to dusting the drawing room.
When I brought Poppa up to see Ben, I could tell that the dent in our marital relationship had deepened into a bottomless pit. My own husband had to snap his fingers a couple of times to recall my name. And if I didn’t have enough problems, the little dog, misnamed Sweetie, took a snarling dislike to me. I couldn’t think of a thing to serve for dinner except ruined hors d’oeuvres. And, for all his pleasantness to me, Poppa soon made it plain that his desire to see his son did not include a willingness to speak to him. Honour must prevail. The possibility of instant reconciliation between my in-laws also went out the window like a loose canary when they met across Ben’s bed.
“You’re looking fatter, Eli.”
“You’re looking thinner, Maggie.”
“I will not turn my son’s mansion into a battleground.”
“Won’t seem like home, will it?”
She smoothed down her grey cardigan, he rubbed his bald spot, and that was that.
From then on, the house turned into a revolving door. Each time Magdalene saw Eli, she crossed herself. Each time he saw her, he chanted something in Yiddish. I grew dizzy wondering how long this might last. And, to add zing to the tension, Sweetie was trying to drive me off her territory. Tobias went into hibernation. Occasionally I would espy a dangle of fluffy tail out the door of a high cupboard but, in my time of need, the comfort of a warm furry body was denied me.
How long would Poppa stay? My suspicions became confirmed when he requested a room with a view, enquired as to the location of the nearest synagogue, and wanted to know whether I was aware of any chess societies in need of new members.
Within hours of Poppa’s arrival, I began to perceive unnerving signs of a different sort. He wasn’t making himself at home; he was making
Never had I missed my dear friends more than that long Thursday evening. How much more could I take of Poppa not talking to Ben (except with his eyes), Poppa and Magdalene not talking to each other, Ben not talking to me, and me… doing all the talking. With fond nostalgia I thought of the Aunts Astrid and Lulu, dear Uncle Maurice… stopping short only at Vanessa. But mostly I thought of closing the kitchen door on chaos and sinking into a deep, deep sleep. But to reach this utopia I would have to get into bed with Ben, who had summarily rejected the cup of tea I offered to fetch him; his mother was bringing him hot milk.
To sleep on the chaise lounge now that he was better would make me look silly. To retire to a separate bedroom would be wrong. Magdalene would know. Turning off the bedside light, I slid planklike between the sheets. I had worked off just a little of my remorse.
“Forget something, darling?” Ben’s voice broke into the darkness.
I wasn’t too tired to smile. “What?” I edged a millimeter closer to his warmth. Statistically, what were the chances of the bedroom door flying open?
“Your duster. Oh, and Ellie…”
“Yes?”
“I promise not to wake you if I die in the night. I know you need your beauty sleep.”
I felt him fold a pyjama’d arm over his face and close his eyes. Cruel! Cruel! How could I sleep? What if he died in the night and I were not awake to revive him? Dr. Melrose had assured me that all that was needed now for complete recovery was a few days of bed rest and medication. But I knew Ben when he was intent on making a point.
Tomorrow is another day, I thought, ripe with promise. The promise of continued hostilities, Roxie giving me hell on account of the kitchen, and Sweetie, the dog with the yap that went right through you, scratching her toenails as she hurtled across parquet and stone floors, wetting every time someone laid down a newspaper. Why didn’t I remember meeting the little dear on my visit to Tottenham?
Sweetie, so Poppa informed me the next morning, was new. Secondhand new, that is. He had purchased her from a man boarding the same London train yesterday, who, after much fumbling in his pockets, discovered he did not have the money for her fare.
“Is she a present for your wife?” I attempted a smile at Sweetie, but had to snatch it back.
“Maggie hates all dogs.”
Sweetie must not have heard him. When Magdalene entered the kitchen at eight o’clock and Poppa went out into the hall, the dog skittered toward her, whimpering and darting looks over her ratty shoulder at me.
“Poor neglected mite.” Magdalene squinted as though unsure precisely what the mite was, but ten seconds later the wee brute was halfway up her leg and into her heart.
And to give the devil her due, Sweetie did get Magdalene to set foot out of the house. My mother-in-law set the fuzzy scrap down, took one look at the dishes rising like the Tower of Babel, and pressed her lips firmly together. She was not going to say a word of criticism. She donned her coat and the damson beret, attached Sweetie to a length of string, and with a squaring of her birdlike shoulders, informed me that she refused to be a victim any longer to her nerves.
“I don’t expect you to understand, Giselle, but I’ve been hiding from shadows.”
“Have you, Magdalene?” I felt a surge of closeness, all tied up with the Raincoat Man and the hamburgers that chased by night. I wanted to ask what her shadows looked like, but Sweetie was standing cross-legged by the garden door. Out they went and in came Roxie. Half an hour early. Blast! I could have hidden the mess and the kitchen itself, given time.
I put on two aprons-one for the front, one for the back-and started tying strings. “Feel free to develop a crippling headache, Roxie, and go home.”
She smacked her red butterfly lips together and, without removing the velvet hat with its sequined brooch, tossed both ends of her feather boa over her shoulders and rolled up her coat sleeves.
“I hate to think what the health inspector would say if he was to pop in. A good thing Roxie Malloy can keep her mouth shut.” Her record for that feat was 1.024 seconds.
I flushed water into the sink and said I would naturally pay her extra.
“I wouldn’t dream!” She fluttered purple lids. “What with the day you had yesterday, the Historical Society all over the house, falling into dungeons! Couldn’t hear the numbers at bingo for all the talk about it. Course, if you should choose, Mrs. H., to slip a little something extra into me hand when I’m not looking, there’s not much I can do to stop you, short of giving offense. And with your mother-in-law visiting you too, I gather-”
“Did someone mention me?” Magdalene came through the garden doorway, nose reddened by the wind, beret pulled over the ears, Sweetie trying to outrun the lead so she could gnaw my legs.
“I thought I heard the kettle whistle, Giselle, and I always have a cup of tea about this time. Oh, it’s not even on-never mind, I’ll manage without. What I have to tell you is I’ve changed my mind about tonight.”
“That’s nice. Magdalene, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Malloy.”
“Very pleased,” said Magdalene. “Perhaps you won’t need to come in as many hours now I’m here.” She blinked a smile at Roxie. “Yes, Giselle, as I sat on a bench looking at God’s lovely trees and thinking how they needed pruning, I came to know my duty. I must be at this party to see that my only son’s restaurant gets off to a decent start.”
I am ashamed to say I didn’t like Ben’s mother excessively, but I couldn’t fault her courage.
“Pleased to meet you, madam,” Roxie huffed at Magdalene. “Now if you’ll scoot sideways, I’ll mop around you. I hope Mrs. H. informed you that I don’t clean up after dogs.” The words were barely out of her mouth when Sweetie went into a squat. That animal had to be two-thirds water.
