The Road Home (22 page)

“Strictly speaking, Berkeley’s right,” said Ruby suddenly. “Having been brought up a Roman Catholic —”

“I’m going to begin grace again,” said Mrs. McNaughton. “Can we have quiet?”

“But religion’s got itself into a frightful muddle in this country . . .”

“Ruby? Can we have quiet for the grace?”

“Because nobody knows what they believe anymore. They believe bits of this and bits of that, and meanwhile the Millers of Islam —”

“
Mullahs,
you stupid cow.”

Mrs. McNaughton stood up and clapped her hands. “My word!” she said. “Just because it’s Christmas, there’s no need to start behaving like children. Now. ‘Thank you, O Lord, on this blessed Christmas Day, for giving us food and wine, for bringing us warmth in the midst of cold, company in the midst of solitude, and for blessing us with your perfect love. Amen.’ ”

For a moment nobody spoke. Mrs. McNaughton and Sophie began to go round, straightening wheelchairs, tucking napkins into collars, pouring water into plastic tumblers, cheap red wine into glasses. Joan picked up her cracker again and began to bite it.

Lev returned to the kitchen, carved the turkey, and started to plate it up. Once again, he tried to imitate the chefs at GK Ashe, laying out six plates, arranging the meat and stuffing very carefully in the center of each. He showed the South African helpers how to place the roast potatoes, sprouts, and parsnips attractively round the meat, keeping the bread sauce and the
jus
simmering while they did this, then spooning it on, keeping the spoon low, so that nothing dripped on the plate rim. The South Africans now stood waiting to take the plates through to the dining room, noting the care with which Lev worked.

“You a chef?” one of them asked.

“No,” said Lev.

He began on the next six plates. The food smelled good. Lev put a piece of turkey skin into his mouth. It was crispy and succulent. He watched his hands arranging and spooning. He thought of his mother’s hands threading delicate shards of tin onto copper filament, picking up the beautiful new wire cutters, made in America, admiring them as she worked . . .

Now the residents were eating mince pies and drinking the Asti Spumante. The crackers had been pulled and paper hats put on. Douglas announced that he felt sick and had to be wheeled away by Mrs. McNaughton, a plastic bowl on his knee. Two of the company had fallen asleep in their chairs. From one end of the table came the unmistakable stench of urine, mingled with the aroma of the flaming brandy poured over the mince pies. While Lev and Sophie washed up plates and pans in the kitchen, they heard the barter begin for the cracker gifts.

“Berkeley,” said Minty imperiously, “you’ve got no use whatsoever for that sewing kit. I’ll swap it for my dolphin key ring and the joke about polar bears.”

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“I can’t do better than that. We only had one cracker each.”

“You’ve got to
trade,
Araminta. You’ve got to talk up your wares, like in a
souk
. Have you forgotten the bloody rules?”

“I know the thing you all want is the miniature Woods of Windsor talcum powder,” declared Pansy Adeane, “but that happens to be mine and I am not ruddy well swappin’ it!”

“I don’t want the talcum powder,” said Berkeley.

“What will you swap for the sewing kit, then?”

“Nothing. I like the sewing kit.”

“You’re a man,” said Minty. “Men can’t sew. But a lovely dolphin-shaped key ring —”

“If you’ve been in the Navy, you can sew,” said Berkeley. “I could sew before you were born.”

“I’m willing to trade this exceptionally useful Bambi stapler for the Woods of Windsor talc,” Lev heard Ruby offer.

“Nobody’s getting the effin’ talc,” said Pansy.

“Think of what a stapler can do,” said Ruby.

“It can shut Minty’s mouth, for starters!” said Berkeley.

There was a ripple of laughter as Ruby asked, “Would you prefer the Bambi stapler to the sewing kit, Berkeley?”

“No, I bloody wouldn’t. I can mend all my pockets with this.”

“You mean, make yourself tighter than ever with money?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Language, language . . .” said Mrs. McNaughton.

“I’m putting the talc in my pocket.”

“I’m not giving away the ruddy sewing kit.”

“I’ve got no use for a stapler.”

“What use is a key ring if you’ve no longer got a car?”

“That polar-bear joke was crap, anyway.”

“Somewhere over the rainbow . . .”

They paused in the argument. Sophie had come back into the room, taken up her guitar, and begun to sing.

“. . . Way up high . . .”

