‘Sit down, Frau Grass.’
The kitchen door is pressing into my back. Just one step to the side and I could back into the hallway, but my body’s not working; it seems to be uncoupled from the synapses inside my head, it just stands there rigidly. I stare and croak, ‘She’s just gone to fetch a few of her things. She’ll be back any minute.’
‘I’m sorry, Jasmin.’ With the plate in one hand and the knife and fork in the other, Maja turns around to me. ‘I’m afraid there’s only enough lunch for one.’
Hannah
Some things aren’t right. The garden, for example. It’s not huge, it’s not at least five hundred steps in every direction. And there aren’t any hydrangeas, either, with flowers as big as cabbages. I know, because I’ve peeked through the gaps in the roller blinds. All that’s outside in the garden are a few thin, crooked rose bushes and people with cameras.
Grandma’s not right either. She’s not that nice and she hasn’t told me a goodnight story yet..
Only Grandad is right, exactly right. He’s very polite when he knocks on the door to Mama’s room.
‘Hannah, open up, please,’ he says. You always have to say please and thank you. You always have to be polite.
I turn the key and he comes in. ‘Why did you lock the door, Hannah?’ He looks really horrified.
‘Because you forgot to, of course,’ I say. ‘The adults always have to lock the children up before they argue.’
‘Oh,’ Grandad says. He puts a hand on my back and pushes me over to Mama’s bed. ‘Sit down, Hannah.’ I obey him, even though I’d rather sit on the swivel chair. It’s very comfortable, Grandad was right. And you can roll on it from one end of the room to the other.
‘Listen, Hannah,’ Grandad says. The mattress bounces when he sits beside me. ‘Your grandmother and I weren’t really arguing. We were just discussing something we have different opinions about. That’s perfectly normal and there’s nothing bad about it. You don’t need to be afraid.’
I look up to the stars on the ceiling. Usually this makes me think of when I used to lie in bed at home with Mama beside me, moving my finger along the slatted frame of Jonathan’s bunk from one star to another until they were joined up by invisible lines. Mama would smile and say, ‘That’s a very well-known constellation, Hannah. The Plough,’ and I would smile back, even though some time ago I’d read in the fat book, which is always right, that the Plough isn’t a real constellation, but it’s made up of the seven brightest stars of the Great Bear.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ Grandad says, looking even more horrified. ‘You don’t have to be sorry, Hannah, my love. Your grandmother and I, both of us are delighted to have you here with us. Grandma just got a bit upset because there are so many people outside the house.’
‘But there aren’t that many. Only six. Yesterday there were many more.’
Grandad coughs but I think it’s meant to be a laugh.
‘Hannah . . .’ he says, but then pauses until he’s taken a tissue from his trouser pocket and wiped his nose. ‘You can’t choose your family. And you can’t replace anyone either.’ He scrunches up the tissue untidily and puts it back in his pocket. ‘But believe me when I say that your grandmother, Karin, is the best grandmother you could hope to have. She just has to get used to everything first.’
‘That’s what Papa always used to say.’ I smile, although I feel slightly sad when Grandad makes me think of Papa. Grandad appears to be sad too. He presses his lips together so tightly that all I can see of his mouth is a thin line.
‘Do you know what, Hannah?’ he says after a little while. ‘How about we go back down and see Grandma? I bet she’s calmed down now and is wondering where we’ve got to. We could have a look at some photos of your mama when she was a little girl.’
I nod.
‘Just one more thing, Hannah. Please don’t shut the door anymore. Leave it just a tiny bit open so I know you’re all right. Okay? Promise, Hannah?’
I nod again.
Grandad smiles, first at me, then up at Mama’s stars. ‘You got a star sticker from the dentist. You can put it up there if you like.’
I shake my head.
‘That wouldn’t work, Grandad. The constellation wouldn’t be right.’
‘I see,’ he says. ‘Oh well, it was just an idea.’
*
When Grandad and I come down the stairs, there’s a large package in the hallway and Grandma is closing the front door.
