Turn Us Again (25 page)

TWENTY-ONE

W
ithin a couple of weeks Sam left again for London, this time to find a job and a flat. Madelyn spent the final time with her parents battling a strange feeling that it would be a long time before she stayed with them again. She almost dreaded Sam's letters, knowing the final one would rejoice at his new employment and their imminent reunion.

“At least there are no cottages with toilets half a mile away in London,” she joked with her mother, who gave a slight shudder. Madelyn realized that Mary's silence about her circumstances had been a blessing, but the absence of a sense of humour in retrospect was a pity.

Eddie showered her with affection and worshipped young Gabriel, who was just beginning to potter around tables, hanging on for dear life with one hand and sweeping everything majestically to the floor with the other. Eddie would roar at his antics (another misplaced sense of humour) and not only fail to curb naughtinesses himself, but prevented Madelyn from doing so. He did not get drunk for the entire visit, which ended abruptly with the arrival of the telegram:

Boring job as clerk. Hope temporary. Fantastic flat. Meet you at Kings Cross on Thursday
.

“Look at that dear, Sam has got you a ‘fantastic flat,'” said Mary in a pleased voice. Madelyn remembered his enthusiasm over the Evercreech cottage and felt sceptical, but abstained from sharing her thoughts with her mother.

In the event, the flat was fantastic. Bright, airy, boasting the latest appliances and filled with nice furniture. The baby's room was equipped with a brand new cot, and new toys were propped up for admiration purposes in various corners of the room. Madelyn's scepticism grew, even while she met Sam's expectations with warm praise and exclamations.

Later, over roast chicken and salad, which Sam had prepared with laborious love from a new Jewish cookbook, she asked him about his job.

“So far it appears to be a cross between servitude and basic writing skills. It's exceedingly boring.”

“And does it pay well?”

“Slightly better than forestry. But then again London is more expensive than the country, so if you were hoping to move up in the world I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.

“So how can we afford such a lovely place to live?”

Time stood still while Sam smeared a piece of bread with butter. Even Gabriel seemed to hang on the answer, or perhaps he was entranced by the butter.

“Perhaps the most unfortunate result of my father's death, insofar as you are concerned, was that it affected a reunion of sorts with my mother. She has exploited this turn of events, which concurs with her own desires without requiring her to sacrifice her pride, by establishing us in this flat.”

“I thought she was broke.”

“Apparently not. Resourceful squirrels manage to hide nuts during the worst winters.”

“And she is doing all this for us in return for…”

“Oh, it's all a question of give and take with mother, down to the last detail. I think we are required to visit her every Sunday afternoon, effectively ruining our weekends, and get married in a synagogue after you have converted.” He eyed her to gauge her reaction as he said this.

“What does that entail?”

“Studying Judaism for about six months, then a little ceremony, after which we'll get married.”

‘Another marriage,' thought Madelyn with a suppressed grin, ‘with relatives and dancing and a new dress.'

“Will it affect the way we live? Christmas and Easter, baptizing the children?”

“And church every Sunday, if you'd like. This has nothing to do with me. It is not my desire that you convert.” He sounded almost apologetic.

Madelyn was curious. “So why are we doing it? I don't mind at all — it will be interesting to study this ancient religion, the roots of Christianity. But surely you are indifferent to the comforts of this apartment, when Evercreech suited you so well. What motivates you?”

“My mother's will.”

Despite Madelyn's intuition, she was not worried the next Sunday as she dressed little Gabriel in his best shirt and breeches. Even the strange visit from Aunt Dotty and Daniel the day before had failed to arouse any sentiment other than amusement. It was obviously an ‘inspection'; Aunt Dotty had done everything but walk around her. Madelyn was placid, smiling in case they wanted to view the condition of her teeth, of which she was quite proud. They did not stay for tea. In fact they did not stay for ten minutes. Nobody even sat down. On the way out, Aunt Dotty inquired if she had a decent coat to wear for the visit to Grandma Golden.

