Pontypridd 07 - Spoils of War

by Catrin Collier

  ‘Don’t try pushing Mama any more than she’s already been pushed by your pneumonia, Tony,’ Angelo warned. ‘When you were ill she promised God that if you and Diana recovered she’d accept your wife and pay for your wedding and that was it. And Diana’s still in a coma.’

  ‘That’s not my fault,’ he interposed haltingly.

  ‘She wouldn’t be in a coma if you hadn’t gone where you weren’t wanted, but enough’s been said about that night and unfortunately none of it can undo the damage that’s been done to Diana. To get back to Mama – I didn’t hear her offer God, or you, any more concessions. And you know Mama, a promise to God is sacred, even one regarding an ungrateful son pushing for more than she’s prepared to give, a child who needs putting in his place.’

  ‘I can see that my family are going to give Gabrielle a great welcome.’

  ‘We’ll be polite.’

  ‘And expect her and me to make do with two poky rooms over the café while Gina and Luke lord it here, and presumably Tina and Will have Laura’s house to themselves. ‘

  ‘Laura and Trevor are moving back as soon as he’s demobbed. There’s a housing shortage, or haven’t you noticed?’

  ‘So where are Tina and Will going?’

  ‘They’ve rented a place so you can have the rooms over the café.’

  ‘And the business?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I’m not stupid. If you and Alfredo are running the restaurant and me the café, it’s because Ronnie and Tina have something better lined up for themselves.’

  ‘They’re opting out. Ronnie and William are setting up on their own.’

  ‘Who’s financing it?’

  ‘They are, with their own money earned outside Ronconi’s.’

  ‘Seeing is believing.’

  ‘You’re welcome to look at the books any time. In fact it might be a good idea if you did, because apart from overseeing Mama’s interest in Ronconi’s, Tina, Gina and Ronnie want nothing more to do with it.’ Producing a flask from his inside pocket he removed a couple of tiny glasses from his mother’s ‘best’ china cabinet and filled them. ‘Just one more thing, Tony. This might not be the best time to say it, considering you’ve just come out of hospital, but Ronnie and Tina asked me to remind you that they haven’t forgotten the last time you were home. Or the first night of this present leave of yours.’

  ‘I was drunk both times …’

  ‘So it would appear. I don’t know the details because they wouldn’t tell me but I think it’s just as well you realise that neither Ronnie nor Tina want to see you again. I’m prepared to go along with the public face of family unity for Mama’s sake but Tina and Ronnie won’t be at your wedding. And Ronnie gave me a message for you.’

  Tony held out his hand.

  ‘He didn’t write it down. It’s quite simple. You go near him, his wife, his stepson or daughter again and he’ll kill you.’

  ‘I was drunk …’

  ‘And I saw the expression on Ronnie’s face when he gave me the message. He means it, Tony.’ Angelo tossed back the drink he’d poured himself. ‘Now let’s go into the kitchen and see our new niece.’

  Tony lifted his glass and sniffed it.

  ‘It’s best brandy, Will brought it back from Italy. Oh, and, Tony,’ he murmured casually as his brother rose to his feet, ‘if one word of Ronnie’s message gets back to Mama, never mind Ronnie, I’ll reshape your face. Apart from Ronnie and Tina not wanting to see you, we’re a happy united family.’

  ‘In front of Mama,’ Tony said sourly.

  Angelo clamped his arm across Tony’s shoulders as they left the parlour. ‘Always in front of Mama.’

  Without asking what he wanted, Alma placed a cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches on a sofa table next to Charlie. He’d automatically sat in his favourite easy chair next to the fire, but already things were different. He was sitting too stiff, too upright, more like a visitor than the master of the house.

  ‘Do you want me to do any more to the house in Tyfica Road?’ she asked, deciding to deal with practical things first. ‘I had it cleaned after Mrs Harding left, but if you want me to arrange a regular domestic help who’ll light the fires and give the place a daily going over, I could arrange it.’

  ‘You’ve done more than I had a right to expect.’

