Perfectly Ordinary People(57)

‘Amongst many,’ she replied, glancing soulfully out at the street. ‘But yes. It has been hard without them. It’s been really hard. They were everything that made life worthwhile.’

‘You were close to both of them, then?’ I asked. ‘I’m not that up on our family history, I’m afraid.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I bet.’

Janine came over then with Ethel’s usual, which was apparently a cup of green tea. ‘It’s packed with antioxidants,’ Ethel told me, following my gaze.

‘Not a big fan of green tea, myself,’ I told her. ‘Antioxidants or not.’

‘No,’ Ethel said. ‘Me neither. It’s medicine, supposedly. So tell me, what’s this all about?’

Because I’d forgotten that it wasn’t me she’d been trying to contact but my father, her question momentarily flummoxed me. ‘I just . . .’ I said, struggling for words as Ethel smiled at me serenely and sipped her tea.

‘You know, I have a photo of you somewhere,’ she said, deciding to save me. ‘When you were about this high.’ She held her hand out to indicate the height of what would probably be a five-or six-year-old. ‘You were cute. And shockingly polite.’

‘I’d like to see it,’ I said. ‘We have so few photos from when we were little. And I still am.’

‘Cute?’

‘No. Shockingly polite.’

‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘Politeness is a good thing. And I’ll find it for you. It’s in . . .’ She cleared her throat. ‘I still need to go through all her stuff,’ she said. ‘Genny’s stuff. And yes, I know it’s been years. But it’s just . . . well, sometimes I think that maybe if I hang on a bit longer I won’t have to bother and someone else can do hers and mine together all in one big session.’

I didn’t really know how to react to that, and by the time I’d decided I should probably have said she’d be around for a long time yet it was too late, because she’d moved on to talking about the weather.

‘Anyway,’ she said, when she eventually interrupted her own rambling. ‘Why are you here? I’m assuming there’s some kind of reason?’

‘I suppose I just wanted to talk to you,’ I said. ‘There’s a bit of a black hole in our family history I’d like to fill. A few of them, actually, and I’m not really sure why.’

‘You’re not sure why you want to fill it?’

‘No, sorry. Why there’s such a void in the first place.’

Ethel smiled and nodded, encouraging me to continue.

‘I, um, feel like I really missed out by not getting to know my grandparents,’ I said. ‘And I feel sad about that. And bad about it – guilty, I suppose you could say.’

‘Oh, you shouldn’t feel guilty,’ Ethel said. ‘It takes two to tango, after all. But you did miss out. They were wonderful.’

I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by the two-to-tango thing, but I decided to save it for analysis during my train journey home.

‘And you seem to have known them both pretty well, so . . .’

Ethel snorted at this and then immediately apologised for having done so. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘but it’s just a bit of an understatement, that’s all.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

‘I don’t think three people could have known each other any better. But there’s no reason for you to know that, is there? If nobody ever told you, then nobody ever told you, right?’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Well, nobody did. Nobody ever told me anything. So how did that come about? That you all knew each other so well? I mean, I know you and Genny are related, but—’

‘Well, for starters, we knew each other from school,’ Ethel said, interrupting me. ‘We went around as a trio. Best friends.’ A wistful expression had come over her as she forced herself to remember. ‘And then we were separated because of the war. My parents sent me to London while Gen and Chris stayed behind. And then, after the war, we all shared a flat together in Vauxhall. It was too small for three people – well, four people if you include Guillaume, but we were broke so we didn’t have much choice. People don’t retain much mystery when you live in that kind of proximity.’

‘Guillaume,’ I said. ‘God, I even forget that’s Dad’s name. I’ve only ever heard anyone call him Billy, or Bill, my whole life.’

‘Yes, well, William is the English equivalent. I think he just got bored spelling it out for people.’

‘And you all lived together with the baby?’

‘He was five by the time they got to London, but yes. We all shared a flat. And then in ’49 I was well off enough to be able to finally move out.’

‘That must have been a relief.’

‘Oh, it was,’ Ethel said. ‘You have no idea.’

‘What year did they divorce?’ I asked. ‘You see, I don’t even know that.’

‘Fifty-nine,’ Ethel said. ‘And from that point on I shared with Gen.’

‘Was that for financial reasons too?’

‘More or less. There was no way a single mother in London could rent a flat on her own.’