Chapter 21
The window of their rented apartment in the Abbey Road neighborhood overlooked a gorgeous park, and the slanted streaks of rain that fell invested it with a mysterious halo. Life is starting anew, she thought, comforted. It was their first day in London, and she could not get enough of the amenities that the apartment Jonathan had rented for them had to offer. If she had come to London on her own for the purpose of finding a place, she thought contentedly, she could not have found such a beautiful, comfortable apartment, and in such an attractive neighborhood. She looked at the bedroom with the enormous king-sized bed in its middle, at the drapes, the bedspread, the wallpaper with the delicate flowery pattern in olive green and gold. The carpets and the upholstery were in tones of yellow and bestowing a warm and friendly atmosphere. The two bathrooms, his and hers, made her happiest of all. Jonathan knew she required such privacy, and she was grateful for his consideration.
The rest of the apartment was just as pretty and comfortable—the living room was exquisitely appointed with Chippendale and Queen Anne furnishing. The kitchen was in heavy rustic style, the children’s rooms had delicate flowery wallpaper and, in addition, there was a library and a den. The staircase was wide and heavily carpeted. Even if Udi were to roll down the stairs, the double padding, of the carpet and his diapers, would soften his fall.
There was a lot of work to do; buy furniture for the children’s rooms, strollers, a dryer, and several other important items, but Jonathan seemed not to be in a hurry; he was in high spirits, and his relaxed mood affected her like a tranquilizer. Every day they went out shopping until they had all the items needed for the household and for the children’s rooms. The decision to take Jenny with them proved wise. Talia shuddered at the thought of having to interview a string of stem-faced Englishwomen in order to find a suitable nanny for their children.
On one of their shopping trips, they ran into Orit, an old schoolmate of Talia. Happy to see each other, they arranged to meet at a cafe on Oxford Street. The meeting proved very enjoyable; they both felt as if only a short time had elapsed since their paths had diverged. In the coming weekends, Jonathan, Talia and their children spent their time with Orit and Yuval and their children, replicating the traditional Israeli manner of camaraderie and amity. On sunny Saturdays, they went out to the park, which was even lovelier and pleasanter in actuality than its mere reflection from the window. Yuval and Jonathan found a common language. Yuval was the London representative of Bank Leumi. The two of them plunged into long conversations while Talia and Orit looked after the children. There was something joyful and comforting in this threefold new friendship: she and Orit, Jicey and Yuval, and the two couples together. Her fears of being lonely and isolated in a new environment quickly disappeared.
The excitement of the first few weeks wore off. The buying frenzy that initially occupied her time was over, and she had plenty of time on her hands. The charwoman, an elderly Englishwoman who treated Talia with great respect, as if she were a noble lady of the manor, worked in conjunction with Jenny, taking care of the household chores. Jonathan made many trips, mostly to Zurich, where his mother was perennially vacationing. In fact, the old lady spent more time at the “Hotel du Lac” than she did in her home on Huberman Street in Tel Aviv. On each of those trips, that lasted three or four days, Jonathan called Talia frequently, lavishing her with endearments and longing. And yet her heart was filled with premonitions and worry. Underneath the serene surface, something was fermenting, seething. Behind every comer lurked a monster. She tried to distract herself, to divert her mind from those misgivings, but the terror that loomed over her was heavy and ominous.
Na’ama was registered in the fifth grade at a neighborhood school.
She was an excellent student, and soon join the “in crowd” at school. The school day there lasted almost until evening, so Talia only saw her daughter at the tips of the day - mornings and evenings—and weekends. Na’ama was growing fast. Perhaps too fast? she asked herself, but did not look for the answer within herself. Deep down she knew that most of her attention was given to the babies, one-year-old Michal and two-year-old Udi.
Talia was often left alone with the babies in the damp London weather, where the rain almost never let up. It was summer, but as far as she was concerned, the weather was decidedly winter-like. Talia loved the winter, but not this kind of winter. She loved going out with Jonathan, to smell the rain, too ran between the drops, to get wet and laugh out loud. But here, the gray, dreary sky oppressed her and sapped her vitality.
She was eager to share her feelings with Orit, but was ashamed of her weakness. Nor could she open her heart to Jenny, the au pair, a homely Canadian girl devoted to Udi and Michal. She began to experience her loneliness as something tangible, a constant factor in her life, not just as a passing mood.
The two infants, as if picking up on her distress, were sick all the time. Udi was afflicted by a hacking cough and shortness of breath. Will he develop asthma, like her own brother when he was young? At night, Talia sat by his canopied bed, adjusting the vaporizer helplessly. At other times, she filled the bathtub with scalding water, and sitting on a stool, held the boy in her arms. He wheezed and panted, and it took him hours to calm down and fall asleep. She carefully transferred him to his cot, but the noise always woke Michal. Exhausted, Talia would collapse into a bed devoid of Jonathan, and her excessive fatigue would not let her sleep.
Again she was tormented by doubts and questions: what is happening to Jonathan? Why is he always away on trips? Is this going to continue forever?