Magda's Daughter (34 page)

‘There's not much point in both of us sitting up with Anna.' The last thing Ned felt like doing was spending the night with Josef.

‘I won't sleep until I know she is going to be all right. But as you pointed out earlier, I wouldn't know what to do if she did start choking, so I guess that makes us companions until morning.' Josef dropped the armchair in front of the kitchen chair and tossed a blanket and pillow on it. ‘If you find the floor too hard you can sit in the armchair and put your feet on the wooden chair. I'll take the floor.'

Irritated by the inference that Josef was more used to the hard­ ship of sleeping on a floor, Ned snapped, ‘I slept on the floor more often than not when I was a student.' He instantly regretted his outburst, knowing it made him sound petulant.

‘As you wish.' Josef shrugged. He sat sideways on the window seat, lifted up his feet, leaned back against the wall, and gazed across at Anna.

Despite what he'd said about the floor, Ned pulled the easy chair close to Anna's bed, sat on it and checked her pulse and breathing again.

‘How is she?' Josef asked.

‘Her pulse is slower than it was.'

‘Is that good or bad?'

‘Good. She's lucky she fell when she did. It was worth a few cracked ribs. If she'd lapsed into an alcohol-induced stupor, it's possible you wouldn't have found her in time for me to empty her stomach. Two bottles of spirits drunk in quick succession can be lethal. The vodka I washed out of her could have caused heart failure.'

‘Is there a chance that this will stop her from drinking herself into this state again?' Josef asked.

‘You said you've often seen her drunk.'

‘But never as bad as this.'

‘When she wakes, I suggest you tell her what happened, because she won't remember a thing. The realisation that she almost died might make her think twice before she reaches for another bottle.'

‘I suspect all the lecture will do is slow down her drinking.' Josef continued to stare at her, lying white and still in the bed. ‘She was … is … a wonderful woman. Warm, loving, kind and funny. She gave me all the emotional support I needed when I was a child.'

‘Isn't there anywhere she can get help?' Ned tucked Anna's hand back beneath the covering blankets and towels.

‘What kind of help?'

‘In the West we have centres and organisations that help people to stop drinking. They hold meetings –'

‘In this village?' Josef interrupted. ‘You saw the number of men here this morning. The only place big enough to hold a meeting, apart from the barns, which are full of hay and chickens, is the bar. If the villagers have business to discuss that affects everyone, like the introduction of a new agricultural quota, they allow women in.'

‘You could keep the bar closed during the actual meetings,' Ned suggested.

‘I could try but I wouldn't succeed,' Josef predicted. ‘All it would take is someone to demand a beer and vodka, and if I wouldn't serve them they'd bring their own home-made liquor. Before you know it, everyone would be drunk, and instead of a temperance meeting there'd be a party.'

‘There's an organisation which you can telephone if you are trying to stop drinking …' Ned faltered.

Josef laughed. ‘If it's a choice between drinking with your friends or walking seven kilometres to the nearest post office to book a telephone call that could take a week or more to place, most people would walk only as far as the bar.'

‘You're right,' Ned conceded. ‘Our Western ways wouldn't work here. Have you asked Anna why she drinks?'

‘Her reply is always the same: “to be sociableË®.'

‘That's the reason we all give. I used to drink too much when I was a student. But that was before I worked in a hospital's casualty department. A teenager who'd drunk two bottles of whisky to celebrate his eighteenth birthday was brought in one night. Despite everyone's best efforts, the boy died.'

‘It happens all over the world. You can understand young people going wild once in while, but people of Anna's age?' Josef shook his head. ‘I wish she would hand the bar over to someone else. She has enough to occupy herself with running the house and looking after Stefan.'

‘If she gave it up what would she do for money?'

‘That's the problem,' Josef said. ‘She's too young to retire, and working in one of the local factories, which is the only other job she could get around here, would mean leaving Stefan on his own for most of the day. You've seen what he's like; he can't be trusted to look after himself. It's easier for her when I'm around, but the school will be opening for the autumn term next month. And I won't be in the village for ever. Next year I'll be teaching in the town.'

