Chapter Four

It had been like a personal intervention of the Mother of God when Ania met Dr Clara Casey and got a job in the

heart clinic.

Ania was the youngest of her family. She could not remember her father because she had been only three when he was

killed in an accident. It had been a terrible day when poor Pawel had reversed his new lorry, which had been his pride and joy, into a deep quarry. He had only made the first payment on this truck which was going to change their finances.

Papa would work all the hours that God sent and the family would be wealthy in their happy home. His daughters would marry men of substance in the area, his son Jozef would join him in the business. Their name would be known all over the countryside as people who could be relied on.

Ania heard all this later. Because the story was so often told in her family she sometimes believed that she remembered that day, the day they brought the news home Papa was dead and the lorry had not been paid for. Two pieces of almost equally bad news, the way it was told.

So there was no wonderful family home, there was her poor mother, her Mamusia, who worked all the hours in the day to

put food on the table. Her brother Jozef joined no family company; instead he went north looking for work in Gdansk.

At first he wrote and said he was in the shipyards and doing well and he sent Mama a little money. But then he met a

woman from Gdynia and with the expense of setting up a

home for himself and his new bride, soon the money stopped coming.

Her two sisters worked in a factory where they met men and married them. There was nothing for them at home now,

better to start lives of their own. They would come by from time to time, complaining about their in-laws and how hard they worked.

‘Stay single as long as you can, little Ania,’ they warned.

Not that this was hard for Ania to do: she was still very young and when she came home from school each day there was little enough time even to do any studying. Not that she was such a good student; but she had to help her mother while she lived at home. It was her job to get the irons ready to press the clothes that her mother mended. And it wasn’t a matter of lovely, easy electric irons like now, with steam irons like today.

Ania had learned to iron with great heavy things that warmed on the stove, and always with a damp cloth to protect the material. Woe betide anyone who left a scorch mark.

Mamusia always said that if you returned the clothes

steamed and pressed to people when the alterations were

done, they really appreciated the garment looking much

smarter than it had before. It would encourage them to bring their skirts to be let out for a matronly figure or a school uniform adapted for a younger child.

Some other girls in her street went to the carnival when it came to town, and the circus, and they would meet for coffee and fizzy drinks in the cafe beside the bridge. But not Ania.Ś

There was always too much to do.

 

Mamusia was always cheerful and full of hope.

‘We have our good name, little Ania, we have our standing here among these people. Your father was a respected man.

We have managed to pay off what was owing on his lorry. We are people of honour. Nothing can bring us down.’

But Mamusia didn’t know what was in store that would

change everything.

 

When Ania was fifteen, Mamusia made her a birthday present of a little jacket trimmed with dark green velvet. A customer had bought too much and Mamusia had carefully put aside

some of the small pieces that she snipped off.

Ania was delighted with her finery. Her dark hair looked very shiny and she thought that in fact she might not be that ugly after all. She had always seemed so scrawny and awkward compared to other girls, she hadn’t known that she would look so well when dressed up.

She saved her little amount of money to go to the cafe with her best friend Lidia, to show off her new style. The other girls were very admiring and all the time she was aware that a dark haired man was looking at her with some interest.

Eventually he introduced himself.

‘I’m Marek,’ he said. ‘And you are very beautiful.’ Nobody had ever said anything remotely like this before to Ania. She felt a lovely thrill of excitement. This man really thought she was beautiful — little Ania, Mamusia’s little kitchen help.

‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

‘What a pity they don’t have a juke box here, we could

dance,’ he said.

‘I’m not a good dancer.’ Ania looked at the ground.

‘I could teach you,’ Marek said. ‘I love to dance.’

‘I might see you again …’ Ania looked at him innocently.

‘Yes, you might, but not in a dull, dead place like this. In

the next town there is a good cafe called Motlawa. I go there most afternoons.’

And little Ania, who had never told her mother an untruth in her life, wove a long story about a friend at school whose mother had died and the funeral was in the next town. Her mother gave her the money for the bus fare and Ania set out alone for the Cafe Motlawa. She had washed her hair and put the juice of half a lemon in the rinsing water as Lidia had told her this made it shiny.

As she left the house her mother pressed a coin into her hand, to light a candle in the church for the poor soul who had died. Ania had never felt so guilty in her whole life. She spent the extra money on a lipstick and hoped against hope that this would be an afternoon that Marek was dropping in to the cafe.