“Quite decent, thank you,” replied Madelyn, noting Sam's worried expression, as though he wasn't sure about the coat at all — a reversal of positions from the father's visit in Evercreech.

However, she needn't have bothered to speak at all. Aunt Dotty rummaged in her cupboard and extracted a respectable, though well-worn, raincoat. She held it up between thumb and forefinger as though it smelled funny, and then marched out with Daniel. She returned a few hours later with a new, green woolen coat, of excellent quality. If Madelyn was supposed to feel insulted by such proceedings, the ruse did not work. She was delighted.

Madelyn dressed carefully, putting her hair up in a bid for sophistication. She couldn't recall a single instance where she had failed to charm when she wanted to and felt confident that she could win Grandma Golden over.

Sam was in an utter panic. He kept clutching his stomach and saying he felt sick. Once he burst out, “Oh God, I wish it was over.”

“For goodness sake, Sam! It's your mother.”

He turned gray at this reminder and then glanced at his watch and bellowed so that she dropped her lipstick, “What the hell are you doing? We're going to be late.”

He held her elbow and propelled her along the road to the bus station at a frightening rate. Gabriel, clasped in his other arm, began to whine as he sensed something portentous of an unpleasant nature.

“Please prepare yourself, Mummy… Madelyn. I must remember to call you Madelyn in front of my mother.”

“Thank God for that.”

Sam continued as though she hadn't spoken. “She's a very hostile woman. She took to her bed for about three weeks when we got married. This is going to be a rough couple of hours.”

“You will protect me, won't you?” Madelyn asked coquettishly, startled by the haunted look he gave her.

Grandma Golden's apartment was immaculate, filled with velvet furniture and expensive little knick knacks, all within Gabriel's hot little reach. She had an imposing face, hewn out of granite with large, sharp features. Her hair was a purplish pomade standing straight up from her large forehead. There was a daub of red blush on each cheek, resting uneasily on those chiseled peaks like jam smeared on a work of art.

She kissed her son effusively, bestowed an awkward kiss on her grandson's cheek and ignored Madelyn. Once they were sitting she looked at her insolently, up and down with open contempt. In her turn Madelyn eyed the luxuries of the apartment, wondering how much had been stashed away in some little nest egg, unbeknownst to the dead man.

There was a maid called Pearl, with whom Grandma Golden seemed to communicate with aristocratic waves of the hand. Her flicks back and forth produced tea, cigarettes and ashtrays. Madelyn was served last. She hardly noticed, being absorbed with the peculiar misery of supervising an energetic child in a glass house.

A flow of conversation was directed at Sam, who balanced his cup and saucer on his knee in apparent mortal fear that he would spill something.

“How do you find the apartment?”

“It's very comfortable. Thank you so much for all the new toys.”

Grandma Golden regarded Gabriel with disapproval. “He looks a bit skinny to me. Are you feeding him right?”

Sam glanced at Madelyn, since he had no idea what Gabriel ate.

“He eats like a horse,” Madelyn answered.

Grandma Golden did not remove her gimlet eyes from Gabriel. “He's not as good-looking as Bertha's little girl. She is the most adorable little thing, always laughing and bright as a button.”

“Bertha is my cousin, a child of Mum's sister Gretel,” Sam explained to Madelyn.

“He's spilling tea on the carpet!” The harshness of her accusing voice made Madelyn jump. She looked at Gabriel.

“Would you like me to give him tea in the kitchen?” she asked.

“Pearl! Pearl! Take this child to the kitchen.”

Pearl picked Gabriel up unceremoniously and bore him off in the direction of the kitchen. He looked over her shoulder at his mother in horror and opened his mouth as wide as he could in warning. Madelyn leapt up to follow them, not daring to take her unfinished tea with her. Her exit was accompanied by tsk-ing noises.

