22 Britannia Road - Amanda Hodgkinson [24]
Janusz hands her a packet with a brightly coloured picture of an orange flower on it.
‘Coreopsis. A few years ago, I saw a garden in Devon filled with them. And look at these hollyhocks – what a lovely red colour. Do you like them? Lady’s mantle grows well in this country. The English use it for ground cover. What do you think? Is there anything you would like to plant?’
Silvana studies the packets, their rich designs, the showy flowers they promise.
‘Herbs,’ she says. ‘I’d like to plant herbs.’
She searches the bright packets, looking for an illustration of a delicate white flower.
‘Do they have czosnek?’
Janusz frowns. ‘Garlic? No, I don’t think so. The English don’t like strong flavours. But how about mint? Or parsley? That grows well here.’
Silvana is distracted by Aurek, who has picked up a brown paper packet of beans and is rattling it against his ear. He begins to hum and dance, twirling around, tapping a rhythm on the wooden floors, grinning at the sound the dry seeds make. People are beginning to stare.
‘Come on,’ says Silvana, taking the packet from him gently. ‘Stop making all that noise.’
‘Do you want to choose some flower seeds?’ Janusz asks him. ‘You can help in the garden too.’
Aurek shakes his head. He waves his arms slowly and sways. ‘Trees,’ he croons. ‘I want trees.’
Silvana can see Janusz is confused by the boy’s behaviour, so she leads Aurek outside and waits in the street while Janusz pays for the seeds. By the time Janusz joins them, he has a smile on his face again and the earlier red flush of embarrassment in his cheeks has gone.
‘Let’s look in the jewellery shop,’ he says, taking Silvana by the arm. He wants to buy her a wedding ring, but the salesman tells him there is a national shortage. Too many weddings going on and not enough gold. Silver, yes, but not gold.
‘We’re already married,’ Janusz tells the salesman. ‘This is our son.’ He takes Aurek by the shoulders. ‘Surely you must have a gold wedding ring you can sell us. Can I see the manager, please?’
The manager is a long-faced man with a dirty shirt collar and worn cuffs. He comes out of his office shaking his head with a kind of weary patience that suggests they are not the only people who have asked him for the impossible that day.
Janusz explains again that they are married. Silvana stands beside him, trying to look like a good wife, clutching her wicker shopping basket to her as though it’s a velvet evening bag. She watches the manager’s polite disinterest in their marital history, Janusz’s confusion when the man tries to sell them a watch instead.
‘We’ll wait,’ Silvana says as they step out onto the pavement. ‘I don’t mind waiting. I don’t really need a ring.’
She sees the stiff set of Janusz’s mouth and knows she has said the wrong thing.
‘I really don’t mind,’ she says, pressing her hand into his. ‘I have you and Aurek. All I want is that. Let’s go home.’
Walking up Britannia Road, they pass a parade of women kneeling outside their front doors as if on prayer mats, heads bent towards their stone steps. Their aproned hips swing in almost perfect unison as they buff their steps to a shine. It’s a sight that makes Silvana feel awkward, all those backs turned to her as she walks past.
‘Morning,’ calls Doris when they stop outside their home.
‘You’ve got to polish your steps,’ she explains, standing up. ‘It’s a matter of pride around here. You need a donkey stone. Don’t ask me why it’s called that. All I know is how you keep your front door shows how you keep your home. You don’t want everybody thinking they’re better than you, do you?’
Silvana nods uncertainly. ‘Donkey stone?’
‘Put your hand out. That’s it.’
Silvana turns the stone over, examining it as if she has been handed a piece of rock from Mars.
‘Come on then, you have a go.’
Silvana kneels and rubs the stone against the step. It’s a pleasant movement, the stone running circles