She saw him immediately and there was music playing. He

came straight over and stretched out both his arms. Soon they were dancing. It seemed as natural as anything to lean against him and feel his arms around her. They didn’t talk much.

They didn’t need to. And then when she said she had to go to catch her bus, he walked her to the bus station.

‘You look so beautiful in your green jacket,’ he said. ‘Like something from a forest, a nymph maybe.’

‘It’s my only good coat,’ she admitted. ‘You may get tired of looking at it.’ Then she realised how forward she had been. ‘I mean, that is if we were to see each other again …’ She was full of confusion now.

He lifted her chin and gave her a gentle kiss. She could feel it on her lips all the way back on the bus, while she tried to make up some story about the funeral she was meant to have attended and to think up an excuse to go to the Cafe Motlawa again.

 

Love always finds a way.

Ania had read that and it was true. The local school teacher was having several outfits made but she needed smart buttons, much better than the local shop provided. Ania said that she remembered she had passed a shop that day when she had

gone to her friend’s mother’s funeral. Perhaps she could go and spend a day in that town and see what she could find.

Again, she felt overcome with guilt at her mother’s gratitude.

‘What a good daughter you are, Ania. I was truly blessed with you,’ her mother said. ‘When my Pawel was killed, when my Jozef went away to Gdansk, I knew I could rely on you.

Thank you, my daughter, thank you again.’

Ania found a shop in minutes which sold the right buttons.

The old man told her to help herself from the box. He was short-sighted and couldn’t see properly.

Ania had pocketed half a dozen tiny pearl buttons before she realised what she was doing. It would mean that she now had spending money. She was wearing her old navy blue

jacket, which was very shabby but could easily be dressed up.

So when she left the old man with the buttons in her pocket, she spent the extra money on a pink and white enamel brooch to pin on her jacket.

Marek said that she looked beautiful, and they danced

together all afternoon. She saw people looking at her admiringly.

None of them knew that she would spend the evening

ironing the alterations her mother had been doing all day and then sewing on little pearl buttons that she had stolen.

‘What do you do for a living, Ania?’ he whispered in her ear.

So he didn’t know she was a schoolgirl. ‘I help in my

mother’s dress designing and tailoring business,’ she said.

‘And do you make much money doing that, little Ania?’

‘No, very little.’

‘You’d like money to buy beautiful things?’

 

‘Oh yes - but wouldn’t we all?’

‘I love good clothes too, so I work to make money to buy them.’ He was so handsome with his white teeth, his snowy white shirt, his black leather jacket and his dark grey, fine wool trousers. Just to look at him you would think he was a very wealthy man. And yet if he was why was he able to hang

around cafes and dance for the afternoon instead of going to work?

It was a mystery.

So she asked him.

‘I am waiting until I can afford a place of my own, Ania, a really good place. I don’t like working for other people. It will happen one day. Meanwhile, I look and learn …’

Ania managed to find excuse after excuse to bring her to town and three months had gone by when he suggested that Ania miss the bus back to her village.

‘I couldn’t do that!’ Ania said, shocked.

‘You could stay with me for the whole night, we both want it …’

‘But Mamusia?’

‘Your Mamusia will be told you have missed the bus, you

are staying with that friend whose mother died - remember?

You will go back on the bus tomorrow morning …’

‘No, Marek, I cannot.’

‘Right.’ He shrugged and already she could see that he was emotionally saying goodbye to her.

‘I could do it next week,’ she said hastily.

And he smiled his slow wonderful smile.

One of the reasons she had said no was because she was

wearing such shabby underwear, an old grey slip, washed so many times it was shapeless and almost threadbare, a tired bra that had belonged to both of her sisters. If this were to happen, then she would be prepared.

For a week she sewed in her own room, adding lace here,

 

little rosebuds there. She also worked hard for her mother to lessen her guilt when the time came. It was an endless week, she missed a lot of classes at school and brought her sewing to the school bicycle shed to make sure that she finished the garments for her mother.

On Saturday, dressed from the skin out in her best, Ania got on the bus trembling. She was going to have sex for the very first time tonight. She was going to spend the whole night in Marek’s arms. Her heart was beating so fast it made her dizzy.

