by Dora Heldt
And now she was on the bed at Petra’s, slowly calming down again. In Bad Oeynhausen, she had been overjoyed to meet someone like Renate. It had seemed like she really knew life, and talking to her made Inge give a great deal of thought to her own life over the last few weeks. That was something completely new for her. She had always thought that everything was the way it was supposed to be. But recently, there had been more and more days when she had felt out of sorts. Walter and his hypochondria, the awful new neighbors from across the road, the familiar local shops all closing down, her best friend Hermine suddenly pulling up stakes and moving to Berlin to be near her daughter, her own daughter who hardly ever came home anymore because she found Dortmund so stuffy. It seemed like nothing was as fun or easy as it used to be. Maybe that’s why Walter was always inventing illnesses, because life had become so frightfully boring.
Inge looked up and gazed out the window. Two couples sat in the backyard next door, drinking red wine. The sky was still a glorious blue. It was time for this boring life of hers to change. At least she had already taken the first step.
Walter was wearing a bright green turban, the same one Renate had worn in the sauna to protect her hair. Why had Inge lent it to him? After all, Walter had a fairly robust head of hair; it didn’t need protection. He had wrapped a red towel around his middle, shorter at the front than the back. With a calculator in his hand, he paced the perimeters of the beach sauna and called out, “You could fit one thousand four hundred seventy-eight beach chairs here. They just need to be placed closer together. That way you’ll increase the profit.”
Gudrun gave him an earnest nod, drinking her broth.
Renate was kneeling down in front of the flagpole. She had a nail file in her hand and was sawing frantically at its metallic base. The noise was getting on Inge’s nerves. She wanted to ask her to stop, but her mouth had gone completely dry. She tried to clear her throat. The noise stopped. Peace, finally. But her neck hurt, and something wasn’t quite right. She opened her eyes.
She was lying sideways across the bed with her tote bag under her head. Realizing it was dark outside, she looked at the alarm clock next to her: 9:14 p.m. She had nodded off. And of course it had been a dream. There was no way Walter would wear a turban. She slowly moved her head and was about to sit up when Renate started the nail-filing again. But the dream was over. Dazed and still half asleep, Inge slowly realized that the noise was coming from the living room next door. It sounded like someone was sawing just outside the window. But she was on the first floor, and the noise sounded so close. Her pulse began to race as she heard the window being pried open. Now she was starting to feel nauseous. Despite watching Law & Order: Criminal Intent every Sunday with Walter, she had no idea what she should do. Run away? That wouldn’t work; she’d have to go through the living room to get to the door. She started to shake. Why was no one else hearing the noise? Then she remembered that Petra had choir practice this evening and that the guests in the apartment next door had left that morning. There was no one here to help her. She would have to pretend to be asleep and wait until it was over. Whatever it was. Carefully, she shifted onto her side, turning her face to the wall. She was wide awake now and slowly starting to feel angry. Walter would have sat up and shouted out to scare them off. She didn’t even want to think about what Renate would do in her situation, but it was sure to be something brave. Filled with determination, she sat up, swung her legs from the bed, quietly took her cell phone from her bag, and dialed Heinz’s number. After all, he had said she could call at any time. With the phone to her ear, she stood up and slowly edged toward the living room door, trying to see what was happening. The window was hanging off, attached only by the lower hinge. Inge looked around in surprise, but she couldn’t see anyone. Then she felt a blow, and everything went dark.
The man suppressed a curse and knelt down beside Inge. Her eyelids were fluttering, but her breathing was steady. He stared at her for a moment and then looked around frantically. Suddenly noticing the handbag on the sofa, he reached out for it, searched its contents, and dropped it again in disappointment. He ripped open two drawers, then the cupboard, found an empty travel bag, unzipped it, and felt through the side pockets. Still searching around even ten minutes later, he heard a whistle from outside, a car door slam shut, and a voice call out:
“Inge? Inge, where are you? It’s me.”
