Magda's Daughter by Catrin Collier Read Free Book Online Page B

to the flat.’ Helena stood.
    â€˜You should rest first,’ Ned protested.
    â€˜I can’t just sit here, Ned. I need to do something.’
    â€˜I’ll come with you.’ He rose to his feet.
    â€˜No.’ Helena knew her refusal was too curt, too sharp, but she couldn’t bear to be near Ned, or be reminded that, while her mother had been dying at the side of the road in Father O’Brien’s car, they had been making love. It would have horrified her mother. She tried to soften the blow. ‘I need to be alone for a while.’
    â€˜I can’t let you go to the flat by yourself,’ Ned insisted.
    â€˜She won’t be alone. I’ll drive her down. If that’s all right with you, Helena, Bethan?’ Alma checked.
    Helena nodded. Bethan and Andrew were too wise to protest. It had been Alma who had first befriended Magda when she had arrived almost penniless in Wales. And it had been Alma who had found Magda and Helena a room before they had moved into the flat, and subsequently given Magda a job as well as helped her solve all her practical problems.
    â€˜Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’ Ned pleaded.
    â€˜Absolutely sure.’ Helena avoided his gaze. ‘I’ll see you later. Thank you for the tea and everything, Mrs John – Bethan.’ Unable to stay in the same room as Ned a moment longer, Helena went into the hall and lifted her jacket from the stand.
    â€˜I’ll telephone you from the shop, Beth, Ned.’ Alma followed Helena.
    â€˜Alma, wait.’ Andrew handed her a small envelope. ‘Tranquilisers. Just in case. Helena’s too calm, too controlled. It won’t last.’

Chapter Three
    The fine Sunday summer afternoon had attracted crowds into Pontypridd, but most people were either heading into or leaving the enormous park that covered the floor of the valley behind Taff Street. The women were carrying picnic baskets; the children rolled­up towels that contained their bathers. The smaller ones hurried to the free pool in the playground; the teenagers to the Lido, where sixpence would gain them admission to the larger, deeper pool with its paved suntrap for sunbathing – and flirting.
    Helena recalled all the warm summer evenings she’d spent with her mother there after Magda had shut up the shop. They had picnicked on the lawns, Magda reading library books to improve her English, while she’d studied for her examinations. She remembered the swimming lessons her mother had given her in the ‘grown-up’ pool, the tennis lessons Magda had scrimped to pay for on the public courts, the Sunday afternoons when they had sat around the bandstand listening to brass bands. She couldn’t bear the thought that they would never go there together again.
    Throughout her childhood, her mother had constantly searched for new ways to introduce her to all that the world had to offer, always encouraging her to watch, listen and learn. Praising every effort she made, rewarding her with ‘treats’ of visits to theatres and cinemas, and consoling her whenever she was disappointed, with the assurance that next time she would be successful.
    â€˜So, you failed your geometry mock GCE, Helena. So what?’ Helena recalled the indignant shrug Magda gave whenever she dismissed criticism directed at her daughter. ‘Teachers always make the mock examinations impossible, and mark them down to make their pupils work harder. But you don’t need to work any harder, Helena, because you always do your best. Now forget all about your geometry mark and look at what came m the post this morning. It’s the programme for the New Theatre in Cardiff. Rebecca is playing there on Saturday. I will telephone them and book tickets for the evening performance, and on the way home we’ll buy fish and chips in Rabaiotti’s cafe.’
    She heard her own voice echoing back. ‘Mama,