Spring Will Be Ours

by Sue Gee

  At last he said slowly: ‘You’re right to say that, but wrong to think that that is what I’m doing. Or rather what I intended to do. I’m sorry if it seems like that.’

  And at once she felt full of remorse, and embarrassment at perhaps embarrassing him because, after all, she had known, hadn’t she, that he did care; and the wretched, wretched feeling of awkwardness and uncertainty came back, and she didn’t know what to say.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s all right. Don’t be afraid.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘You are.’ A pause. ‘And so am I. What were you doing when I rang?’

  ‘Listening to a concert. What were you doing before you rang?’

  ‘I have been lying in the dormitory here, and thinking for a long time,’ he said, ‘and all I could tell myself was what I think is true: that if Krysia – if my wife – were to find herself in a similar situation, I hope I should be generous.’

  ‘Oh.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know how to answer that. I really don’t know how to answer.’

  ‘Well … Don’t. But may I see you? Just once, at least?’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you. Well then … when?’

  Again, she could tell that he was smiling, and the awkwardness slipped away, and she began to feel at ease.

  ‘Do you know what happened after you rang?’ she said, curling up on the sofa. ‘My brother phoned, to tell me he was getting married. I wasn’t very nice to him. But he and Elizabeth are coming to supper on Saturday. Would you like to come too?’

  He hesitated. ‘You think that’s a good idea?’

  ‘Yes, I think it’s a very good idea. Then we have someone to keep an eye on us. Shall I give you my address?’

  ‘Please.’

  She gave it to him, and he said: ‘I’m trying to imagine what it looks like. What kind of place you would live in.’

  ‘And what do you imagine?’

  ‘I think … an attic. I don’t know why.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, it is an attic. And I’ve been imagining where you are, all bare floors, and neon and disinfectant.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And that is what it’s like.’

  Pip-pip-pip-pip-pip-pip-pip.

  She waited.

  ‘Goodbye, Ewa. See you on Saturday …’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  And the dialling tone buzzed. Ewa leaned across the sofa and put down the receiver. Then she hugged herself, and laughed. There was a small clock on the desk; it was after eleven. Was it too late to phone Jerzy and apologize? Yes, she’d ring him tomorrow. I’ll have one more cigarette before I go to bed, she thought, and lit it, and walked up and down because she couldn’t keep still.

  The door to the narrow hall, once a landing, was open, and below the front door of her flat she could hear Jane, coming upstairs, leaning over the banisters on the floor beneath and calling down: ‘Stuart? Bring up my book, will you, darling? It’s on the kitchen table.’ She heard him call: ‘Okay. I’ll be up in a minute,’ and imagined him going round the house, putting out the lights, and the cat, locking the front door and making the house secure. How long had they been married? Twenty years? Had either of them ever had cause to be ‘generous’? What a strange way for Stefan to look at it. Or was it so strange? Perhaps she was simply so inexperienced in affairs of the heart that she didn’t know what people did.

  She put out her cigarette, went to brush her teeth, and then switched out her own lights and went to bed. She lay there awake for a long time.

  ‘The train standing at platform two is the 7.21 to Greenwich, calling at New Cross, Lewisham, Deptford, Blackheath …’

  The woman announcer on this line was well spoken, and sounded as though she were speaking into a glass jar. In their carriage, a non-smoker whose windows were nonetheless almost opaque with grime, Jerzy and Elizabeth sat opposite each other, swaying as the carriage swung out of Waterloo and rattled past skyscrapers and back-to-backs.

  ‘It makes me think of going to Poland,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Why? We’ve been on lots of trains since then.’

  ‘I know. Perhaps it’s because it’s almost the same time of year.’

  ‘We should have gone there last year,’ said Jerzy. ‘We should be in Warsaw now. Much more exciting.’

  ‘Yes.’ There were pictures in the paper of a motorcade protest blocking the whole of Marszałkowska; it had been like that for two days, a furious protest against food shortages and ration cuts, as talks between Solidarity and the government broke down. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘we didn’t go there for excitement, did we? We went so that you could discover your heritage. Didn’t we, dear?’