She stayed in the kitchen for what seemed like ages, half relieved to concentrate on Gabriel and prevent him from grabbing anything he shouldn't, half offended at the absurdity of this banishment, due to a few drops of tea.

She was kneeling on the floor playing with some pots and pans, which Pearl had grudgingly lent them, when she sensed the presence. Scrambling to her feet, she wondered if the malevolent expression on the older woman's face was due to the pots and pans.

“To think that Sam would end up with somebody like you,” she hissed. “A brilliant boy like him, a Cambridge graduate. And who are you? A pretty little piece of fluff determined to trap a rich man into marriage. You chased my son, didn't you? Pursued him in his innocence with all the nasty wiles of a common little tramp.”

Madelyn gaped. She had never been attacked in such a way before. Retorts bubbled in her mind as Grandma Golden's vitriol spewed out − the outrageousness of the accusation that she had pursued Sam was particularly galling − but nothing came out. She was stunned into numbness at the unexpectedness and viciousness of the attack. It was almost absurd. The woman did not know anything about her.

Spittle sprayed over Madelyn's face and she pressed her back against the wall, feeling sick. She could feel Gabriel clinging to her skirt and wanted to pick him up, but could not.

The stream of venom was interrupted by Sam, who appeared in the doorway to ask if lunch would be ready any time in the near future, because he was starving.

Grandma Golden backed away. “Go and sit down at the table. We'll bring it out in a minute.”

Madelyn escaped, and clung like a leech to Sam for the rest of that dismal meal. The table was laid with silver cutlery and a lace tablecloth. The food was delicious — soup followed by cold salmon and mayonnaise. There was no high chair, however, and Gabriel squirmed and fussed on Madelyn's lap, resenting her stronghold over his hands and the indignity of eating without touching. He was oblivious to the many looks of disapproval cast in his direction and continued to voice his displeasure with the whole experience.

On the way home Sam asked, “Was it bearable?”

“She had a little go at me in the kitchen. Insinuated that I had chased and trapped you. Any chance of you clearing up that little bit of misinformation?”

“That's what she has to think, Madelyn. It wouldn't make the slightest difference what I said. She'd think I was lying.”

“Will it be better next Sunday?”

“No, my dear. It will never be better.”

And it wasn't. Every Sunday Sam got into a state before they left, while Gabriel started howling as soon as they approached the door. Madelyn did her best to improve the unrelenting awfulness of these visits. She popped sweets into Gabriel's mouth in an attempt to get him to smile at his Granny. She brought special toys that might amuse him in lieu of the fragile knick knacks, which she didn't dare move out of reach. She was quiet and accommodating in Grandma Golden's house. She even spent one Sunday morning baking a ginger cake and presented it shyly to her formidable mother-in-law.

“What's that?” Grandma Golden asked, looking at it with great suspicion.

“It's a ginger cake. I baked it from a recipe in our Jewish cookbook.”

“Ginger? I never eat the stuff.”

The next week after dinner Pearl handed around ginger-covered candy. The box finished its round on a table by Grandma Golden, who wolfed it down in handfuls.

Madelyn never responded to any of her insults.

Grandma Golden talked incessantly about the merits of Bertha's little girl, who was so well-behaved, loving and sweet. Madelyn wasn't convinced she was doing it on purpose. It seemed so stupid. She spent as much time as she could with Pearl in the kitchen, whose company, though uncongenial, stopped short of intimidating.

Daniel sometimes appeared just in time for lunch, and he tried to be nice and make conversation. But nothing could dispel the atmosphere of discomfort and apprehension.

Once the great Bertha came, towing a little girl of about three years old behind her. The little girl was dressed in so many flounces and frills that she could hardly walk, but she rolled about on the couch trying to pinch Gabriel and wailing when her mother remonstrated. There was no question of anybody eating in the kitchen today, and the little girl stuffed an entire piece of cake in her mouth at once, spitting most of it out a minute later with a revolted, “eewww.”