‘They’ve gone,’ she says, sounding cheerful. She’s holding a letter. ‘That was outside the door.’
‘Yes,’ Grandfather says, taking the letter from her. ‘One of the journalists put it there earlier. But I thought she’d taken it away again after I kicked it down the path.’
‘What’s in it?’ Grandma asks.
‘No idea.’
There’s a rrrrip when Grandad tears open the letter.
‘Aha,’ he says when he’s skimmed the note. ‘They’re things for Hannah and Jonathan. It says:
Many of our readers are concerned about your grandchildren and would like to help. We’ve put together the things they’ve sent to us over the past few days or dropped off at our offices. Best regards, the editorial team from Bayerisches Tagblatt.’
‘How lovely!’ Grandma says, tearing a length of brown sticky tape from the box. ‘Come over here, Hannah. Let’s take a look.’
I step closer.
Grandma takes items of clothing from the box one by one.
‘Look,’ she says, holding up a dark blue knitted jumper. ‘Do you think Jonathan would like that?’
‘He likes blue. His favourite trousers are blue.’
‘He’ll definitely be pleased about the jumper then.’
‘More charity stuff,’ Grandad says, scrunching up the letter in his hand. ‘Great,’ he adds, although it doesn’t sound as if he really thinks it’s great.
‘Matthias,’ Grandma says, still taking things from the box, having a look, then sorting them into two piles on the floor. One pile for me, one for Jonathan. ‘That’s really nice, don’t you think? And the clothes are in such good condition . . . Oh, Hannah, look! This is perfect for you.’ She holds up a dress; it’s white with flowers. ‘That’s just your dress!’
I’m about to ask her how she knows that when she says, ‘And look! Toys too!’
First she takes out an orange plastic digger with a black bucket, but then . . . I immediately drop my dress and put out my hand. Grandma smiles and hands me the small, red-and-white spotted bundle, then turns back to Grandad, saying again how nice the readers of the Bayerisches Tagblatt are. Meanwhile I hold Fräulein Tinky to my chest as tightly as I can.
‘I’ve missed you, little one,’ I murmur, burying my nose in her soft coat.
Jasmin
My stomach jerks, as if I’d missed a step going downstairs. The key scraping in the lock, the door handle being pressed down several times, the resistance arching my back. Only when I hear the occasional swearing from the other side of the front door do I get up and open it. I’ve been sitting in front of the door, my back leaned against it, knees up to my chest, my bodyweight acting as a doorstop to defend the apartment against possible intruders.
‘What’s going on?’ Kirsten asks when I pull her into the apartment, snatch the key from her hand and lock it twice from the inside.
‘Jassy?’
‘She was here!’
‘Who?’
‘That Maja. You know, the woman who moved into the Hildners’ apartment on the second floor. It was creepy.’
Kirsten gives a drawn-out sigh, then takes off her coat.
‘I’m here now,’ is all she says, without reacting to my behaviour. She reminds me of myself. When I used to live with my mother. When I thought I was there for her even thou
gh every moment it felt as if my guts were filled with lead.
‘I coped fine while you were away,’ I tell Kirsten, who’s just hanging her coat up on the rack. I don’t want to be a burden on Kirsten, like my mother was a burden on me. ‘Really, I did. If you’d rather go home, that’s not a problem. And I’m sure you’ve got to get back to work. Surely they need you at the club, especially now it’s the weekend.’
‘I get it, Jassy,’ she mutters, then turns around to me. ‘So? What about Maja from the second floor?’
I hesitate.
‘Jassy?’ Kirsten strokes my cheek. ‘My God, you’re all hot again.’ Her face takes on a serious, concerned expression. ‘Did you get upset?’
I nod.
‘Maja. She came and brought me lunch.’
I tell Kirsten about Maja’s strange behaviour, her unpleasant pushiness. The moment when she said, ‘I’m sorry, Jasmin. I’m afraid there’s only enough lunch for one.’ And how I just wanted to run away, get away from this woman. I stumbled backwards out of the kitchen, while Maja put the plate of food on the table and came after me. She didn’t rush at me, she came slowly, sedately, holding her hands up to reassure me.