‘Will you still live here?'

‘Yes, I can travel on the school bus, although it will be a long day.' Anna moved restlessly, and Josef lowered his voice. ‘But I can't leave Anna, not when she's like this. If it weren't for her and the priest I would have been put in an orphanage. It's doubtful I would have survived. I certainly wouldn't have been educated. Government institutes after the war had nothing, and a lot of the kids died of malnutrition.'

‘So you feel obligated to Anna?'

‘No more than any child does to their parents. Since the priest died, she and Stefan are all the family I have left. Until I find Leon. Do you have a family?'

‘Father, mother, six sisters and a brother.'

‘Big family,' Josef commented.

‘Four of my sisters are war orphans that my mother adopted.'

‘So many children were brought up after the war by people who weren't their parents. The priest told me that most people in this world are kind. On balance I think he was right, although I have met plenty who are anything but.'

Ned picked up the photograph of Helena in her graduation cap and gown. It had been taken less than two months before, but it felt like years. His parents had driven down to Bristol for the ceremony, bringing Magda in their car. He recalled how emphatic Magda had been in ordering two large copies of Helena's photograph. One for her and one for her ‘family' in Poland. She must have sent it almost the day she received the prints. Josef's voice broke in on his thoughts.

‘You know, Helena is completely at home here. She almost seems more Polish than British.'

Ned replaced the photograph on the nightstand. ‘Magda brought Helena up to speak, read and write the language. It was only natural. A link to the old country for both of them.'

‘She wanted Helena to be Polish,' Josef contradicted him.

‘Let's wait for Anna to tell us where Helena came from, shall we? As for Helena, I assure you, she might speak Polish but she's all Welsh.' Forgetting his earlier resolve to sleep on the floor, Ned moved the second chair and swung his feet on to it.

‘Would you try to prevent Helena from leaving Britain and moving to Poland if she wanted to?'

‘That is the last thing Helena would want to do.' Ned was astounded by the question.

‘But if she did, would you try to stop her?' Josef repeated.

‘You make it sound as though I order Helena about.'

‘Don't you?' Josef's blue eyes probed into Ned's.

‘Helena and I don't have a master-slave relationship. I love her and she loves me. Enough to wear the ring I bought her.' Ned struggled to keep his voice even. He wondered if Josef was deliberately trying to goad him into losing his temper. If so, he was going about it the right way.

‘But you aren't married.'

‘Who told you?'

‘Helena. But I had guessed from the way you behave towards one another.'

‘We would have been married if Magda hadn't died. We had the church booked, the ceremony planned. We'd bought a house together –'

‘Is that what marriage means in the West. Buying a house together?'

The sneering tone in Josef's voice set Ned's teeth on edge. ‘We have to live somewhere. I thought it would be better if it was in a place of Helena's choosing. And she chose Pontypridd.'

‘Didn't Helena decide to live in the town because it was where Magda lived, and she wanted to be close to the woman she thought was her mother?'

‘It was where Helena grew up. She has many friends there. As for the house, she picked it, not me,' he added vehemently.

‘Why so angry, Ned? If she's prepared to marry you, then she obviously wouldn't consider returning to Poland.'

‘It wouldn't be returning. Even if she ever lived here, she can't remember it.' Ned glared at Josef, then checked Anna's pulse and breathing again. Not because he needed to, but because it gave him something to do other than argue with Josef.

‘Any change?' Josef asked.

‘She's still the same.'

‘Thank you for looking after her.'

‘As a doctor I couldn't have done otherwise,' Ned said ungraciously. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. But it was difficult when he was so conscious of Josef's presence in the room.

