it in front of her.

‘I visited Wiktor yesterday evening. He chose a well-known Polish hymn for the service, “Swi ta Milosc Kochanej OjczyznyË®. Which roughly translates as –'

‘“Sacred Love of the Beloved Homeland,Ë®' Helena interrupted.

‘It was one of my mother's favourites. It is also very fitting.'

‘I'm glad you consider it appropriate. He asked me to keep the service short. I hope you approve.'

‘Given the way that my uncle has taken over the organisation of my mother's funeral service, I'm not in a position to approve or disapprove.'

‘This can't be easy for you,' Josef observed.

‘I will be glad when it is over.'

‘And then you and Ned will return to Britain?' he probed.

‘Soon,' she replied vaguely.

‘If you don't have to return until you start teaching in September you should stay a while, explore the countryside and see some of our beautiful cities. Warsaw is grand again now that it is being rebuilt. And the medieval quarter of Gdansk is very atmospheric.'

‘Anything to get me out of the village?' she challenged.

‘This village is small and boring.' He shifted the sack of potatoes on to his shoulder and tightened his grip on the smaller sack of carrots.

‘Only to people who live here. After living in a Welsh town and an English city I find it fascinating. And I have relatives here, which gives me a good reason for wanting to stay.'

‘Another week and you'll be bored witless.' He stopped, an enthusiastic expression on his face. ‘Anna could spare me for a few days; I could apply for a permit, take you around the country and show you the sights.'

‘And Ned?'

‘He could come if you want him to. Although he isn't your husband.'

They both knew it wasn't a question.

‘No,' she confirmed, then changed the subject. ‘Why is my uncle so cold towards me?'

‘You will have to ask him that when you talk to him after the ceremony,' he answered evasively.

They began walking again.

‘But you know why?' she pressed him.

‘Try to put yourself in his position. He has lost his sister twice. Once when she was marched away by the Germans, and now when you have returned her ashes to her birthplace.'

‘Why should I put myself in his position?' she demanded. ‘And why should I consider his feelings when he doesn't care about mine? My mother was the only relative I have ever known. I have just discovered that the man I always thought was my father isn't. And although this is the third day I have spent in the village, I still haven't met my grandmother or my aunt.'

‘They'll be at the graveside.' He spoke softly, in sharp contrast to her heightened tones.

‘Will they?'

They reached the bar, and he dropped both sacks outside the half doors. ‘I spoke to them when I visited the Niklas farm yesterday. They are coming to the ceremony.'

She gripped the comer of the building to steady herself. ‘Has Wiktor told them about me?'

Josef unlocked the shutters that fastened over the saloon half-door and hauled the sacks inside the building. He hesitated before replying. ‘You will have to ask him that, Helena.'

She looked at him for a moment before turning on her heel and walking through the archway.

Ned and Helena were leaving the breakfast table when Josef entered the yard and drew Helena aside.

‘How big is the box containing your mother's ashes?'

‘Why do you want to know?' she asked suspiciously.

Ned wrapped his arm around her waist. The warmth of his hand permeated through Helena's T-shirt, and her first instinct was to shake him off. Then she remembered that in an hour they would be in the churchyard, in full view of everyone in the village, and the last thing she wanted was to cause yet another argument between them before the ceremony.

‘I have to open the grave,' Josef answered.

Helena lifted her duffle bag from her shoulder, opened it, took out her purse, hairbrush and make-up bag, and carefully removed the airtight box.

Josef held out his hands. She hesitated for a second before handing it over.

‘The casket is inside.'

‘A casket, not an urn.' Josef lifted the lid on the plastic box and peered inside.

‘The undertaker in Pontypridd assured me that the wood is the best quality oak. It should last for years.'

‘You would like it to be buried without the outer box?'

‘Please.'

‘Thank you. Now I know what size hole to dig. Do you want me to take it to the churchyard?'

Helena clenched her lips together and fought back the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. ‘No, I will carry it.'

‘The ceremony is due to begin in an hour. Can you bring it to the churchyard in half an hour?'

‘I'll bring it to you as soon as I have changed.'

‘Here.' Josef handed her a length of cream ribbon. ‘I thought you might like this to tie your roses together.'

‘Thank you.' She took it gratefully. ‘Where did you find it?' ‘Anna's old sewing box. I told her it was for you.'

Helena ran her fingers over the smooth satin and thought of Anna's sister, Matylda, the young girl who had been shot almost before she had begun to live her life. ‘I must thank her.'

‘I already have. I'll see you in the churchyard.'

Helena returned her personal items to the duffle bag, clutched the casket to her chest, and ran up the outside staircase.

Josef looked thoughtfully after her. ‘Helena has been carrying the burden of her mother's ashes for so long, it is going to be hard for her to let them go.'