Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Emma

Woodbine

Today Betty's sweatshirt is greeny-blue with frolicking otters on it. She pushes her glasses up into her hair and hums as she pots up a tray of woodbine. Emma likes that Betty and Les use the old-fashioned names for plants: love-in-the-mist rather than nigella; woodbine rather than common honeysuckle. Still, she thinks honeysuckle is a good name, too. She searches for the name in Spanish– madreselva – and smiles.

She glances again at Betty. Her air of absorbed contentment gives Emma confidence. Following Mei Lien's advice, she has spent the last couple of evenings searching online for the Titanic 's flower supplier and after a while, with a huge feeling of satisfaction (and silent thanks to her sister-in-law) she found them: F.G. Bealing she is looking at Tamas as if she is worried for him. Or maybe she is worried for the unknown Berta.

‘Estonia!' Emma shouts. She once knew a Berta from Estonia.

Betty jumps and so does Tamas, turning as he does so. He stands feet apart, slightly crouched and points both hands at Emma as if he were a cowboy holding guns.

‘No!' he bellows.

‘Lithuania?'

‘No!' he says again, making a motion of firing a pistol at her.

‘Latvia?'

‘No,' he repeats firing off another ‘gun', blowing into the top of his fingers.

Emma glances at Betty, who is watching them in amazement.

Betty slowly shakes her head and then, looking at Tamas, nods towards Emma. ‘Now, Emma here is wanting to find out about a nursery. What was the name, love?'

‘F.G. Bealing & Son.'

‘Have you ever come across them?' Betty asks Tamas.

‘Bealing's, you say?' Tamas scratches his head, and Emma is reminded of a cartoon of a man thinking from one of Guy's childhood comics.

The two women nod at him.

‘It is not a name I hear, and I know many. They are not famous, I think.'

‘Emma says they supplied the flowers for the Titanic .'

Tamas turns and beams at her. ‘You have talked to Les. You have asked him about the Titanic and his talk. This is good.' He claps her on the shoulder, pitching her forward into a bag of compost on the bench.

‘No, not yet, but I do want…'

Tamas does not let her finish. He thumps his chest with his huge fist. ‘I will find out. As you ask me—' he looks from one to the other ‘—I, Tamas, will find out for you.' With that he hoists the empty boxes onto his shoulder and strides out the door.

‘Tamas, he is…' Emma tries.

‘Yes, he is,' Betty says.

‘He's very…' Again, Emma can't finish.

‘He is indeed,' Betty agrees. ‘Since you arrived it has made quite a change for me.'

Emma shakes her head, uncomprehending.

‘Oh, Tamas, used to have a lovely time telling me how small I was, how he'd like to put me in his pocket. He tried to pick me up once and put me on his shoulder.' Betty starts to laugh. ‘Now, love, he just can't seem to get enough of you. And isn't it lovely that you look so strong and healthy. Just like his cow.'

For a split second, Emma wonders what the sound is. It reminds her of something heard long ago.

And then she realises that the sound is coming from her– a bit like a bark, a bit wheezy, but it is definitely her.

She is laughing.