He tried to block him out by concentrating on the steady rhythm of Anna's breathing and listening to the small noises of the house as it settled for the night: the creak of the floorboards, contracting after the heat of the day; the irritating buzz of a solitary fly as it circled the light bulb above them; the ringing of footsteps on the cobblestoned street outside …

Ned knew he'd slept, because when he next opened his eyes, the main light in the bedroom had been switched off and the door was open. The lamp on the landing was bright enough for him to read the clock face on the nightstand. The hands pointed to a little after four. He glanced across at the window seat. Josef was sitting there, watching him. He left the chair and checked Anna's pulse and breathing again. ‘How is she?' Josef asked.

‘I think she'll be all right now.'

‘You may as well go up to your room and sleep in a comfortable bed for what's left of the night.'

‘I don't want to disturb Helena. She hasn't slept well since Magda died.'

‘In that case, I'll go downstairs and make some coffee – or tea. Which would you prefer?'

‘Tea would be good, thank you.' Ned returned to the easy chair. ‘Have you slept?'

‘No. But as Anna seems to be making a recovery, I can catch up tomorrow afternoon.'

‘What about the bar?' Ned asked.

‘It won't hurt to shut it for a few hours. After what has happened to Anna, I think it might do the regulars good to stay sober for once.'

Ned didn't drink the tea Josef made. He woke with a start two hours later to see Josef kneeling on the window seat, opening the curtains. The sun had risen and the haze in the east promised another hot and sunny day. He swung his legs to the floor and stretched his arms. He felt stiff and grubby, as he always did whenever he slept in his clothes.

In contrast, Josef had already shaved and washed. He wore a clean white cotton shirt, black polyester trousers, and smelled of Old Spice, which Ned assumed Magda had sent to Anna in one of her parcels.

Ned left his chair and leaned over Anna. Her breathing was steady, her skin had lost its blue tinge, and her hand was warm when he lifted it from beneath the covers to take her pulse.

‘She's out of danger?' Josef asked.

‘Yes. But she needs to drink plenty of water today, at least three litres. And she should eat light food. Scrambled eggs, toast and fruit would be good,' Ned advised.

‘She usually eats bread rolls for breakfast with cheese and ham.' Josef straightened the blankets on Anna's bed.

‘Eggs would be better.' Ned went to the door. ‘I need to wash and change.'

‘Breakfast in the yard in an hour?'

‘Please. And as soon as Anna wakes, tell her she has to talk to Helena.'

‘She won't want to.'

‘If she refuses, I'll tell Helena about the photographs and the contents of Magda's parcels which are in the kitchen. And that is not a threat. I don't want Helena tormenting herself with thoughts about her origins for a minute longer than it takes Anna to wake and prepare to meet her.'

‘You really would tell Helena?'

‘Absolutely. Better she have a drunk for a mother – if Anna is her mother – than no knowledge of her real family. You have half an hour after Anna wakes to persuade her. I am serious, Josef.'

Breakfast was a silent affair. Josef laid the table for Helena and Ned in the yard, but neither he nor Stefan joined them. Ned presumed they were eating in the house. As he was drinking his last cup of coffee, Helena stood to leave the table.

Ned hadn't slept well, but the dark half-moons beneath Helena's eyes suggested she had slept as badly. ‘You going somewhere, sunshine?'

‘To the lake to take some photographs.'

‘I'd leave it until this afternoon, if I were you.'

‘Why?'

‘The weather and the light will be better,' he suggested lamely.

‘It couldn't be more perfect now.' She sat down again, and he could see from the way she tensed her fingers that she was preparing for another argument.

‘I'd like to go with you this afternoon – that's if you want company. As for this morning, as soon as Anna wakes, she will want to see you.'

‘Why?' she demanded suspiciously.

Josef carried an empty tray out of the house before Ned could answer. He set it on the table and proceeded to clear the dishes.

‘I was just telling Helena that Anna will want to see her this morning,' Ned prompted.

‘She woke half an hour ago. Stefan has taken up her breakfast.'

Josef lifted Helena's empty coffee cup on to the tray. ‘And you told Anna –'

‘About last night, yes.' Josef interrupted. ‘She is ashamed of herself. She said she didn't mean to get into that state. But one drink led to another until she didn't know what she was doing. She promised me it won't happen again.'