 

‘Be careful, little Ania,’ her mother called.

For one moment, Ania wanted to run back and weep on her

mother’s shoulder, tell her everything. But the moment passed and she was on the bus.

By now, she knew some of the people in the Cafe Motlawa.

They nodded at her and welcomed her as a regular.

Marek was waiting, leaning on the counter.

‘Dzien dobry, Ania,’ he greeted her formally.

‘Dzien dobry, Marek,’ she responded, shyly.

Then she was in his arms dancing to the music. Like always.

Except that this time she was not going home to her mother.

Please, please, may it all be all right …

 

She had never stayed late like this before, so she saw them putting candles in bottles and watched the great romantic shadows flickering on the walls. Then she went to the telephone and called Mrs Zak who ran the corner shop back

home.

Mrs Zak was horrified that Ania had missed the bus.

‘Where will I tell your mother that you will stay, Ania?’

‘With my school friend, Lidia, Mrs Zak, I will be home

tomorrow.’ Eventually, after what seemed an age, Mrs Zak hung up.

 

As Ania turned around she saw Marek was looking at her.

‘You are beautiful Ania, and I love you,’ he said.

‘I have never done this before. I might not be very good at it,’ she began.

‘You will be wonderful and we will be very happy,’ he said, putting his arms around her. They went to a room upstairs where there was a mattress and a rug on the floor. There was a jug with flowers in it, placed there by Marek. It wasn’t wonderful but she felt very happy as she fell asleep in his arms.

Next morning he went and got her a breakfast of coffee and rolls.

Nothing had ever seemed so magical.

Then, smiling at the whole world around her, she got the bus home.

 

Her mother suspected nothing when Ania got back. Her two sisters called that day and there was talk that one of them might be pregnant and a lot of excitement about the news.

Ania was miles away in her mind, back in the Cafe Motlawa.

There had to be a way that she could go back to Marek’s town again, but it had been such a performance missing the bus once, she could never try that again.

She sewed and mended and ironed, her heart heavy at

all that was nearly within her grasp but could so easily be snatched away.

 

The following day, when she went to Mrs Zak’s shop to buy bread and vegetables she heard that the cafe on the bridge was for sale. The long thin miserable man who owned it had

decided there was no future in selling coffee and cakes that were too expensive for the older people while the younger ones travelled on the bus to the next town for cafes that had music.

So he was selling it as soon as he could.

 

‘Let’s hope nobody buys it who is going to make it a noisy place,’ Mrs Zak said.

‘Oh heavens,’ Ania said.

‘Because whoever does buy it may well want to have it as a bar.’

‘That is true. Mrs Zak, can I also buy a stamp?’ Ania asked.

 

Dear darling Marek,

You know the cafe on the bridge in our town? Well, it is now for sale. I remember you said you wanted your own

place, so perhaps you could buy it and then I could see you every day. I would like this so very much.

Your loving Ania

 

The very next day he arrived. He brought his brother and another friend and they talked for hours to the man with the long, sepulchral face who ran the cafe. They explained they wanted a quiet family business, and that he would not find it easy to get buyers in such an out-of-the-way spot. There was a day of talking and small cups of coffee; and by late afternoon, a deal had been agreed. Marek, his brother and their friend would buy and refurbish the Bridge Cafe.

Marek and his partners had acted quickly and got a good

price. By the time any other buyers had heard of the sale and shown some interest, it was over and done with. The next step was to apply for the liquor licence.

He knew better than to go to Ania’s house when the

business was concluded; her Mamusia sounded a force to be reckoned with. So instead he waited. He knew she would find him and she did.

Her eyes lit up as she saw him sitting on the bridge.

‘Marek! You got my letter!’ she cried.

‘What letter?’ he asked.

‘I wrote to tell you about this cafe, it’s for sale.’

 

‘Not any longer, we bought it. Three hours ago!’

‘Oh, Marek, how wonderful! This is what I prayed and

prayed would happen …’

‘And your prayers were answered, little Ania.’

‘But how did you hear about it?’

‘I heard,’ he said.

She was disappointed for a moment, she had wanted to be

the one who had steered him in the right direction. But she was so happy that he would be here it didn’t matter.

‘Imagine - we both had the same idea.’

‘You had the same idea?’