The intruder threw one last nervous glance at Inge, then clambered onto the windowsill. Seconds later, he had disappeared.
“Frau Müller?” The sonorous male voice sounded compassionate and friendly, but she had no idea who it belonged to. “Can you hear me?”
A warm hand tapped her cheeks gently. It felt good. Warm and soft. Inge opened her eyes and saw—Heinz. Her brother pushed a man in a white shirt and orange jacket out of the way, a concerned look on his face.
“Inge, what on earth happened? Can you move?”
“I think so…” Cautiously, Inge tried to sit up, supported by the nice man.
“Slowly, Frau Müller, take it slowly. There, like that. How are you feeling?”
Groaning, Inge touched her head and felt a thick bandage. “What happened?”
She was on the floor of Petra’s vacation apartment, that much she knew. But why on the floor? And how had Heinz and the doctor gotten here? Her head felt like it was about to explode.
“You walked into the door.” Heinz knelt in front of her and tapped the bandage, unleashing a new wave of pain. “But luckily you phoned me moments before. When I answered, I heard a bang and a crash, and then nothing.”
“A crash?”
“Yes. I heard you fall over. A crash, a groan, then silence. I rushed over here right away, came through the back door, which luckily was open, and you were lying there. You gave me quite a shock. There was even blood on the door. But Dr. Keller got here right away. It didn’t even take him eight minutes. Very impressive.” He glanced at the doctor appreciatively. “But you must have thundered against the door with some force. Why were you running across the room like that?”
“I wasn’t running.” Inge watched Dr. Keller, who was preparing a syringe. “I was hit. What’s that?”
The doctor gave the needle a quick tap. “I’m giving you something for the pain. You ran into the door so heftily that…What did you just say? Someone hit you?”
“Nonsense. There was no one else here.” Heinz gave his sister’s hand a reassuring pat. “You were lying here by yourself. There was no one to be seen.”
Dr. Keller was still holding the needle expectantly in his hand. Inge tried to remember, but all she could think of was the blow. And something else. “The window.”
Then she started to feel nauseous again. She closed her eyes. “My head hurts so much.”
She barely felt the injection, but the crashing sound behind her was impossible to ignore. Inge lifted her head and saw her brother lying on the floor, where he had just fainted. She sighed. At least the doctor was already there.
Chapter 18
* * *
Christine laid her cutlery down and pushed the plate away from her. “I’m on the brink of exploding, and I should have bought a size bigger in this dress.”
“Why?” Johann looked at her, still chewing. “It fits you perfectly.”
“But it’s pinching.”
Christine discreetly tried to loosen the belt around her waist. It didn’t work. She had seen the dress the day before in the window of a Westerland boutique and had tried it on immediately. The salesgirl had urged her on, nodding enthusiastically.
“Very feminine, very body con—it looks wonderful on you.”
Body conscious, thought Christine. The trendy name had a double meaning; in her opinion the dress was just too small. She looked a bit like a sausage.
“Isn’t it a little too narrow here?” Christine had rubbed her hand uncertainly over the material pressing against her hips. The salesgirl had pushed herself between Christine and the mirror.
&nbs
p; “No, not at all. It’s body con, it’s supposed to fit like that.”
“Could I just try one size up?”
“Unfortunately, this is our last one. But trust me, it fits you perfectly, and it highlights your curvy hourglass figure.”
That was a classic sales ploy, of course, but Christine had fallen for it regardless. She was still unsure as she went up to the counter to pay for it, but she fell for their closing tactic: the expensive item was packed first in tissue paper and then in a stunningly beautiful bag. It was a done deal.
And now it was pinching after just a light fish dinner.
Johann leaned back contentedly and put his napkin on the table.
“Wonderful. The freshest oysters I’ve ever eaten.” He looked out of the window. “Look, isn’t that woman getting out of that car the TV presenter? You know, the one you don’t like?”
