Magnolia Square (18 page)

‘To hell with politics, let’s have a sing-song.’ The speaker was Mavis. Her almost white, peroxided blonde hair was piled high, tumbling in curls over her forehead. Her mouth,
fingernails and toenails were all painted a fiery red. Her chiffon blouse was purple, her tight shiny skirt emerald. She looked as gaudy as a South Sea parrot and as life-enhancing as a roaring
fire.

‘Wot about “Cruising Dahn the River”?’ her mother suggested, moving empty glasses out of the way in order to make room for the second round of drinks which Albert was
depositing on the table.

‘What about “We’ll Gather Lilacs in the Spring”?’ Daniel, a romantic at heart, suggested as two of Jack’s mates gave Mavis a lift up on to the bar.

Christina reached for her half-drunk glass of lemonade, her sense of disorientation growing. Didn’t anyone realize what a foreigner she really was? Didn’t anyone realize how
alien
she felt among them all? Albert pushed another lemonade, this time with whisky in it, towards her. Jack turned away from the bar and at last caught her eye, flashing her a wide,
heart-stopping smile. For a brief, joyous moment she thought he was going to join her and then someone shouted across to him, demanding his attention, and the moment was lost.

Her hand tightened around her glass. This noisy, laughter-filled, often bawdy, free-and-easy get-together was the kind of evening everyone else in The Swan had been brought up on. When they had
been youngsters they would have sat on the pub’s doorstep whilst their parents enjoyed a knees-up. Billy and Beryl, and possibly Rose and Daisy, would most likely be sitting on the doorstep
this very moment, enjoying crisps and lemonade and anything else their parents, or parents’ friends, might take out to them. Her childhood evenings had been very different. Friday evenings,
for instance, had meant Shabbas and a special meal to celebrate it. It had meant her grandmother picking up the bread in the light of the candles and breaking it, dipping a piece in the salt and
passing it across the table to her. It had meant dignity and tranquillity and a sense of tight-knit family security.

Unsteadily, she set her glass back on the table. For years and years she had kept the past firmly buried, no longer the Christina Frank who was German and Jewish, but Christina Frank who lived
in south-east London and worked in a south-east London market. The Christina Frank who had fallen in love with a south-east London boy and married him in a south-east London, Anglican church. Her
throat tightened. If she continued secretly allowing her past to encroach on her present in this way, she would lose her reason. She had to share her anxieties and her anguish with Jack. She had to
tell him of the guilt she felt for having turned her back on her religion and her culture; of the even more crushing guilt she felt at having escaped from Germany when so many hundreds of thousands
had failed to do so. She had to tell him of her growing hope that her mother and grandmother had somehow survived and were waiting for her to trace them.

Mavis, ignoring both Miriam’s and Daniel’s requests, had launched into a rip-roaring version of ‘Chatanooga Choo-Choo’. Even Harriet Godfrey, standing contentedly next to
a euphoric Charlie, was singing along. Jack was laughing, motioning her to join him. Out of Army uniform and in a short-sleeved cotton shirt and flannels, he looked like a very useful,
middle-weight boxer, his chest well-muscled, his biceps bulging, his hips narrow. She forced a smile, shaking her head, dark wings of hair falling forward and brushing her cheeks. If she joined him
now, standing beside him as Harriet was standing beside Charlie, and Carrie was standing beside Danny, her inner turmoil would be blatantly obvious. She didn’t want to be with Jack in full
view of all their friends and neighbours. She wanted to be on her own with him. She wanted to be able to share her thoughts and emotions with him and, when she had done so, to have the reassurance
that he understood and sympathized.

It had been impossible to reach such mental and emotional union after their love-making. As they had lain in a sweat-sheened tangle of sheets and pillows, Rose had knocked on the door to
announce that her gran had just made a fresh pot of tea and that it was waiting on the table for them in the kitchen and that Charlie was also in the kitchen, impatient to welcome Jack home. Though
she had hastily dressed and slipped her shoes on and brushed her hair, Jack had only bothered to pull his trousers on before walking downstairs with her to the crowded kitchen. She had wanted to
die with embarrassment, certain she and Jack smelled of sex, positive that everyone present knew they had been making love.

Miriam had poured out mugs of tea, Leah had handed round oven-hot bagels, Charlie had informed Jack that Harriet Godfrey was going to be his stepmother and was miffed to discover that he already
knew. Jack, barefooted and bare-chested, his hair tumbled, had made all the proper noises of congratulation and Charlie had then told them that he and Harriet intended making their marital home at
number two and that when Jack was demobbed they would have number twelve to themselves. More tea had been drunk. More bagels eaten. Nellie Miller had steamed in, wanting to know if Jack had brought
any black-market goodies home with him. Later, Jack’s mates from Catford and Lewisham had begun arriving, and the noise and laughter had grown even louder.