‘Yes, yes, I thought it would be wonderful, I wanted you to hear before anyone else. My letter will arrive tomorrow, and now it’s already decided!’ She clasped her hands with excitement about it all.

‘You had the same idea? That you should come and work

for us at our new cafe?’ He sounded disbelieving.

Ania bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of this - but why not?

It would mean she could see Marek every day. But there was another hurdle to be overcome. Mamusia wouldn’t hear of

it. She would say Ania was too young to leave school. She wouldn’t like her being associated with a cafe that sold alcohol to young people.

But she would think about all that later.

‘I didn’t put that bit about working for you, in my letter,’

she began.

‘But you will? You will, Ania?’

‘Yes, of course I will.’

 

He could never have known how hard it was for her but Ania knew that Marek thought life was simple. You wanted to do something, you did it. He didn’t have people like Mamusia, Mrs Zak, her sisters, her teachers. But better not to list the problems now. She would wait until the time was right.

 

The time became right sooner than she might have thought.

Marek had endeared himself to the formidable Mrs Zak,

throwing himself on her mercy and saying he wanted a nice young girl from a good, honourable family who lived with her parents but who could work in the new cafe and attract a nice wholesome type of clientele.

Mrs Zak immediately told Ania’s Mamusia.

‘What a pity you are still at school,’ Mamusia said. ‘It would have been a wonderful job for you so near to home.’

‘About school,’ Ania began slowly. This was the most

important moment of her life; she must not handle it badly.

‘About school, Mamusia, the teacher was telling me only last week that she didn’t see much purpose in my studying any more …’

‘She said this!’ Mamusia was stricken.

‘Yes and at first I was upset because I could not see a way that I could earn a living and still help you, Mamusia. But now, possibly … who knows?’

‘Do you think he might give you a job?’ Mamusia’s eyes

were full of hope.

‘We can only see,’ Ania said and ran down the road to the cafe.

For the first few days Ania wore a blue and white check

blouse and a dark blue skirt. She served coffee and cakes to people like Mrs Zak, her own Mamusia, two of the priests in the parish, the local doctor and some of the older neighbours.

It was a deliberate attempt to win support and fight back any criticism. Ania’s sisters said she was lucky to have found work so near home. Her sixteenth birthday came and went and she made no fuss of it, mainly because she didn’t want Marek to know that she was still so young.

There was a small apartment above the cafe and Marek and his brother Roman and their partner Lev each had their own rooms. Ania secretly made curtains, cushions and a quilt for

Marek’s room. She bought a picture of flowers in a field for him at a local auction, she found an old chest of drawers out in the back and sanded it and polished it for him. Soon she had Marek’s room looking like a little palace.

She longed to come and live with him there. How happy

she would be all day, going to get the bread and milk in the mornings, dealing with the deliveries, maybe visiting her mother once a day for an hour or two to help with the sewing and to chat.

But this was impossible.

Ania spent the first hours of the day sewing; then she went to the Bridge Cafe, helped to tidy up after the night before, aired the place and made herself useful while Marek, Roman and Lev drank coffee and talked about how to bring in more customers. One day they planned their big buy of a juke box.

It would be expensive but soon it would pay for itself.

Not, of course, if Mrs Zak and Ania’s Mamusia and their

like were their only customers. Soon they would make a push to get in the younger generation.

The machine arrived and they stood around it in wonder,

and when it sprang into life and into music all four of them danced around in celebration. Ania had never felt so happy and part of something marvellous.

Then they had to attract the young people. For one thing Ania must dress differently: right now she looked like a prim little schoolgirl. People would come to the Bridge Cafe to forget school and work, hoping to be transported to somewhere

more exciting, and magical. Ania should wear a frilly black skirt and a low red top.

‘Where would I get those kind of clothes?’ Anna gasped.

‘You are a dressmaker, you could make them,’ Marek said

and he sounded impatient. So she made them. Then Marek

said that she should dance to give the others the idea of dancing too.

 

‘You mean I get paid to dance with one of the bosses. This is okay!’ she laughed happily.

‘Yes, with me and, of course, with anyone else who asks

you,’ he said.

‘But, Marek, I don’t want to dance with strangers, I want to dance with you,’ she protested.

‘And I want to dance with you, Ania, but work is work,

business is business. When they have all gone home we can dance together.’