Christine followed his gaze. He was right. It was a female broadcaster she couldn’t stand. She was so smooth, so girly, so sweet. In other words, dreadful in every way.
She entered the restaurant on the arm of her handsome companion. At the cloakroom, he helped her gallantly out of her flimsy, presumably sinfully expensive summer jacket and…Christine breathed in sharply. Not only was Tina What’s-Her-Name much prettier than she was on TV, but she was also fifteen years younger and sixty-five pounds lighter than Christine…and wearing the same dress. Except that it fit her perfectly. There was no sign of any pinching.
Johann looked from her to Christine and tried to suppress a grin. “It seems you two have similar taste. Who would have thought it?”
“Very funny.” The salesgirl’s comments came to her mind: It’s supposed to fit like that. Sure it was! The material cascaded loosely over Tina’s slender hips. And there certainly wasn’t a diagonal crease across the stomach of her dress. “Tomorrow I’m going back to the boutique, and I’m going to kill that salesgirl. Very slowly, so she suffers.”
“But why? You look great. It looks completely different on her.”
Sure it does, thought Christine. It fits. So she said, “Aw, you’re prejudiced, but nicely so.” After all, it wasn’t Johann’s fault that she had impulsively and foolishly bought a dress that was too small for her. She was still seething inwardly though. That skinny Tina, of all people. And she was so young too. And stupid.
“It’s unfair that women like her earn so much being on TV just because they’re young and blonde. But they’ll be finished by their midthirties when no one wants to see them anymore.”
Johann grinned. “I’m sure they’ll be able to find work. But it doesn’t matter—they have a good run for a few years, then do something else afterward.”
Tina and her companion ordered pink champagne. Of course. Being trendy was of the utmost importance.
“But what? There’ll come a time when she’s not young and pretty anymore. What will she do then?”
Johann raised his glass. “Well, she could go to work at your publishing house. You’re not making any new starts either, so that makes two of you.”
“You can’t compare the two, Johann. My life has been full of change. Jobs, apartments, new cities. I bet I’ve made more new starts than she has clothes in her closet.”
A little too briskly, Christine drank down the rest of her wine, almost spluttering in the process.
“By the way,” said Johann, trying to act as though the thought had just popped into his head. “I’ve got something for you.” He made a fuss of searching around in his jacket pockets until he found a folded-up piece of newspaper, and then he pushed it across the table toward her. “Have a read.”
Christine scanned the article, then looked at Johann in confusion, reading out loud: “The girls’ aerobics team from TUS Oberneuland had a great time on their trip to Neuwerk Island. They grilled sausages and slept in a ‘hay hotel’ their hosts had…”
“Not that. The other side.”
“Oh, good. I thought for a moment this was going to be our next romantic getaway. Have you ever been to a hay hotel?”
“Christine!”
She turned the page over. Her gaze was immediately drawn to an advertisement, circled in red: Publisher of maritime and regional literature seeks publishing assistant.
“In Bremen?”
“Yes.” Johann tried to seem nonchalant. “In Bremen. Just a ten-minute bike ride away from my apartment. You can start on August first, so you still have over two months to get everything organized. And you can work out your full notice period, too, which I guess is three months? If you include your remaining vacation and all your overtime, it’ll be fine.”
Christine had to stop herself from blurting out the first response that came into her head. Instead, she asked in a calm, cool tone, “So, have you already applied in my name and dealt with all the formalities? How do you even know that they would want to hire me?”
“What do you mean?” Johann seemed baffled.
“You don’t even know whether I would get the job. There might be a hundred thousand people applying for it. Perhaps they wouldn’t even want me. Or perhaps I don’t want to work there. Maritime literature! I can’t even sail!”
“Oh, come on.” Johann waved her comment away impatiently. “You’re more than qualified for it, so they’d snap you up in a second. All you need to do is write a great application, and as soon as you get invited to interview, you’ll wrap the publisher around your little finger. Besides, I’m a strong believer in the fact that people can achieve anything if they just want it enough.”