‘Don’t be afraid, Jasmin. I know you’ve been through a terrible time. Things nobody seems to understand. That’s right, isn’t it, Jasmin?’
I’d made it into the hallway and had to decide. Right, into the sitting room where my mobile was and I could call for help? Or left into the bedroom where I could lock myself in?
‘It’s very lonely if nobody understands you, isn’t it?’
Left, I decided.
‘What do you want from me, Maja? What’s this all about?’
‘I’d like to listen to you, Jasmin.’
I crashed backwards into the shoe cabinet.
‘Talking helps, Jasmin. Trust me.’
*
Kirsten shakes her head, barely able to believe what I’m saying.
‘What then?’
‘I ran into the bedroom and locked the door. She knocked a few times and tried to convince me to come out. I shouted at her to leave or I’d call the police. All she said was, “That won’t help you, Jasmin.” Then I heard the front door. She’d gone.’
‘She’d gone,’ Kirsten repeats in a monotone voice, narrowing her eyes. ‘Are you sure it all happened just like that?’
‘Of course I’m sure!’ I snap, but Kirsten just raises her eyebrows. ‘I’m not mad,’ I say more calmly. ‘Okay, it may have been ridiculous to think that the children wrote those letters. You were right, it must have been some nutter trying to put the wind up me. But the thing with Maja . . .’
Kirsten looks up.
‘What do you mean letters? There was only one.’
‘No,’ I say quietly. ‘A second one arrived yesterday.’ I fish my handbag from the rack and take both envelopes from the side pocket to give them to Kirsten. The first one she opens contains the letter she’s already seen.
‘Tell the truth,’ she reads from the second one, then raises her eyebrows and adds, ‘How appropriate.’ She gives me back the letter and envelope. ‘Why didn’t you show me?’
I say nothing.
Kirsten laughs, slightly bitterly.
‘Do you realise just how much you’re expecting from me?’
‘I just didn’t want you to worry anymore. So I thought it might be better to discuss it with Dr Hamstedt first. And she assured me it was absolutely impossible for the children to have written them.’
Kirsten sighs.
‘And the reason she knows this is because she’s the children’s therapist, not yours as you told me.’
‘Yes,’ I say hesitantly.
‘I went with you yesterday because I thought you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown.’ Kirsten shakes her head. It’s silent for a moment before she says, ‘Jassy, it won’t work like this. If you don’t trust me, I can’t stay here.’
‘It’s not that. I do trust you.’
Kirsten laughs again.
‘No, you don’t! You keep the uncomfortable things to yourself. But I’m not stupid, Jassy. Don’t underestimate me.’
I instinctively take a step backwards.
‘I remember it exactly when you disappeared. We happened to have had an argument just beforehand. You had an overnight bag on you, I haven’t forgotten that. The black one with the silver clasps. I didn’t tell the police about it when I reported you missing a couple of days later, because I wanted them to take the search for you seriously. Because I thought it might be salutary if they, the police, discovered you in some hotel room, rather than me finding you, which was what I imagined you were expecting.’
‘What are you saying, Kirsten? That I planned my disappearance?’ My mouth goes dry. Go on, start worrying about me, look for me, find me, take me back home. ‘It certainly wasn’t my plan to be locked up in a cabin and tortured by a psychopath for four months!’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘What are you saying, Kirsten? That I’m a liar?’
‘That your penchant for drama keeps getting you into trouble, that’s what I’m saying. And that you don’t realise how ludicrous it makes you look. First you accuse two little, disturbed children of threatening you, and now it’s the neighbour from the second floor harassing you.’
‘But that’s exactly what happened! Maja was here and she harassed me. Yes, she did, she harassed me.’
Kirsten makes an indeterminate gesture with her head. Then she hurries to the door, turns the key in the lock, yanks the door open so hard that it bashes into the cabinet and rushes out of the apartment.
My heart misses a beat.