‘But I can’t stay late, I have to go home after work,’ Ania said with a trembling lip.

‘Ania, are you beginning to nag and complain?’ he asked.

She dreaded hearing him talk like this. There was an edge of impatience in his voice. It would be followed by a lack of interest.

The? Nag? Complain? Never!’ she laughed.

Marek rewarded her by putting his arms around her waist.

‘That’s my girl,’ he said.

 

It was torture having to dance with clumsy men who groped her, watched by those who waited for the number to end so that they could do the same.

‘We don’t have enough girls coming here,’ Marek complained.

‘Can you go up to that school where you used to be,

Ania, and tell the girls what a great place it is.’

So Ania went to the school and outside the playground

gates she told the girls about the fun in the Bridge Cafe. Her best friend, Lidia, was wary at first, but promised to bring some of their old classmates along. Slowly they came to try it out. Nervously they came in, unsure, not knowing what to expect. Marek, Roman and Lev welcomed them warmly and

danced with them. It was even worse torture to see Marek dancing with other girls, particularly that bossy girl Oliwia,

‘She has plenty of money, Ania, she treats her friends to coming here. Is it not wise to encourage her?’

Ania thought Marek was being far too encouraging. She

saw Oliwia’s flushed face when she left the dance floor and there was no time for Ania to have those beautiful, soft, slow dances where she folded into Marek’s arms so naturally. And she couldn’t stay the night with him. They were able to steal a few hours in the early afternoon when business was slack and they could sneak up to Marek’s room but it wasn’t very

satisfactory. They were always listening for one of the others to call upstairs to them.

Still Mamusia suspected nothing. One of Ania’s sisters told her that the place was beginning to have a bit of a reputation.

The word was out: young people were there drinking too

much.

Ania said that simply couldn’t be. Mrs Zak went there every day for her morning coffee. She would have been the first to complain if there were anything wrong, but she went in

regularly. Ania didn’t say that she had to be sure to have the place shining for her, with no sign of the previous night’s bad behaviour. They had boxes by the back yard where they

stacked the bottles. Then once a week they drove them in Roman’s van to a recycling place. Nobody must be allowed to see just how many had gathered there.

 

One afternoon when they had a secret hour to spend together, Ania found a woman’s hairpins in Marek’s bed. The shock hit her like a physical blow as she held them up in horror.

‘I don’t wear any hairpins, Marek, where could these have come from?’ she cried.

‘Oh, I often curl my hair,’ he laughed.

 

‘How do I know? Maybe one of the others brought a girl

here. We are not policemen, we don’t examine each other’s movements …’

‘The others have rooms of their own. This is our room.’

‘Yes, well, whatever …’ Marek said dismissively.

Ania sat shivering.

‘Come on, Ania, we haven’t much time,’ he encouraged

her.

But Ania got up and dressed quietly. She went downstairs and stood behind the bar.

‘My, that was quick,’ Roman said.

‘Can you please pack your van with bottles? There are far too many of them cluttering up the yard.’

‘Right, okay, peace,’ he said.

‘Have you ever slept in Marek’s and my room, Roman?’

‘I have my own room.’ He looked indignant.

‘I thought that was the case,’ she said.

Roman realised he might have said the wrong thing.

‘Maybe, perhaps I made a mistake - like, some night, you know, late. It’s possible. I could have …’he said lamely.

 

Ania prepared the little uszka and golabki they served at lunchtime; she worked away steadily at the dumplings and the cabbage parcels and when Marek appeared disgruntled and complaining she took no notice. She talked instead to the customers.

‘Ania,

come here and listen to me,’ he begged.

‘It’s business. You told me to make the customers happy.

This is what I am trying to do.’

 

‘She has plenty of money, Ania, she treats her friends to coming here. Is it not wise to encourage her?’

Ania thought Marek was being far too encouraging. She

saw Oliwia’s flushed face when she left the dance floor and there was no time for Ania to have those beautiful, soft, slow dances where she folded into Marek’s arms so naturally. And she couldn’t stay the night with him. They were able to steal a few hours in the early afternoon when business was slack and they could sneak up to Marek’s room but it wasn’t very

satisfactory. They were always listening for one of the others to call upstairs to them.

Still Mamusia suspected nothing. One of Ania’s sisters told her that the place was beginning to have a bit of a reputation.

