Read Online 22 Britannia Road by Amanda Hodgkinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Amanda Hodgkinson
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her. It has a picture of a housewife holding a tray of tarts on the front page. The woman’s frilled apron rises up around her ears like the fluted ruff of her pastry.
‘How to Learn British Manners’ is Janusz’s preferred reading. The illustration on the front cover is of two men shaking hands and lifting their hats to each other. Janusz insists they read it together.
‘There are ways of doing things here,’ he says. ‘You need to learn them if you are going to fit in.’ He clears his throat, lifts an imaginary hat from his head. ‘Good morning, Mrs Nowak. How do you do?’
‘How do you do?’ Silvana repeats dutifully, a small smile playing around her lips.
‘Lovely weather for the time of year.’
‘Yes, eezn’t it.’ Silvana giggles.
Janusz’s eyes crease at the corners. ‘Yes, eezn’t it.’ He laughs a little.
Silvana bites her lip and concentrates. ‘Lovely vezzer,’ she repeats, her voice breaking into laughter.
‘Weather.’
‘ Vezzer . Wehhzer?’
‘Wait a moment,’ says Janusz. He comes back from the kitchen with a bottle. ‘I got this today. It’s called sherry. You should try it. It’s what they drink here.’
Silvana takes the glass he offers.
‘Oh, no, no. You mustn’t drink it down in one. It’s not like vodka. Here they sip it slowly and say, “Chin chin. God save the King.”’
It is sweet and cloying, but they drink the bottle dry and dance around the room, the wireless playing Glenn Miller, Aurek lying on his back on the rug, making small, off-key noises to himself. Janusz puts a porcelain bowl on his head and pretends it is a bowler hat, while Silvana waves an umbrella in the air. Their voices are loud and full of laughter.
Swinging Silvana around in time to the music, Janusz thinks they must look to the outside world like a couple of newlyweds. People who have never been touched by the war. He holds her close and feels … young. A young married man. A husband and a father. Something he has not felt for a long time. He will make up for the years they have spent apart. The war and all its horrors will be forgotten in this house. He has been given a second chance. It’s all falling into place, this new beginning. Yes , he thinks, as he watches his wife’s face. This is a lucky house. And if it wasn’t before, it is now .
Most nights the dreams still come to Silvana. She cannot stop them. Being with Janusz has brought her to a kind of calmness, and yet his nearness brings back memories that she has kept from herself for years. Memories that threaten to undo her. Their son before the war; Janusz’s parents’ garden with its smooth lawns; Eve playing her violin for Aurek and his delighted, high-pitched laugh. It was there Aurek had taken his first steps, the child grinning with a smile only Janusz could have given him, father and son inseparable as a cloud’s reflection in a lake. Memories like this seem to pour out of her, and she finds herself crying for those lost days.
Her dreams are dark and terrible. Her son is swimming in unfathomable waters, and try as she might to save him, he always slips from her grasp, falling back into the inky depths. She wakes, trying to scrape the skin from her fingers, thinking of lost children, the groupsof homeless street kids she saw, the orphans at the camp. Where are they now? Still searching for their dead parents? She cannot get the children out of her head. They haunt her nights. And all the women searching for their babies call to her in her dreams, begging her to help them.
She knows she disturbs Janusz with her night frights, but he says nothing. He is quiet and patient, but already she wonders whether he regrets bringing her to England. It is surely not the reunion he must have had in mind. Have they both made an awful mistake?
One morning, she knocks on the door of Doris, the neighbour who always waves hello, the only one in the street who acknowledges them at all.
‘I need to learn how to be a good
‘How to Learn British Manners’ is Janusz’s preferred reading. The illustration on the front cover is of two men shaking hands and lifting their hats to each other. Janusz insists they read it together.
‘There are ways of doing things here,’ he says. ‘You need to learn them if you are going to fit in.’ He clears his throat, lifts an imaginary hat from his head. ‘Good morning, Mrs Nowak. How do you do?’
‘How do you do?’ Silvana repeats dutifully, a small smile playing around her lips.
‘Lovely weather for the time of year.’
‘Yes, eezn’t it.’ Silvana giggles.
Janusz’s eyes crease at the corners. ‘Yes, eezn’t it.’ He laughs a little.
Silvana bites her lip and concentrates. ‘Lovely vezzer,’ she repeats, her voice breaking into laughter.
‘Weather.’
‘ Vezzer . Wehhzer?’
‘Wait a moment,’ says Janusz. He comes back from the kitchen with a bottle. ‘I got this today. It’s called sherry. You should try it. It’s what they drink here.’
Silvana takes the glass he offers.
‘Oh, no, no. You mustn’t drink it down in one. It’s not like vodka. Here they sip it slowly and say, “Chin chin. God save the King.”’
It is sweet and cloying, but they drink the bottle dry and dance around the room, the wireless playing Glenn Miller, Aurek lying on his back on the rug, making small, off-key noises to himself. Janusz puts a porcelain bowl on his head and pretends it is a bowler hat, while Silvana waves an umbrella in the air. Their voices are loud and full of laughter.
Swinging Silvana around in time to the music, Janusz thinks they must look to the outside world like a couple of newlyweds. People who have never been touched by the war. He holds her close and feels … young. A young married man. A husband and a father. Something he has not felt for a long time. He will make up for the years they have spent apart. The war and all its horrors will be forgotten in this house. He has been given a second chance. It’s all falling into place, this new beginning. Yes , he thinks, as he watches his wife’s face. This is a lucky house. And if it wasn’t before, it is now .
Most nights the dreams still come to Silvana. She cannot stop them. Being with Janusz has brought her to a kind of calmness, and yet his nearness brings back memories that she has kept from herself for years. Memories that threaten to undo her. Their son before the war; Janusz’s parents’ garden with its smooth lawns; Eve playing her violin for Aurek and his delighted, high-pitched laugh. It was there Aurek had taken his first steps, the child grinning with a smile only Janusz could have given him, father and son inseparable as a cloud’s reflection in a lake. Memories like this seem to pour out of her, and she finds herself crying for those lost days.
Her dreams are dark and terrible. Her son is swimming in unfathomable waters, and try as she might to save him, he always slips from her grasp, falling back into the inky depths. She wakes, trying to scrape the skin from her fingers, thinking of lost children, the groupsof homeless street kids she saw, the orphans at the camp. Where are they now? Still searching for their dead parents? She cannot get the children out of her head. They haunt her nights. And all the women searching for their babies call to her in her dreams, begging her to help them.
She knows she disturbs Janusz with her night frights, but he says nothing. He is quiet and patient, but already she wonders whether he regrets bringing her to England. It is surely not the reunion he must have had in mind. Have they both made an awful mistake?
One morning, she knocks on the door of Doris, the neighbour who always waves hello, the only one in the street who acknowledges them at all.
‘I need to learn how to be a good
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