“I’ve nothing left to say to you.”
“Perhaps you just need to listen.”
“To what? More empty boasting?”
Already his voice was raised again. Already Rhys was recoiling from it. I tried to calm him. They were saved from further embarrassment when Giselle appeared in the rear doorway and informed Owain that there was a telephone call for him.
The phone was in the lobby, an ancient shiny black Bakelite affair whose handset felt lead-weighted.
He put the receiver to his ear. There was the whoosh of static and below this a drowned, barely audible voice saying something in a querying tone.
Owain waited a moment to see if the interference would clear. The door to the dining room was ajar, his uncle and Giselle back at the table, talking quietly. Rhys passed by, not looking at him, closing the door as he rejoined the others.
Still the interference continued. It conveyed a sense of vastness and disorder, spreading out over the entire world like an electronic ocean into which he could quite easily be washed away. Amongst the turbulence there suddenly surfaced something that bore his name.
He stared at the mouthpiece, said into it: “Marisa?”
TWENTY-TWO
“…consider yourself lucky… might take a little time… anything you wanted to talk about…”
It was a familiar male voice, casual yet somehow earnest, conversational but with a purpose.
I looked around. Geoff was beside me in a green waxed jacket, a tweed cap on his head. We were walking around a small lake on a common, Tanya some distance ahead in a wine-coloured parka.
It was a blustery afternoon, the wind cold as it came off the water. Nearby someone was flying a boxy scarlet-and-blue kite. Wimbledon Common. We had just come out of a pub where I’d eaten knuckle of lamb with mash and root vegetables: snug in the alcove near an open fire, Geoff and Tanya and me.
“The thing is, you’re bound to feel disorientated for a while. Don’t try to rush things.”
He spoke in a soft, reasonable tone without making eye contact. This was him in his professional capacity, perhaps hoping to tease something out of me. Or keep me lulled.
Under his jacket he wore a Fair Isle sweater in earthy, autumnal colours. Heathery woollen trousers were tucked into green Welling-tons. It was just perfect. Easy to imagine him walking the fields of a family estate with a shotgun draped over one arm. But his family weren’t really landed and he disapproved of blood sports.
By contrast Tanya was in black leggings, her hair flowing free. I suppose what had drawn her to him was Geoff’s seriousness of purpose, his steadfastness and honesty. In the long term they were qualities more durable than passion.
There was so much I had to do, so much to find out. But the pressing conviction remained that I needed to make sense of my own recent history, be certain I had everything in place. And Tanya was somehow central to this.
After receiving the photograph from Kiev, I didn’t hear anything from her for three months. I assumed she was still travelling. Then one day t a message on my father’s answer phone. Tatiana had died suddenly and was being cremated the following Monday. Tanya gave the time and place, said that it would be good to see me if I could make it.
I rang her number several times but there was no reply. I told Lyneth that I was going to London to scout for suitable living places. She didn’t understand why it was suddenly so urgent, but I insisted it couldn’t wait. I added that I might stay the night with Geoff, whom I’d mentioned to her before.
The service was being held in the local crematorium. Toting my overnight bag, I arrived late and found perhaps two dozen people in the chapel. I’d never imagined Tatiana would have had that many mourners. Tanya was at the front in a sober skirt and jacket. Beside her, in a dark suit, was a beardless Geoff.
Of course I shouldn’t have been surprised, but my own vanity undermined me. To see them together in such a formal setting was far more significant than on a mere holiday snap.
After the service I loitered outside, watching Tanya accept condolences from elderly well-heeled men. One by one they were led away to smart executive cars by middle-aged companions who were presumably their sons and daughters.
Finally Tanya stood alone. I went straight over and gave her a hug.
Tatiana had had a heart attack two days before what was probably her seventy-fifth birthday. Tanya had found her sitting slumped on the toilet with a copy of Hello on her lap, open on an article about Princess Diana.
I didn’t know you were back, was the only thing I could think of saying. Since June, she replied.
The cars were driving away. Tanya told me they were old colleagues, civil servants, most of them. They’d worked with Tatiana in the post-war years, in administration, they said. How did they know about the funeral? She reminded me of the yearly birthday phone calls from Lionel. Tanya had given him the news.
A silver Carina pulled up. Geoff was at the wheel. He greeted me heartily. Tanya climbed into the front passenger seat and asked if I was coming back to the house. I slung my bag into the back.
I didn’t allow much of a silence, remarking that it must have been a pleasant surprise to see so many mourners. Tanya said that they’d all been warm about her grandmother but uninformative about the precise nature of their working relationship. Lionel himself hadn’t been able to attend: he was ill, but had sent flowers and a card.
I asked about their travels. Tanya told me that over Christmas her grandmother had let slip that she had been living in Kharkov, in the eastern Ukraine, “when the Germans came”. She wouldn’t elaborate but was miffed that it hadn’t been on their autumn agenda. So she and Geoff had spent a few days there that spring.
Naturally I wanted to know more, but we’d reached the house and floral tributes from the service were waiting for us, some m neigh-bours who’d plainly been fond of the old woman. We decorated the living room, piling bouquets on sideboards and armchairs, hanging wreaths from the mantelpiece and around mirrors so that it looked almost festive.
We sat out in the back garden, just the three of us, sipping fizzy wine and munching corn chips. Tanya asked after my brother, and I also talked about my experiences with the abortive documentary. We didn’t so much skirt around any other details of my home life as tacitly declare them off limits.
At some point Geoff announced that he had a few errands to run. Tanya’s lack of surprise told me that this was a tactical move planned beforehand in the event of my appearance. Geoff even fetched my bag from the car and set it down at my feet.
As soon as he had gone, Tanya indicated my bag and asked if I was planning on staying the night.
I immediately plunged into a hectic confessional, beginning by saying that I’d told Lyneth I might be staying overnight at Geoff’s. I was conscious that I’d never mentioned her name to Tanya before, but I hurried on, telling her that it was true that we’d been going out since our schooldays but it was nothing passionate, that I’d stayed with her out of loyalty. I should have told her from the start but I was afraid it might spoil what we had. And what I still wanted.
Tanya regarded me gravely before saying that she’d had enough emotional upheaval for one day and did I want to see some holiday snaps?
I should have known that with Tanya these would not prove conventional tourist photographs. In fact the pictures, which showed a drab post-war Soviet city indistinguishable from many others, were far less interesting than the narrative that accompanied them.
Tatiana’s claim that she had been living in Kharkov “when the Germans came” proved ripe with all sorts of possibilities. The city, the fourth largest in the USSR, had been a centre of tank and tractor production and hence an important target for the invading Wehrmacht. The Germans first captured it in October 1941 and instituted a brutal regime in which opportunistic Ukrainian nationals were employed to police the local population. Always close to the front line and of strategic importance to both sides, Kharkov remained under military rather than Nazi administration. Briefly recaptured by the Russians fifteen months later, it was lost again within a month before the German army finally quit the city in August 1943. By this time the population had plummeted, with many of its women and young men deported west to serve the German war effort. Many others had died of starvation during the winter months when all available food was appropriated by its occupiers.