  ‘Mrs Lane’s youngest is in school now. She’s looking for work and she’s prepared to come early every morning and lay the fires. I didn’t ask her,’ she explained lest Charlie think she was trying to interfere in his life with Masha. ‘She asked if I knew anyone who was looking for a cleaner.’

  ‘If she’s prepared to come in every morning, and it’s no trouble to you, tell her to start immediately and keep the kitchen stove alight. The house needs airing.’

  ‘When is Masha coming?’

  ‘As soon as she gets berths on a ship. The Red Cross said it might take a couple of weeks. Possibly less.’

  ‘It will seem like a long time for both of you.’

  ‘There are medical and immigration certificates to arrange and it won’t be easy to book passage from Germany to here. There’s a lot of pressure on transport, most of it is taken up by military personnel.’ Without thinking he’d reiterated the official line given him by the Red Cross.

  ‘Masha has written to you? You are sure it is her?’ She held her breath, hating herself for daring to hope otherwise.

  ‘She sent her photograph.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘Alma …’

  ‘I’d like to. You told me once that I looked like her.’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘Not any more?’

  Charlie reached into the breast pocket of his shirt over his heart. Alma hoped she was reading more into the place he’d chosen to keep the photograph than he had intended. He removed a blue airmail letter. Unfolding it carefully he revealed two small passport-sized photographs but instead of handing them to her as she’d expected, he looked at them for a moment. Confused and more resentful than she would have believed possible, she struggled to keep her composure as she waited for him to make the next move.

  ‘There’s something else, Alma. Do you remember me telling you that Masha was pregnant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We have a son, Peter.’

  ‘He survived.’

  ‘Miraculously, and according to Masha only because he inherited my tenacity for life. When my village was emptied, everyone including Masha and my parents, brothers and sisters were sent to build a tractor factory in Stalingrad. Peter was born there. An hour after his birth Masha was sent back to work.’

  ‘Who looked after him?’

  ‘The state. He was brought up in nurseries and orphanages but Masha managed to keep in touch with him, right up until the war broke out. It couldn’t have been easy for her. In Russia the state accepts total responsibility for the children and discourages parental contact, particularly between prisoners and their children. But she tried to instil a sense of family in him. When the Germans invaded, they were sent as slave labourers to work in a cement factory at Auschwitz. According to Masha it was Peter who kept them both alive during that time. When the Red Army advanced on Poland they were shipped west, which is why they ended up in a displaced persons’ camp in the American sector at the end of the war.’

  ‘He kept them alive – but …’ Alma thought rapidly, ‘he can’t be more than fifteen?’

  ‘Sixteen.’ He finally handed her the photographs. ‘But as you see, he looks older. There were boys in the camp I was in. They either learned to toughen up and survive or they went under.’

  Ignoring the boy, Alma studied Masha’s photograph first, tracing the lines on her face and comparing them with her own. There was no way of knowing from the black, white and grey tints if Masha had the same green eyes and auburn hair as her, or was the same height, as Charlie had once said. She could see a certain similarity in the set of their eyes and the curve of their lips, but the woman in the phot
ograph had sunken cheeks, and wrinkles scored the skin round her mouth and on her forehead. Her eyes were tired and there were dark circles beneath them. She looked like an old woman yet Alma knew that Masha had been a year younger than Charlie when they’d married which made Masha thirty-three to his thirty-four now. Charlie’s first wife was only seven years older than her, yet the photograph could have been that of a pensioner.

  ‘The camps are brutal. Stalin’s – Hitler’s – it makes little difference to the inmates who runs them,’ Charlie murmured, as though he’d read her thoughts.

  ‘It could be a poor photograph.’ She finally looked from Masha to the boy. A fierce jolt sent shivers down her spine. Charlie said his son was sixteen but there had to be a mistake. This photograph could have been taken of Charlie when they’d first met.

  ‘This is you. The face, the features …’

  ‘That’s what Evan, Phyllis and Bethan said.’

  ‘He’s coming with Masha?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you told them about me and Theo?’