  Jerzy nodded. ‘Yes, dear.’ And then, more serious: ‘But don’t mock it too much. I had to.’

  ‘I know. You know I do.’

  He patted the seat beside him. ‘Come and sit next to me.’

  She shook her head. ‘I like to face the way we’re going. You come and sit next to me. And can you open the window?’

  He sighed, rolling his eyes, but got up and pulled down the window, then came over. ‘Am I going to spend the rest of my life doing what you want?’

  ‘I hope so.’ Elizabeth slid her arm in his, and put her head on his shoulder. ‘Not really.’

  He leaned across her, and took her other hand. ‘Why won’t you let me buy you a ring?’

  ‘Because engagement rings are absurd. At least for couples like us they are.’

  ‘Are you intending to wear a wedding ring?’

  ‘I might, I’m not sure. I’m intending to marry you, that’s the main thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He put his arm round her, and they sat looking out at lupins, weeds and long grass growing alongside the track. The train stopped, carriage doors opened and slammed shut and they went on again, the sun sinking slowly behind more skyscrapers, bordering empty school playgrounds.

  ‘What do you think this Polish guy’s going to be like?’

  Jerzy shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  Elizabeth raised her head from his shoulder. ‘You don’t want to meet him, do you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ He drew away, irritably. ‘We could go on like this all night. Say what you mean!’

  ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘Forget it.’

  ‘No. What do you mean, I don’t want to meet him? Why the hell shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Why are you being so defensive?’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘Yes you are.’

  The train drew into Lewisham. Jerzy moved away as two other passengers got in, and went back to his old seat, opposite. The new passengers sat across the aisle, and pulled out paperbacks. The train started up again, and Elizabeth reached across and touched Jerzy’s knee.

  ‘Please …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That was my fault.’

  ‘Yes, it was. I don’t know what you’re on about, but if you’re on about something, for God’s sake just come out with it.’

  The paperbacks across the aisle were lowered.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s just forget it.’

  They travelled the rest of the way in silence. At Blackheath, several people got off, and as they walked along the platform towards the barrier Elizabeth found herself looking, covertly, for someone who might be Ewa’s – Ewa’s what? Anyway, she couldn’t see anyone on their own except a tall, loose-limbed man with greying hair, striding ahead of them. He looked familiar. She touched Jerzy’s arm.

  ‘Is that Stuart? You know, the chap who owns Ewa’s house?’

  ‘What? Who?’ He looked along the platform. ‘Yes, I think so. But I don’t feel like idle chat on the way, if you don’t mind.’

  Elizabeth bit her lip. ‘Are you still angry with me? Please
don’t let’s spend the whole evening like this. We’re supposed to be celebrating, aren’t we?’

  ‘All right. Don’t go on about it.’

  The train creaked past them, out of the station; the leaves on the still, dusty trees on the other side of the track moved a little in the disturbed air.

  ‘Listen,’ said Elizabeth, as the last carriage disappeared, ‘if you don’t make it up with me now, I’m not coming. I’ve said I’m sorry, and it wasn’t so terrible, anyway.’

  Jerzy kicked a stone on to the railway line. ‘Just tell me what you meant, that’s all I ask.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d better, now. It’ll only make it worse. All right, all right, don’t get angry again. I just meant that you didn’t want to meet this guy because – I suppose because he’s Polish in a way you and Ewa will never be. He’s what your grandparents call a Pole from Poland, isn’t he? I know they say that disparagingly, meaning from the new Poland, but even so – he’s the real thing, isn’t he?’

  ‘No,’ said Jerzy. ‘No, he’s not.’ He saw another stone, bent down and picked it up, and spun it across the track. Then he turned round and held out his hand to her. ‘But is that all you meant?’

  ‘Yes. What did you think I meant?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing.’

  ‘Don’t you start.’

  They looked at each other. Jerzy held out his arms, and Elizabeth moved into them; they kissed, drew apart, and walked towards the barrier with their arms round each other, so that it was difficult to get their tickets out and show them.

  Outside, they walked slowly up the hill from the station, and into the village, turning into the street leading to the street where Ewa lived. They walked up the path to the grey front door, their faces brushed by roses. Jerzy rang the top bell.

