Free Abdication: A Novel by Juliet Nicolson

Rachel’s grandfather had been a tailor and his five sons, including Rachel’s father, had all joined the same trade. A talent for needle and thread had evidently been ingested with their mother’s milk. Rachel, the only daughter of the family, had fallen in love with Simon Greenfeld, the son of her father’s partner, and that marriage had produced one child. Rachel had suffered horrible complications at Sarah’s birth, making her incapable of conceiving again, and while there had been some hand-wringing over cups of consoling tea at the news that there would never be a son, the disappointment was soon forgotten in Rachel and Simon’s devotion to their daughter.
    Beneath her nagging outer shell, Rachel was committed to the care not only of her daughter but of her husband too; she fussed over Simon night and day. She was anxious to prevent him from developing an excessively fatty heart like their neighbour Mrs. Cohen’s husband. Mr. Cohen had reached such a size that his coffin would not fit through the front door. He had been carried out of the house, stiff as a poker, with the whole neighbourhood watching. It was an undignifiedscene, especially as Mrs. Cohen, in her distress, had failed to dress her husband in his best suit and Mr. Cohen attracted some comments as he left Oak Street for the last time wearing a pair of striped woollen pyjamas.
    Food, whether too much or too little, was not Rachel’s only preoccupation. Rachel fussed and worried about everything. When her daughter began walking out with Nat Castor, a gentile apprentice in Simon’s workshop, both her parents were cautious. Marrying outside the faith was not to be encouraged. But the vigorous and charismatic young man won them over and by the time the young couple announced their engagement Simon showed as much pride in Nat as he would have done in a son of his own. Nat had written a funny letter to his aunt Edith describing the conversational convolutions that had led to his marriage.
    “Of course there will have to be a conversion, Nat, and all the trimmings, if you will forgive me putting it that way,” Rachel had declared. “I am afraid it might be a bit painful, but God wants you to know in no uncertain terms, Nat, that you are promising to trust in Him. Isn’t that right, Simon?”
    In the Jewish tradition Simon invariably gave way to his wife’s running of all matters relating to the house and the family. If the truth were known, he enjoyed spending time in his own company at the workshop, or with his friends down in the Bethnal Green Road bookies where he could find some respite from Rachel’s incessant chatter. It was therefore a shock to Rachel when her deferential husband announced that the surgical knife would not be necessary prior to Sarah and Nat’s marriage and that no religious conversion would be taking place either. There would be none of the customary sitting shiva, the weeklong period of mourning observed when a Jewish girl marries a gentile. So long as any children, God willing, were brought up in theJewish faith, Nat could hang on to his God-given genitals intact. Nat had proved himself to be a good Jewish boy in all but name and that was good enough for Simon.
    Privately delighted by Simon’s rare display of assertiveness Rachel came out fighting, demolishing every bit of street gossip on the matter.
    “Look here, Mrs. Cohen,” she said, her arms folded in defence across her flowery bosom, “Nat’s not Jewish but at least he’s a tailor and that’s a good profession. My daughter has a good husband who can provide for her. That’s all that matters.”
    Within minutes of May and Sam’s arrival on Oak Street, and even though it was a little late for tea, a shop-bought cake still in its box was brought to the velvet-covered table, an extravagance usually reserved for the birth of a new baby or the coronation of a new king. Covered in pale creamy brown icing, with a few flicked-up sugar peaks skipping across its