  ‘No, but I will the night they arrive. The Red Cross liaison officer thought Masha might not come if she knew I had married again.’

  ‘Masha never married a second time?’ Alma finally found the courage to voice her secret hope.

  ‘She’s spent all the time since we were separated in camps.’

  ‘And people in camps don’t marry.’

  ‘Zeks – prisoners – don’t marry.’

  ‘You’ll move into the house with her?’

  ‘I don’t know, Alma. I won’t know anything until I see and talk to her – and Peter. It will be strange for all of us.’

  ‘At least the house will be big enough for the three of you.’

  He sank his head in his hands. Needing something to do she removed his untouched teacup and placed it on the table.

  ‘I do understand, Charlie, I really do.’ After a moment’s hesitation she brushed her fingers against his cheek. Grasping her hand, he held it close to his face, kissing her palm. ‘You don’t have to tell Masha about us on my account, Charlie.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be fair on you.’

  ‘She has nothing and no one but you. You were forced to part once, she wouldn’t understand if you abandoned her again. And there’s Peter; he has never known what it is to have a father. Theo and I are so much luckier than them. We have good friends, a nice home, and while I work here a good income. When you meet Masha I want you to think only of her, Charlie, and not worry about us. We have everything we need.’

  ‘The shops …’

  ‘Now is not the time to talk about the shops. I ran them for you during the war; I can carry on doing it for a while longer. Meet your Masha when she comes. Talk to her, then settle with her what you want to do with them and this place. I’ll go along with whatever you decide.’ Picking up the teapot she muttered something about making fresh tea and went to the kitchen. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and finally allowed the tears she’d been struggling to keep in check to fall. But silently – there was no way she could allow herself to add to Charlie’s anguish by letting him know just how heartbroken she was at the prospect of losing him – this time for ever.

  ‘What are you doing, Tony?’ Mrs Ronconi asked as she hauled a wicker basket of ironing into the kitchen from the wash house.

  Tony gritted his teeth. After six years of army orders, when his off-duty moments had been entirely his own and he could have spent them drunk, insensible or brawling for all anyone cared, he resented his mother’s constant prying into his private life.

  ‘Writing a letter,’ he growled, hunching further over the kitchen table.

  ‘To your girlfriend?’ Was it his imagination or was there a condemnatory tone in her voice.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then who are you writing to?’

  ‘Arthur Pearson.’

  ‘I don’t know him.’

  Finally giving up on his letter, Tony put down his pen and looked at her. ‘You should, he’s our MP.’

  ‘You’re writing to our MP? Tony, if you’re making trouble –’

  ‘I am not making trouble, Mama.’

  ‘Then why write to an important man? After what happened to your father it’s better that we don’t draw attention to ourselves. An MP, Tony …’

  ‘I want Gabrielle to come over here so I can marry her before I turn grey.’

  ‘And you expect him to bring her from Germany?’

  ‘I’m asking him to help us get the permits she needs. I’m not the only British soldier waiting for a German bride. And it’s not as if others aren’t coming over. What I’d like to know is why they’re being allowed in and there’s a delay with Gabrielle’s papers. Gina told me that the Pontypridd Observer reported a wedding last December between a Ponty boy and a girl from Hanover.’

  ‘I heard.’ Tight-lipped, his mother dropped the basket on the opposite end of the table to where he was-sitting.

  ‘What did you hear, Mama?’ he asked, instantly on the defensive.

  ‘You know how people talk.’

  ‘No, I don’t know. I’ve been away six years.’

  ‘It’s what we’ve all tried to tell you, Tony. People don’t like it. We fight these Germans for six years, they kill us and now they’re coming to Ponty to marry our boys and live here as if nothing has happened.’

  ‘So, people are giving this German girl a hard time, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘A hard time! Haven’t we all had hard times enough with the war and this never-ending rationing?’

  ‘But she’s having a harder time than most. People won’t talk to her, no one’s friendly, she’s getting the cold shoulder. Am I right?’

  ‘How would I know? I hardly leave this house.’

  ‘But you’re saying that when Gabrielle comes she’ll be treated like this girl?’