  ‘Lovely house,’ said Elizabeth, as they waited. ‘I’ve always loved it here.’ They could hear Ewa, running down the stairs. ‘Perhaps she thinks we’re him.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s here already.’

  The door was opened, and Ewa stood there, smiling, beautiful in black cotton dress and amber necklace, tense.

  ‘Hi. I’m so glad you’ve come.’ She kissed them swiftly, on both cheeks, and then they followed her inside. At the end of the hall, hung with watercolours, Elizabeth could see the soft evening sunlight on the garden, beyond the open kitchen window; there was the sound of cutlery being taken out of a drawer, and Mozart was being played in the sitting room. This is my kind of house, she thought. I’m the one who should be living here, and painting. How strange that I’ve never realized that before. She followed Jerzy up the stairs. A door on the landing – cream paint, pale green carpet – opened, and Stuart came out, humming. Yes, it had been him on the platform.

  ‘Evening, Ewa,’ he said, and nodded to Jerzy and Elizabeth, smiling.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Ewa, quickly, and held open the door at the foot of the attic stairs. They followed her up, and into her enormous room. At the far end, the brown velvet covers on the bed reflected a pattern of pink, green, yellow, blue, from the stained-glass window high above. There were roses in a blue jug on the mantelpiece, the table was laid with a cloth, and blue china, and no one else had arrived.

  ‘I must come here and paint this room,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I really had forgotten how beautiful it is.’ She looked at Ewa, passing a bottle of wine to Jerzy. ‘I’d like to paint you, here,’ she said. ‘I’ve never done a portrait of you.’

  ‘No,’ said Ewa. ‘I know. Well, perhaps one day … Open that, please, Jerzy.’

  ‘We’ve brought a bottle,’ said Elizabeth, and pulled it out of her shoulder bag. ‘Here.’

  ‘Thank you, you needn’t, but thanks.’ She took it, and put it on the desk. Jerzy drew the cork on the other, and she took it, and poured out three glasses.

  ‘Na zdrowie. And congratulations, I’m so pleased. Really.’ She raised her glass. ‘Mama is over the moon, of course. When’s the day?’

  ‘We haven’t decided,’ said Jerzy. ‘Have we?’ He looked at Elizabeth, and she shook her head, feeling Ewa at once excluded by that ‘Have we?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘But this year?’ asked Ewa.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  There was a silence, and they all sat down, and waited.

  ‘What are the family like?’ Elizabeth asked Ewa.

  ‘The family? You mean the family here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They’re all right. They’re nice. Why?’

  ‘I just wondered. You seemed rather abrupt with Stuart just now.’

  ‘Did I?’ Ewa shrugged. ‘Oh, well. You know what I’m like.’ She looked at her watch.

  ‘What time’s he coming?’ asked Jerzy, and she kicked him, half serious.

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘What do you mean? I only asked. I’m hungry.’

  ‘Oh, Jerzy … Actually, I’ve realized I didn’t say a time.’

  ‘So we could wait here all night.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Ewa got up and went to switch on the stereo. It was tuned to the radio, and she fiddled with the knobs. ‘Did you hear the news? About the motorcade in Warsaw?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jerzy. ‘Is this guy from Warsaw?’

  ‘Yes, he is.’ She put on a record, a quartet, and straightened up. ‘His name is Stefan,’ she said, ‘I thought I’d told you.’

  ‘You did,’ said Elizabeth, watching her pick up her packet of cigarettes. No one else in the world she knew smoked Camel. ‘And …’ How should she put it? ‘Has he been here before?’

  ‘No,’ said Ewa. ‘We’ve only just met.’ She looked as if she might be going to add something, but then she quickly lit a cigarette, and then the doorbell rang, and she visibly jumped.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ She put down the cigarette and went to the door. Jerzy and Elizabeth looked at each other.

  ‘It makes me feel as if we’ve been married a hundred years,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But anything could happen to us, even how, couldn’t it? Complacency is death.’

  He frowned. ‘Now what do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t let’s start that one again. I just mean – anything can happen to anyone, can’t it? In affairs of the heart.’