Christina wasn’t sure, but she thought that Carrie knew exactly how she was feeling, and that she thoroughly sympathized with her. Carrie’s marital bedroom was squeezed between
Albert’s and Miriam’s bedroom and Leah’s bedroom and, looking across to where Carrie was leaning against Danny, singing the last notes of ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’,
she wondered how on earth they managed
their
love-life.

The door burst open, and Kate and Leon entered to a storm of greetings.

‘Where’ve you bin, the two of you?’ Charlie demanded, ambling forward to give Kate an avuncular and beery kiss on the cheek. ‘It’s nearly winkle time an’ yer
’aven’t ’ad a drink yet.’

‘Whose goin’ for the winkles?’ Nellie demanded, not missing a trick. ‘’Cos if it’s young Billy, he didn’t put enough vinegar on ’em last time.
Winkles need lots o’ vinegar if they’re to put ’airs on yer chest.’

Kate was wearing a full-skirted, candy-pink-and-white striped dress, her waist cinched by a broad white belt. A white ribbon was twined in her long, thick braid of hair, making her look
positively bridal, and Albert called out jovially, ‘Could you plait my ’orse’s tail like you’ve plaited your ’air, Kate? ’E wouldn’t ’alf look a
bobby-dazzler trottin’ dahn the Old Kent Road with ribbons in ’is tail!’

Kate’s smile was instant. ‘I probably could, Albert,’ she responded, well used to being teased about her childish yet oddly elegant hairstyle, ‘but you’d have to
keep him still while I was doing it.’

‘’E can’t keep ’imself still, let alone his blinkin’ ’orse,’ Miriam said as Albert charged off to give Billy the orders for the winkles. ‘Sit down
’ere, Kate. I think ’Ettie and Daniel are goin’ to do a “Knees up Mother Brown” in a minute.’

Kate squeezed along the banquette next to Christina. ‘Dad’s got some news for you,’ she said in a low voice so that no-one else should hear. ‘A response from the Red
Cross. No real information in it of course, but . . .’

‘Let’s ’ave one of the old songs now, Mavis!’ Daniel demanded. ‘There’s no Yanks boogie-woogie-ing here anymore—’

‘More’s the pity,’ aged Esther Helliwell interrupted from her wheelchair, her sunken cheeks pink with daring.

‘. . . so let’s have “Maybe it’s because I’m a Londoner” or “My Old Man”,’ Daniel persisted doggedly.

‘Is your father in on his own? Would he mind if I had a word with him now?’ Christina’s eyes were bright with urgency.

‘Yes he is, and no, of course he wouldn’t. But there’s really no hurry, Christina. It’s little more than an acknowledgement and—’

Christina was already on her feet. She looked in Jack’s direction, trying to catch his eye, but he was leaning over the bar, ordering another round of drinks.

Mavis, having suitably warmed up with ‘Chatanooga Choo-Choo’, spectacularly ignored Daniel’s request for an old favourite and launched into another newly popular song. Only
later, as she hurried up Magnolia Hill towards the Square, did Christina realize that its title, ‘My Guy’s Come Back’, was, with Jack standing only feet away from her, brazenly
provocative.

Behind her, in The Swan, Miriam’s eyebrows rose nearly into her tightly curled, netted hair. ‘Where’s Christina ’ared off to?’ she demanded. ‘Billy’ll
be back with the winkles in a minute.’

‘She’s gone to have a word with my dad about something,’ Kate said, knowing that if she didn’t suitably satisfy Miriam’s curiosity, Miriam would publicize
Christina’s departure to all and sundry by asking the pub at large if they knew where she had disappeared to. ‘Is that Malcolm Lewis over there, earwigging Daniel? It’s not often
he comes down to The Swan, is it? I always thought scoutmasters were teetotal.’

With his latest order of drinks generously distributed far and wide, Jack turned to catch Christina’s eye. Why she was sitting in the corner like an old biddy, he didn’t for the life
of him know. He wanted her next to him, in the centre of the throng, so that he could stand with his arm proprietorially around her waist, showing her off to all his mates. When he saw her empty
place on the banquette he frowned slightly. Where the devil had she gone? If she’d gone to the Ladies she’d have had to walk right past him and he would have seen her.