  ‘I told you. I will give you a wedding, you have the rooms over the shop, they are furnished with good things that Tina took from this house so you’ll have a roof over your heads and food in your stomachs.’

  ‘And you’ll treat Gabrielle like a daughter?’

  ‘How do I know? I’ll have to meet her first.’ Mrs Ronconi pulled Angelo’s linen shirt from the pile of ironing in the basket, sprinkled it with water and rolled it into a sausage.

  ‘Mama, I know you …’

  ‘Write your letter, Tony. Let me know when she is coming and I will arrange the wedding.’

  ‘I spoke to Father McNamara. He needs at least three weeks’ notice to call the banns. Gabrielle is going to have to live somewhere before the wedding.’

  ‘In the café.’

  ‘You can’t ask a girl like Gabrielle to live over the café by herself.’

  ‘Why not? It was good enough for our Tina.’

  ‘Tina was married and …’

  ‘Be very careful what you say about our Tina, young man.’

  ‘She can look after herself,’ he finished lamely.

  ‘And this German girl of yours can’t?’

  ‘Mama, everything will be strange. The country, the people, the language – you can’t ask her to live alone.’

  ‘You’ll be in the café all day and every evening.’

  ‘She can hardly sit in the café.’

  ‘Too grand, is she?’

  ‘And she can hardly sleep there alone,’ he continued, ignoring his mother’s last question.

  ‘So where do you suggest she go?’

  ‘I thought I could sleep in the café and she could have the boxroom.’

  ‘You expect Angelo to move out?’

  ‘It will only be for three weeks.’

  ‘Gina has the new baby, I have enough work to do with the boys. I am not going to run round after a German.’

  ‘Then I’ll ask Laura to take her when she comes back.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on that if I were you. She’s having another baby.’

  Taking his letter, he folded it, pu
shed it into an envelope and sealed it. Leaving the table, he opened the door to the passage.

  ‘You going out?’

  ‘To post my letter.’

  ‘Wrap up warm.’

  Mrs Ronconi shook her head as he slammed the door behind him. Of her eleven children Tony had been the most difficult. Until he was eighteen she had made allowances for him because he had been put under pressure by his father to become a priest. But ever since he had convinced his father to allow him to work in the business instead of going to the seminary, he had been trouble – nothing but trouble all the way, especially with girls. He had almost married that nice Diana Powell …

  She smiled to herself as she realised what she was thinking. That nice Diana Powell had married her Ronnie. And didn’t he deserve happiness more than Tony after the way his first wife had died? It was a bad thing for any mother to admit that she had a favourite among her children, but Ronnie – he was more of a man and husband than Tony ever could be. It was better Diana was married to her Ronnie. If only her head would mend quicker … But Tony?

  She dipped her fingers into the bowl of water on the table and liberally damped a tablecloth. Only a few more things to do. Time to set the irons on the fire. As she lifted the cover on the hob and laid the flat irons on it to heat up she tried to recall the features of the girl she preferred to think of as ‘the German’ rather than ‘Gabrielle’ in the photograph Tony had shown her. She remembered pale eyes, glossy hair coiled in plaits, her chin – was it weak? That would be a bad sign. And her mouth – hadn’t it been on the small side? Everyone knew that indicated a mean nature.

  Perhaps it was just as well that this girl hadn’t got her papers. It gave Tony more time to change his mind – and find himself a nice Welsh-Italian girl.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘William, it’s four in the morning,’ Tina laughed, as he dropped a line of kisses from the back of her neck to the base of her spine. ‘You promised to meet Ronnie at seven.’

  ‘Just celebrating our first night in our new house. You know something; I might put Ronnie off. It’s been all go ever since I got home. Staying in Huw and Myrtle’s, looking after the kids, taking them to my mother’s, cleaning Laura and Trevor’s house, moving Ronnie and Diana’s stuff to my mother’s, moving into the rooms above the shop, then out of them – now this house. I think I need a good rest. I’m not feeling at all well and a day in bed may be just what I need to set me up.’