The word was out: young people were there drinking too

much.

Ania said that simply couldn’t be. Mrs Zak went there every day for her morning coffee. She would have been the first to complain if there were anything wrong, but she went in

regularly. Ania didn’t say that she had to be sure to have the place shining for her, with no sign of the previous night’s bad behaviour. They had boxes by the back yard where they

stacked the bottles. Then once a week they drove them in Roman’s van to a recycling place. Nobody must be allowed to see just how many had gathered there.

 

One afternoon when they had a secret hour to spend together, Ania found a woman’s hairpins in Marek’s bed. The shock hit her like a physical blow as she held them up in horror.

‘I don’t wear any hairpins, Marek, where could these have come from?’ she cried.

‘Oh, I often curl my hair,’ he laughed.

 

‘How do I know? Maybe one of the others brought a girl

here. We are not policemen, we don’t examine each other’s movements …’

‘The others have rooms of their own. This is our room.’

‘Yes, well, whatever …’ Marek said dismissively.

Ania sat shivering.

‘Come on, Ania, we haven’t much time,’ he encouraged

her.

But Ania got up and dressed quietly. She went downstairs and stood behind the bar.

‘My, that was quick,’ Roman said.

‘Can you please pack your van with bottles? There are far too many of them cluttering up the yard.’

‘Right, okay, peace,’ he said.

‘Have you ever slept in Marek’s and my room, Roman?’

‘I have my own room.’ He looked indignant.

‘I thought that was the case,’ she said.

Roman realised he might have said the wrong thing.

‘Maybe, perhaps I made a mistake - like, some night, you know, late. It’s possible. I could have …’he said lamely.

 

Ania prepared the little uszka and golabki they served at lunchtime; she worked away steadily at the dumplings and the cabbage parcels and when Marek appeared disgruntled and complaining she took no notice. She talked instead to the customers.

‘Ania,

come here and listen to me,’ he begged.

‘Roman could have managed this - there are only four people here.’

‘There will be more later.’

‘Where is Roman?’

‘Filling his van with empty bottles. I asked him to.’

‘You’re making a silly fuss over nothing, Ania.’

‘I have worked for five hours. My arrangement here was for eight hours a day. When would you like the other three?’

There was something like respect in his face. ‘Believe me, it’s only you I love,’ he said.

‘There are ways of showing love and taking another girl to bed with you, a girl with hairpins, is not one of them.’

‘I love no girl with hairpins. I love you.’ His eyes were so big and true. He hadn’t said he loved her for a long time now.

She softened a little but not totally.

‘So, which three hours, Marek?’

‘It’s not like you to look at the clock and count hours.’

‘No, it’s not. Which hours?’

‘Come back at seven and we can dance together,’ he said, giving in at last.

So Ania went home and helped her mother.

‘You are very quiet today, Ania, normally you chatter and chatter.’

‘I am a bit tired, Mamusia, that’s all.’

So her mother nattered instead about the new baby who

would be here soon and they must make clothes to welcome it, what would be best and how they could thread in blue or pink ribbons when they knew whether it was a boy or a girl.

After dinner, Ania walked back slowly to the Bridge Cafe.

‘Come and sit with me,’ Marek said.

‘It’s my working time,’ Ania countered.

 

‘No, it is not. Just come with me and we will look at the river together.’ He held her hand and told her that he had

never loved anyone but her. He stroked her gently, and whispered in her ear.

‘I came to live in your town, I let you go home to your

Mamusia every evening when I want you here with me. I dance with other girls to get business for the cafe, you dance with men for the same reason. What does it mean to you?

Nothing at all except that it is building up the business. What does it mean to me? Nothing except that the day you and I can be together all the time comes a little nearer.’

She said nothing for a long time, and still he spoke and still he stroked.

‘You know I love you?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said simply.

‘So why the sad face?’

She managed a watery little smile. He still hadn’t explained the hairpins in the bed. Or denied that there had been anyone there. With a dull ache in her heart she wondered who it was. Perhaps that Oliwia. The pushy girl whose father was a wealthy man. Lidia had mentioned something, but Ania

hadn’t paid any attention.

‘Where is Oliwia tonight?’ she asked, catching him by

surprise.

‘Oh, she doesn’t come in every night,’ Marek said.

