Magda's Daughter by Catrin Collier Page A

empty cup away from him.
    â€˜Why didn’t you tell me that my mother had come here to marry someone?’ Helena asked Alma and Ronnie.
    â€˜Because if anyone should have told you it was Magda. And before you blame her for not telling you, consider how she must have felt. To have travelled halfway across Europe carrying a small child and all her worldly possessions in one small bag, only to discover that her fiancé had married someone else. She must have been mortified. When I first set eyes on her in the restaurant she was devastated. She honestly believed her entire future had been taken away. She thought you would both be sent back to the Displaced Persons’ camp.’ Ronnie pushed his chair back from the table.
    â€˜She was lucky to have found you.’ Helena looked from Ronnie to Alma. ‘Why did you help us?’
    â€˜Because we – all of us – Peter, Ronnie, me – felt sorry for your mother. And because she’d been forced to leave her country during the war, just as Peter had. It was obvious that she was afraid to go back there. Something Peter understood only too well.’
    Helena looked across the hall to where Peter Raschenko, his white-blond hair shining like a beacon, was sitting, surrounded by his wife and four daughters.
    â€˜Peter has made a good life for himself in Pontypridd, just as your mother did. But like his father – and this is something I found difficult to accept when I was living with Charlie …’ Alma fell silent for a moment as she searched for the right words to express her feelings. ‘You only ever get to know a part of them,’ she said finally. ‘People who have been forced to leave their homeland – and I don’t count you among them, Ronnie, because you left Italy of your own free will – seem to leave something of themselves behind. And I don’t mean material things. A side to their nature that, no matter how much you love them, or think you know them, you can’t begin to understand.’
    â€˜Shared memories of childhood,’ Ned suggested.
    â€˜No,’ Alma contradicted. ‘It’s deeper than that. It’s something in the blood. A bond between a person and their birth country that transcends logic. I can’t explain it better than that. But what I do know is that no matter how hard an exile works to build a new life, how good that life is, or how cruel or hateful the government in their native country, people born behind the Iron Curtain will always feel as though they belong there and nowhere else.’
    Ned looked at Helena. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well that your first memory is of moving into the flat above the shop.’
    â€˜Perhaps, but I still sensed that my mother was never really at home here,’ she answered.
    Ned didn’t disagree. He too felt that Magda hadn’t really be­ longed in Wales. Or ever been truly happy in Pontypridd.
    After talking it over with Alma and Bethan, Helena had decided that she would move in with Ned and his parents while she cleared the flat and made arrangements to take her mother’s ashes to Poland. But when Ned drove Helena into the town centre after the funeral to pack her clothes, he sensed that she was having second thoughts about living with his family. He parked outside the shop and switched off the ignition.
    â€˜I’ll come up and help you,’ he offered.
    â€˜There’s no need.’ Helena opened the passenger door and stepped onto the pavement. Ned followed her. ‘I think I’ll stay in the flat tonight so I can sort through a few things. I’ll ring you tomorrow …’
    For all of Ned’s resolve not to put any extra pressure on Helena, he snapped. ‘I know you’re grieving for your mother, I know you’re distraught, and I can’t begin to imagine what you are feeling right now, but don’t keep shutting me