The residents of Ferndale Heights put down the cracker gifts and seemed instantly to forget them. They tried to still their tremors and their coughs, stop their stomachs gurgling.

“. . . There’s a land that I heard of . . .”

Mrs. McNaughton folded her hands on her chest.

“Once in a lullaby . . .”

Lev came back into the dining room and, standing quietly with the Asti bottle, watched all eyes turn to the singer. Sophie’s voice was melodic, effortless. And he thought how, when you looked at Sophie, what you saw first was her softness and her dimpled, little-girl smile, and then when you got to know her, you began to feel her confidence.

When the song was over, Berkeley Brotherton was drying his eyes on a table napkin, as was Ruby Constad. Clapping broke out and three cheers for Sophie. Then Minty stood up. Her cheeks flushed with the wine, her blue-veined hands ablaze with the diamonds her beauty had bought her long ago, she began to sing, in a quavery soprano:

Some enchanted evening,

You may see a stranger,

You may see a stranger

Across a crowded room . . .

Almost everybody seemed to know this song, and they began to join in, swaying to the melody, waving their arms, trying to follow and keep in time together.

It was dark when Lev and Sophie left Ferndale Heights. As they walked away, Sophie said, “I hate to think of them lying all alone in the night.”

“Well,” said Lev, “I know. But it went good. Meal good.”

“Meal
very
good. Everybody enjoyed it.”

“Douglas felt sick.”

“Oh, he ate too much, that’s all. He had a huge second helping. Said it was the best bread sauce he’d tasted since 1957.”

Lev smiled as they walked on toward the tube. “Nice singing,” he said. “And Ruby, she loves you so much.”

“She’s had a difficult life,” said Sophie. “Her husband left her for someone else. Then he died. She was about fifty. On her own since then. She hardly sees either of her children.”

“They don’t come to visit?”

“Now and then. Selfish pigs. About once a year. You know she gave me a hundred pounds?”

Lev put his arm round Sophie and held her close to him. “We can go shopping,” he said. “Buy beautiful dress for you.”

“Nah,” she said. “I’m going to save it. Definitely. I’m saving it up, like a little squirrel.”

When they got back to Sophie’s flat, they lay down and slept. Sophie’s back was turned to Lev and his arm lay along her thigh.

The evening came on silently.

It was near to eight o’clock when Lev woke. He looked over at Sophie. It occurred to him how strange and lovable it was that young women seemed to sleep without making a single sound.

He dressed and lit a cigarette and went to the living room and sat down by the dark window. On his mobile, he dialed Belisha Road, but the phone wasn’t picked up. He wondered whether Christy was still in bed or in the pub. He remembered with a smile that Christy’s gift to Frankie—bought with his groceries at the Camden Town Sainsburys—had been a purple ballet dress with a spangled bodice and a spangled tiara for her hair.

Lev smoked for a while, staring out at the night. Few cars went up or down the road. Blue tree lights blinked on and off in the window opposite. The faint sound of laughter came from the pub on the corner. Lev picked up his mobile again. His phone bills were large, but he was keeping pace with them—just. He dialed Rudi’s number.

“Comrade,” said Rudi, “greetings from the home front. I’m the worse for fucking wear! But pay no heed. Ina and Maya are here. Lora cooked your mother’s bad-tempered cockerel, but it was stringy. All those months of shagging the hens had worn it out!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But never mind. We washed it down. We’ve had a nice time. Lora was sent some wine from one of her horoscope clients. And it was fucking good. Talk to Maya . . .”

There was a long pause, then Lev heard his daughter’s voice.

It sounded very quiet and far away.

“Pappa?”

“Yes, it’s Pappa. How are you, my flower? Do you like your new doll?”

“Yes,” said Maya.

“Did you think up a name for her?”

“Lili.”

“Yes? She’s called Lili?”

“She can go to sleep.”

“Do you love her?”

“She does pee-pee in her diaper.”

“Right. So you’ll have to wash the diaper and put a clean one on?”

“Yes. When are you coming here, Pappa?”

“Soon. You’ll have to dry the diaper in front of the fire. But be sure not to let it burn. Grandma will help you . . .”

“She’s gone,” said Ina’s voice. “All she asks about is when are you coming back.”

“You know the answer to that,” said Lev. “Tell her I’ll come back when I have some money—or you can come here . . .”

“Lev,” said Ina, “it’s Christmas Day.”