‘No . . . please . . . don’t go,’ I stammer almost silently. The shock has stolen my tongue, and when I hear Kirsten’s footsteps clattering at short, determined intervals down the first flight of stairs, I realise it isn’t true what I thought. I can’t cope without her; I need her.
I set off after Kirsten. With every step, the pain in my ribcage explodes in my body. I pant.
You’re ungrateful, Lena.
‘Kirsten, wait . . . I know you only mean well! I’m sorry! I’m really so sorry!’
When I catch up with her on the second floor I realise she had no intention of leaving. She’s standing outside Maja’s apartment and she gives me a resolute nod before pressing the bell.
‘Let’s ask her what all this nonsense is about.’
The bell rings. I can hear movement behind the door.
‘Frau Grass! Frau Thieme! I haven’t seen either of you in ages!’ It’s not Maja who says this, but Frau Hildner, who never moved out of her second-floor apartment.
Jasmin
I can practically see the cogs setting in motion inside Kirsten’s head, turning until they’re out of control and Kirsten’s eyes open wide. Notwithstanding Frau Hildner, who’s still standing in the doorway, Kirsten turns on her heels and races back up the stairs without a word of explanation. Confused, Frau Hildner takes a step forward to see where Kirsten’s going, then draws back again and looks at me expectantly.
‘We . . . I . . .’ I stammer.
‘Who is that, Mami?’ a little voice in the background asks. It’s the Hildners’ young son, who appears in the doorway too and clings to his mother’s knee.
I’m just about to ask about Maja, but without Kirsten by my side I find it embarrassing to stand here. At once I feel non compos mentis again and mentally ill. What’s Frau Hildner going to think of me if I ask her about Maja? No Maja lives here, that’s obvious. I fumble around for an explanation, something about my washing machine being broken and wondering if I might be able to use Frau Hildner’s over the coming days.
‘I just wanted to ask . . .’
Frau Hildner’s face suddenly brightens.
‘Are you here because of that König w
oman who’s always hanging around here at the moment?’
‘That . . . ?’
‘Go on, ask me, Frau Grass!’ She almost sounds aggressive now. ‘Ask me if I talked to her! Of course I didn’t! Nor my husband! We’d never do that! She hasn’t got a single word out of us, even though she’s been doing her darnedest to get us to speak.’ She smiles and I’m sure there’s a hint of pride in it. ‘She’s even offered us money, but she’s not going to buy us! You’ve really been through enough already, Frau Grass.’ The pride in her smile now gives way to a touch of sympathy.
‘Mami? What are you talking about?’ the son says, tugging her trouser leg.
‘Let go, Lenny. Please. Mami’s having a word with Frau Grass.’
Lenny moans something incomprehensible before letting go of his mother and plodding back into the apartment. As she watches him go, Frau Hildner tells him to tidy up his toys.
‘I don’t understand . . .’ I say to turn her attention back to me.
‘Yes, that König woman! She had a right tough time with us. But I expect she found another victim after that.’ She grimaces. ‘I’m sorry. Victim isn’t a good word. Anyway . . .’
*
‘Kirsten!’ I call out a couple of minutes later, and her name echoes in the stairwell. The blood rushes to my head when I run up the stairs. ‘Kirsten!’ I hold the banister with one hand and the other is gripping my side, my injured ribs throbbing painfully with all this exertion. ‘Wait!’ I know exactly what’s happening two floors above me right now. I can see Kirsten mouthing ugly words of abuse, clattering around the apartment in a blind rage, as aimlessly as a headless chicken, until she remembers the Post-it on the fridge.
And indeed, when I’m back inside the apartment, she’s tapping the number on the small, pink note into her mobile.
‘No, Kirsten, don’t!’
I fly at her and tear the Post-it from her hand.
‘What are you doing, Jassy? Give me the number – I’m going to call that woman and ask her what the hell she thinks she’s playing at!’
She tries to reach around me and get back the note I’m concealing in my fist behind my back.
Dear Child: The twisty thriller that starts where others end Page 24