“You’re so wrong. It’s not that easy to get a job in publishing anymore. There are so many people who have been laid off that there’s sure to be a load of other applicants, and I’m not thirty anymore, and…”
“Christine,” Johann interrupted her gruffly. “It’s really starting to bug me when you keep going on about your age. It’s just an excuse. You’re not thirty anymore, sure, but you’re not sixty either. So what’s the problem? And besides, I didn’t want to tell you just yet, but it seems it doesn’t matter now anyway. The publisher is an old friend of mine. We went to business school together, and he’s a really nice guy. I’ve already given him a call, and he said you could have a meeting with him right after the vacation and…Why do you look so angry?”
Christine had to try hard not to start gasping, her pulse had at least doubled its pace, and the spot on the ball of her hand, into which she had been pressing her nails, was starting to hurt.
“Tell me…” She stopped, took a few deep breaths in and out, and struggled to speak in a normal tone. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
“What?”
“You can’t just rearrange my life like that! You look for a new job for me, in Bremen of course, you make a few phone calls for me in the area, and I’m guessing you’ve already cleared out one side of your closet for my clothes and given notice on my apartment. Well? Have I forgotten anything?”
Her eyes glinted furiously. He glared back.
“Yes. You have forgotten something. The fact that you once said you wanted to live with me. It seems you’ve completely forgotten that. Because it would mean having to make too many changes, and that’s too much to ask, of course. So don’t bother. Just keep going to work with your stomach in knots every day and spend the next two years living on a building site. After all, better the devil you know. Don’t take the risk of doing something new. You’re far too old for that. Heaven forbid that things could actually go your way in life. That would be dreadful, wouldn’t it? So just leave it to everyone else to make changes. Like your aunt Inge—at least she’s got the guts!”
Christine felt paralyzed. They had never argued. Not like this, anyway. And it felt awful.
“Johann, I…”
He gestured to the waiter. “The bill, please.” Then he turned back to Christine. “I don’t like arguing while we’re on vacation either, but it had to be said. You’ve been complaining about your boss and your job for months now, you’re always tired and moo
dy, and you’ve constantly got a headache or stomachache. I only wanted to help. If you don’t like it, then sort it out yourself. Or just leave things the way they are. But stop moaning about it all the time.”
The waiter came over with the bill. Christine looked at the imprints her fingernails had left on her hand. She was angry. At Johann, at that stupid Tina woman who looked so much better in her dress, but most of all at herself. For some reason, this day was going completely wrong. Thank God it was almost over.
Johann stood up. “Let’s go.”
Christine nodded even though it wasn’t a question and reached for her bag. On the way to the exit they had to go past the table with the TV presenter and her companion. Tina was just lifting her fork to her mouth when Christine came into her line of vision. Presumably, for a regional celebrity, it was a far bigger catastrophe to suddenly see her dress on an older, fatter, and completely unknown woman. In any case, she stared at Christine in horror, and her fork wavered. The oily scampi left a trail of fat from her right bust down to the skirt.
Christine quickened her pace and heard an angry clamor and calls for the waiter behind her. Perhaps the worst part of the day was over.
Johann drove in silence. He concentrated on the autobahn, not even glancing at her as they drove along. Christine looked at him. He didn’t look moody anymore—that was something at least. But the silence felt like a formidable wall nonetheless.
“Are we still having an argument?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound too pathetic.
He continued to stare straight ahead. “What qualifies as an argument? We have a problem, Christine. I don’t want a weekend-only relationship, and you don’t want anything to change. We have to find a solution somehow. I’m happy to discuss things over the next two weeks, but there has to be some kind of outcome.”
Christine looked at him. Why was she acting so foolishly when the man of her dreams was sitting beside her, when he was practically begging her to move in with him? Suddenly, she was overcome by the fear that this “problem” could mean the end of their relationship. And she didn’t want that. Not under any circumstances.