  Jerzy stood up, and went to the window. ‘I’ve had enough of this kind of talk for one evening. I hope this guy talks politics.’

  ‘He probably talks nothing else. That’s probably why Ewa liked him.’

  ‘I’m quite sure you’re wrong about that.’ Jerzy leaned across the table, and opened the window wide. ‘God, it’s hot. I wish it would rain again.’

  ‘Do you?’ said Ewa from the doorway. ‘Jerzy – this is Stefan. My brother. And Elizabeth – I think I told you they are getting married.’ She spoke in English, but slowly, clearly. She was holding a small tissue-wrapped bunch of flowers, and blushing.

  Stefan smiled at them, and held out his hand. ‘Hello. How – how do you do?’ His accent was heavy, and he had obviously been practising.

  ‘How do you do?’ said Elizabeth, and he took her hand and lifted it to his lips, a gesture only, returning it unkissed.

  ‘Dobry wieczor,’ said Jerzy, and they shook hands. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘A drink? Oh yes!’

  Something in the way he said it made them all laugh. I like you, thought Elizabeth, watching him turn to Ewa, and smile, and seeing her blush. You look like the kind of person one could trust. He was saying something to Ewa in Polish, something about the room; he looked round, whistling at the size of it, the stained-glass window. He wore jeans, which looked new, boots, which were scuffed and looked old, and a shirt and thin grey sweater which needed ironing. He was quite a bit shorter than Jerzy, but then most people were; he had short hair, no particular shade of brown, and slightly irregular features. If you passed him in the street you wouldn’t notice him, but she knew that you could quickly become a friend, he just had that look
, and gave that feeling: direct, open, warm.

  Ewa was still holding the tissue-wrapped flowers. She said to Elizabeth in English, ‘I must put these in water.’

  ‘Of course. And – Ewa, I don’t mind if you all speak Polish.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Ewa looked at her. ‘I’d have thought you would feel very left out.’

  ‘No. It’s my fault for not learning more. Anyway, I like watching.’

  ‘And then we never know what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Does that matter?’ Elizabeth nodded towards Jerzy and Stefan, talking rapidly in Polish. Solidarność … Faruzelski … Bydgoszcz … Warszawa … ‘I haven’t seen Jerzy look so animated for months,’ she said. ‘Do you want any help with supper?’

  ‘No, no, it’s all ready, thanks. We can eat in a few minutes, if Jerzy’s so hungry.’ She went out to the kitchen, and Elizabeth went to sit on the sofa, and watched Stefan and Jerzy, one smoking, one coughing. She understood Stefan apologizing, and he moved away, Jerzy indicating that it was all right, he had to get used to it again whenever he saw Ewa. Then she was back in the room, carrying a tray, with a small glass vase of anemones among the dishes, and Stefan moved over and took it, and put it on the table.

  They ate by the open window, hearing the family of the house entertaining in the garden below. Once, Elizabeth leaned out and watched them; she saw Stuart, pouring wine for their guests, then letting his hand rest on his wife’s shoulder as he said something which made them laugh, before he sat down again, and she wondered: Will Jerzy and I be like that in twenty years’ time? Thirty years? My parents try to be like that, but they’re not, not inside; I don’t know if they really love each other still. Dusk was falling: she saw Stuart’s wife get up and go into the house, and return carrying candles. She lit them, and insects hovered above the wooden table. Elizabeth turned back to their own table, seeing how dark the room had become.

  ‘They’ve lit candles down there,’ she said.

  ‘Have they?’ said Ewa. ‘I don’t think I’ve got any. But we can have the lamp on.’ She leaned across and pressed the switch: at once, they were enclosed in a soft circle of light, which shone on their faces and the flowers, and Stefan turned to her as she sat down, and said in English: ‘Very nice. This is all’ – and he gestured at the table, and at all of them – ‘very nice.’ They laughed, and he put his arm lightly round Ewa’s shoulder, and Ewa, just for a moment, leaned her cheek against his, smiling, then drew away. Elizabeth watched Stefan, watching Ewa, and Ewa, reaching for her cigarettes, and thought: they look right together.