“I know it’s Christmas Day. I was just about to wish you —”

“So don’t spoil it by asking me to come to England. I’m much too old to leave my country. If you want Maya with you, then send money and I’ll put her on a bus. I’ll just get used to being here all alone . . .”

“Mamma . . .”

Lev looked up. Sophie was standing in the doorway, wearing a tartan dressing gown. Her hair was wild from sleep.

Ina went on: “I’ve lived in Auror for nearly seventy years. I prefer to die here.”

“Don’t worry, Mamma,” said Lev, picking up his packet of cigarettes and holding them out to Sophie. “No one will take you away from Auror. Now, did you get my presents?”

“Yes. Cutters. But they’re too heavy.”

“They’re too heavy for your hand?”

“Much too heavy. I’d need a man’s strength to use those.”

“Oh,” said Lev.

Sophie came and sat beside him and lit her cigarette.

“Lev?” said Ina. “Did you hear what I said? The wire cutters are too heavy. It’s a waste of precious money.”

“Never mind,” said Lev.

“Never mind? Why ‘never mind’? You mean you’ve got money to burn now?”

“No . . .”

“From working in a kitchen?”

“No.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“I’ll try to find some different cutters—lighter and smaller.”

“It’s not worth it. I can manage with the tools I’ve got.”

“But you got the soap, too. Did you like that?”

“It looks expensive.”

“Not too expensive. But you liked the smell of it?”

“Yes.”

“All right, Mamma. Well . . . Merry Christmas. Is Maya wearing her anorak?”

“Yes. But you know, in the nights she cries. She says to me, ‘Has Pappa gone to that place where Mamma is sleeping?’ ”

“No!” shouted Lev. “I hate that! Don’t let her believe that.”

“Children believe what they want to believe. What can I do?”

“Explain it to her! Tell her I’ll come back . . . for sure . . .”

“When? How can I tell her that if I don’t know when?”

“As soon as I have enough money. For heaven’s sake, I’m only doing this for her and for you—for us all. You have to help me a bit.”

There was silence. Then Lev could hear his mother crying. He swore under his breath. He almost wished he’d never made the call. He covered the mobile and said to Sophie, “She’s crying.”

Then Ina said, through tears, “It was a bad idea. England. I read an article in the
Baryn Informer
about the crime there. It’s becoming a terrible place. Violence. Drunkenness. Drugs. Everybody too fat. You were better off here.”

“I wasn’t better off,” Lev said, as gently as he could. “I had
no job.
Have you forgotten? Please stop crying, Mamma. Please . . .”

Sophie got up and began to wander about the room. Lev watched her, loving the sexy grace with which she moved. Meanwhile, he scoured his brain for something to say that would comfort Ina, but he felt instead only the dark distance that separated him from her, the great continent of Europe that lay between them.

“Listen,” he said, with a sigh, “I have to go now because calls from this mobile are very expensive. But please try to see things differently. I’m sending money . . .”

“You should have done like Rudi: found a livelihood in Auror.”

“What livelihood?”

“Taxi driver. Car mechanic. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know because there was
nothing.
No work. So just stop saying all this. Now I’m going to say good-bye, Mamma. Right? I’m going to go now.”

“Yes. You go.”

“I’ll send another twenty pounds next week. Did you hear me? I’ll send twenty pounds next week.”

“Yes, I heard. Good-bye, Lev. Today I asked the Holy Mother to pray to God to bring you home.”

Ina hung up.

Lev sat motionless with the phone in his lap. He felt as if a stone had lodged itself inside his rib cage. He put his head into his hands.

“Tell me . . .” said Sophie.

“My mother. She doesn’t understand that I’m trying so hard for her and Maya. All she says to me, ‘Lev, come home, come home.’ But home, why? Nothing there, Sophie. No work. No life. Only family.”

Sophie handed her half-smoked cigarette to Lev, and he took a long pull on it. “Today,” he said, “at Ferndale, with you and Ruby and everybody, I was happy. You know? So happy. When I serve up their nice meal, very happy. When you sing, so happy. This was my best Christmas. And now . . .”

“I know,” said Sophie. “Families kill you. It’s why I hardly ever see mine. But, hey, listen, the day’s not over yet. Let’s go to the pub. Get a nice steak pie. Have some drinks. Shall we? It’s not as though we haven’t earned them.”