‘No, no, of course …’ Ania stood up and went to the

coffee machine. She put on a bright smile for the customers and out of the corner of her eye she saw Marek raise his thumb in the air as if to say ‘good girl’.

Roman and Lev exchanged glances of relief. The crisis was over.

 

Oliwia was staying on at school until she was eighteen, and then she would go to university — or so she had told the crowd at the Bridge Cafe. But her plans changed. A few months after the Bridge Cafe had opened, Oliwia stopped talking about

university. She said university was overrated and after all there was everything anyone could want nearer home.

Ania meant to discuss it with Marek but he was away a lot on business, trying to get some more investment in the cafe.

The juke box hadn’t paid for itself, the coffee machine hadn’t paid for itself and even the wages they paid from the till every Friday were smaller.

She hoped he would find an investor soon. Roman and Lev

seemed very unwilling to talk about it; possibly they were more worried than they let on about the debt. Still, she would know soon enough.

 

Mamusia had been in bed with a very bad cough and so Ania tried to fit her working hours around looking after her

mother. She had come home to make fresh bread and prepare soup; Mamusia was looking a little stronger now and Ania decided to sit with her for a couple of hours.

‘You are so much better now, Mamusia, you will be well in no time,’ Ania said cheeringly.

‘All I ask God and his mother is that I should live to see you settled with a good man and a home of your own. Then I will be happy to say goodbye to this world.’

Sometimes Ania wished she could tell Mamusia just how

well settled she was, and that she had a home already waiting for her in the Bridge Cafe but she and Marek had decided not to tell anyone until they could be together openly. She walked back to the cafe. She could see immediately that there were plenty of people there, which was a relief. Marek would be pleased when he came back this evening.

Oliwia was there, the centre of attention; she was showing off her engagement ring, a small diamond which flashed

around the cafe. Part of Ania was pleased with this development.

It would mean that Oliwia would no longer come in

and lounge around the place hoping that Marek would dance

with her. But then, would he miss the business she brought to the place? Would Oliwia and her new husband still come to this cafe or would she be too busy furnishing some huge house bought by her father?

She was about to join the group admiring the ring when

Marek came in the door.

‘There he is!’ cried Oliwia, and as if it were all in slow motion, Ania saw Oliwia run to his side and put her arm

around his waist. And, impossible as it was to take in, Marek was smiling and accepting the congratulations and applause.

She felt faint. There had to be a mistake. Maybe they were doing this as a joke? Then everyone would laugh at her innocence and the fact that she had believed it. But it didn’t

look like a joke.

The room started to go around a little bit and she heard Marek’s voice. He was speaking to his brother.

‘Roman, take her outside now.’

She felt strong arms urging her out of the cafe into the yard and around the corner out of sight. She sat on an iron chair and looked at the little garden she had tried to plant here. The flowers she had watered and little stone rockery she had built.

One day they would open a garden cafe here, they had agreed.

For families and children. There would be swings and a seesaw.

Well,

Ania had agreed this, Marek had just gone along with

it. And now it wasn’t going to happen. She saw that Lev had brought her a small glass of sliwowica. The smell of the strong plum brandy made her retch slightly, but the hot, burning taste seemed to bring her to her senses. This couldn’t be happening.

Marek could not do this to her.

She tried to stand up to go back into the cafe, but strong, gentle hands were pushing her back. She could hear Roman saying, ‘Stay here, it is best. He will be coming out to you in a minute …’

 

She heard another cheer from inside the cafe.

‘Why, Roman?’ she asked him. ‘Why did he do this?’

‘Shush, shush …’ Roman wiped away her tears with his grubby handkerchief. He put the glass of spirits to her mouth again but she pushed it away. Then she felt the hands loosen their grip on her.

Marek had arrived.

She looked up at him, her face tear-stained, as Roman and Lev went back into the cafe.

‘Little Ania.’ Marek knelt beside her and held her hand.

She said nothing, just stared past him at the flower bed which had once been a gutter until she had dug it and planted it and fed it, and got rid of the slugs and insects which had gathered to celebrate her little garden.

‘Ania — this changes nothing,’ Marek was saying over and over.

She looked at him eventually. ‘How exactly does it change nothing?’

‘We will still meet. You are the one I love. You know that.’