22 Britannia Road - Amanda Hodgkinson [30]
She is jolted from her dreams by the sound of the siren. The sewing machines stutter to a stop and Silvana joins the movement towards the doors.
‘Miss?’
Silvana looks up to see the foreman looking at her.
‘Can I have a word?’
His eyes are neutral, his expression slightly bored. He folds his arms and Silvana feels herself shrinking under his impassive glance.
‘You think we make enough money here to pay you to daydream all day? I’ve got my eye on you. No more lateness and no more sitting idle. Understand?’
‘Of course. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. Do I still have my job?’
‘Just about. Go on, and stop looking at me like that. I’m not a bleeding monster. Just make sure you do your work.’
He steps aside and she dips her head to go through the wooden door, thankful that she has been given another chance. Bent over like that, for a moment she is reminded of Sunday church visits with Janusz’s family. She instinctively lifts her hand to cross herself. She will work harder. No more daydreaming. She’s so fired up by her convictions, she turns back and asks the foreman if she can stay behind and sew for a few more hours.
‘Go home,’ he says, not unkindly. ‘Go on, get on with you.’
‘I don’t want anyone looking at my son.’
Janusz sighs. ‘It’s just a doctor.’
‘There is no need to get other people involved,’ insists Silvana. ‘There is nothing wrong with Aurek.’
Janusz will not be talked out of his decision. He explains they need to know how to stop the child fighting at school, how to stop him making odd noises and acting crazy. What he really wants to know is how to make the child love him.
When Janusz looks at Aurek it is as though he sees the boy through a curtain, a fine curtain that you cannot take hold of in your hands, a curtain like a fast-falling flurry of snow that changes landscapes and blocks out all chance of understanding. He wants the doctor to show him how to see through it, how to bring the child into the light.
In his mind he sees a lively, chatty little English lad with his pockets full of cigarette cards, conkers, string, penknives and homemade catapults. He wants a boy who asks him to explain how aeroplanes work and machines turn.
Somewhere behind that snowy, hemmed-in world Aurek inhabits is his real child. Of that Janusz is sure. A doctor will know what to do. Modern medicine will give Janusz back his son, and he will be able to teach him how to ride a bicycle and make model planes. They will play cricket together in the back garden and go to football matches.
Janusz and Silvana sit in a crowded waiting room with the child between them, surrounded by the sounds of legs crossing and uncrossing, magazine pages being turned, the wet gurgles and wails of babies and the dry misery of hacking coughs and stifled sneezes. Janusz checks his watch.
‘There is nothing wrong with him,’ insists Silvana.
‘That’s what I hope.’
Aurek has started humming, a rumbling purr, like the drone of bees. Janusz tries to catch Silvana’s eye, wanting her to stop the boy making that noise, but she is staring at the exit as if she is planning to escape at any moment.
Beside the door, a young woman sits, swinging her foot. Her tan stocking is darned at the ankle. She reminds him of Hélène. He can’t help staring. The woman looks up from her magazine and their eyes meet. But she is nothing like Hélène. It is a mistake he makes all the time, seeing her in other women, tiny fragments of recognition in the brim of a hat, the movement of an ankle, a collar, the curve of a neck, a wave of the hand. It’s a weakness in him that won’t go away. A shameful hunger in him, like a man who has long ago stopped drinking but still dreams of the taste of vodka burning his lips.
Janusz can feel the woman’s gaze shift to take in his wife and son beside him. She turns back to the magazine on her lap and he suddenly feels foolish. It is a relief when they are finally ushered into the