Seeing his perplexity, Kate rose hastily to her feet, about to go across and quietly tell him that Christina had slipped out for a few minutes. Miriam saved her the trouble.

‘If you’re looking for your trouble and strife, Jack, she’s gorn to ’ave a word with Kate’s dad,’ she informed him loudly, ‘an’ while I’ve
got yer attention, that last round you bought might ’ave reached everyone else but it didn’t reach this little corner and mine’s a port an’ lemon.’

Carrie, standing with Danny in Jack’s extended circle, groaned with embarrassment. Her mother was always the same when she’d had a couple of drinks. Louder than usual and playfully
aggressive with it. ‘You’ll have to excuse her,’ she said to Jack, more for the benefit of his mates than himself, ‘she thinks she’s still down the market.’

Jack barely heard her. All he was aware of was that Christina had walked out of the pub without even bothering to tell him where she was going, or why.

Kate, seeing his frown deepen, carried out her initial intention and squeezed from behind the corner table, shouldering her way through the crush towards him. ‘It’s all right,
Jack,’ she said a trifle breathlessly as she reached his side. ‘Christina tried to get your attention to let you know she was slipping out for a minute or two, but you were busy
ordering drinks. It’s a grand party, isn’t it? There’s faces here I haven’t seen since I was at school. Is that Archie Cummings with the moustache? I’d heard
he’d been invalided out of the paras. And is—’

‘Why on earth has Christina gone to have a word with your dad?’ Jack asked, not as easily side-tracked as Miriam. ‘It’s not that long since she wouldn’t even wish
him the time of day!’

‘It may not seem a long time to you, Jack, because you’ve been away from home for so long,’ Kate said, understanding why it would seem so incomprehensible to him, ‘but
Christina and my dad have been on speaking terms for ages now.’

‘But what have they got to talk about that’s so urgent?’ Jack persisted, keeping his voice low so that his mates wouldn’t know he was even remotely put out by his
wife’s disappearing act.

His real question, and Kate knew it, was why would Christina go up the Voigt home to speak to Carl Voigt in such peculiar privacy? If they had anything to talk about, why couldn’t it be
talked about in daylight, in the Square or over the Voigts’ garden gate? Kate hesitated, in a dilemma. If Christina had told Jack about her growing certainty that her mother and grandmother
were still alive, and of her decision to try and find them, he would have known why she wanted to talk in private with the only other German resident in Magnolia Square. That he didn’t,
indicated that she hadn’t yet told him, and it was a subject too personal and too close to Christina’s heart for her to be the one to break the news.

Awkwardly, she said, ‘I’m not sure, Jack. I think it’s something she thinks Dad can help her with, him being German.’

Jack’s perplexity turned to downright incredulity. Christina couldn’t bear to even hear the word ‘Germany’, and he didn’t blame her. If there was one thing there
was no room for in their lives, it was reminders of the hell she had left behind her when she had escaped to England. ‘I think someone’s been spinning you a line, Kate,’ he said,
his hazel eyes dark, his thumbs tucked into his belt loops, his body tense. ‘With all due respect, Christina wants no reminders, in any way shape or form, of Germans or Germany.’

Kate’s unhappiness increased. She could hardly tell Jack he was wrong, without also telling him
why
he was wrong.

‘Come on, Jack!’ Mavis exhorted, reaching out and ruffling his hair from her vantage position perched on the bar. ‘Stop lookin’ as if you’ve lost a tanner and found
a penny! Get up ’ere with me and let’s get a proper singsong goin’.’

‘Who’s the blackie?’ one of Jack’s mates asked him as, with athletic ease, he did as she suggested. ‘Is he a Yank?’

‘No,’ Jack responded swiftly before Kate could draw breath, adding as he settled himself comfortably on the bar top. ‘He’s home-grown and this is his local.’

‘Well, if it’s all right by you, it’s all right by me,’ the speaker, a sallow-complexioned young man with a tic near his eye, said grudgingly, reading aright the
inference to back off, ‘but Yank blackies usually keep to their own kind. Makes things simpler, if you know what I mean.’

Kate felt almost unbearable pressure building up behind her eyes. This was the second time in a day that Leon’s skin colour had been derogatorily remarked upon. Right from the beginning of
their relationship Leon had warned her that it would happen and, until now, she had felt confident of being able to handle whatever ignorant abuse was handed out. What she hadn’t expected,
however, was that she would have to cope with that kind of abuse from her son’s great-grandfather, or that she would meet with it in The Swan.