The Writing on the Wall and Other Stories

by Penny Edwards

  “How are your parents, Karl? Have they decided to move yet?”

  “No, they haven’t. They can’t agree on where they might go. Dad definitely wants to leave Berlin and move to the country, but Mum’s dragging her feet a bit. I think she’s worried she’s going to miss her friends too much. To be honest, I think she’s worried about having him around her feet twenty-four-seven without any excuse to get out and see anyone else.”

  “She’s very sociable, though, isn’t she? She’d make new friends. I remember her at parent evenings. We always had a good chat and she seemed to know a lot of the other parents quite well.”

  “That’s just it. She made good friends with some of the other parents and they’re all mostly still here. Did you know Friedrich’s dad died?”

  “No, I didn’t. He must’ve been young.”

  “Yeah, he was only sixty-three. Heart attack.”

  “So, how’s Friedrich?”

  “As you’d expect. Pretty devastated. He and his dad were very close. I saw him a few weeks ago. We went out for a pint. He’s not brilliant, but I did manage to get a smile out of him.”

  Peter gently slapped Karl on his left shoulder. He wasn’t surprised that Karl could make someone’s grief easier. Unlike many, he seemed to have little fear of it and therefore had no need to steer the stricken person towards a false contentment merely to oblige their own sensitivities.

  “He’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

  Karl smiled but was unable to reply. An excited group of about seven or eight people came from nowhere, faces painted in the national colours, some with brightly coloured wigs, jostling for attention and shouting “Deutschland!” at them as if expecting a reply. Karl shouted back and Peter, older and more astonished, just laughed. Then more and more crowds were walking with them, chanting and singing, so that Peter found private thoughts disintegrating, wafting off somewhere because there was no place for them here. Here he was no longer Peter the teacher insisting on quiet, Peter the husband making soup that would be thrown on the floor, Peter the carer caught in a claustrophobic intimacy, Peter the worrier rooted to the spot or Peter the prisoner looking at an outside world.

  “Deutschland!” he shouted and this time it was Karl who laughed. This was his quiet and thoughtful teacher who, in Karl’s experience, had never shouted to get the attention of his class.

  Peter found himself bellowing the name of his country over and over again, sometimes in a straightforward way, sometimes in a sing-song way, but it was almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, a contagion he had to sneeze out of his system, but it was the most liberating thing he’d done in a very long while and he didn’t want to stop. Karl joined in, both loving being part of it, taking pride in something that could be influenced by the support you were giving.

  They found their way to their seats. It had been such a long time since he’d been anywhere so vast.

  “I can’t believe I’m here,” he said to Karl.

  “Yeah, it’s great,” replied his younger friend, his face no different in its expression to anything Peter was used to seeing. It was a youthful acknowledgement, Peter thought, one that, having gone past the pure excitement of childhood, had not yet caught up with that childhood exhilaration again in older age but instead was firmly planted in the middle somewhere, probably because everyday life was more eventful anyway, but it also came with a desire to show that childhood was no longer their domain and that something so much more grown-up had happened.

  Peter looked around the stadium of over 70,000 people. It had been many years since he’d been in here, thirty-three he thought it was the other day. He’d forgotten how loud and overwhelming crowds were on the individual, whose own truth could easily be lost amongst such simplistic chants. He looked at his phone before the match started. There was no message for him.

  He took in a deep breath and enjoyed the fresh air.

  Then there was a roar. “Here they come,” Karl said and Peter’s stomach churned with the thrill of anticipation. This was going to be good.

  20

  Audrey knew that many Germans had some knowledge of English, a view that had been confirmed by the woman behind the counter in the chemists, and this was a thought that was helping her during the flight, especially when she glanced to her right and failed to see the person who was most familiar to her.

  When she had to put her seatbelt on again because they were preparing for landing, Audrey was nervous but was relieved that the initial part of her visit, the greatest ordeal, was about to begin. She knew that as soon as she’d found her hotel and had met up with Helen, she would begin to feel more settled. They’d agreed that Helen stay at the same hotel while she was in Berlin.

  After gathering her things with a new level of concentration, needed because of Kenneth’s absence, she walked towards the exit door and thanked the airline staff who smiled politely and said goodbye with a degree of cheer she almost regretted leaving, as if the umbilical cord they offered was hard to break and the air outside unwelcoming.

  She waited at the conveyor belt for her suitcase, a turquoise one with five pink flower stickers on the lid to avoid the possibility of taking another passenger’s, something that had happened in the past when she had a black suitcase, a popular choice, and she’d opened what she thought was hers in a hotel room in Barcelona only to find a lot of children’s clothes and a couple of teddy bears. The inconvenience of the lack of clothing was easily resolved in such a busy city and she’d quite enjoyed an unscheduled shop, but it was the sight of the teddy bears that had left Kenneth with a lot of hard work to do before she returned to some sort of normality a day or so later.

  She’d always found the waiting game for the suitcase a tricky business since then, so she searched in her bag for her phone and used the time to contact Helen.

  Her old neighbour sounded upset still and they agreed to meet in the foyer of Audrey’s hotel later on and, as these things do when you least expect them and when you certainly don’t invite them, as she put the phone back in her bag, Audrey found herself thinking about the day she and Jean were in a shop and were each trying to convince the other that they really didn’t want the last size fourteen jacket in navy blue.

  “I’ve got plenty of jackets,” Jean had said.

  “But you’ve got the wedding to think of.” This was for Jean’s friend Julie and a man Jean secretly didn’t approve of. “You said you wanted to wear navy.”

  “Audrey, it looks much better on you. We both know it.” Actually, they didn’t. Jean had always been prettier than her and, as soon as she put it on, Audrey thought she could have modelled it for a magazine.

  It was a good three hours later when former neighbours and present friends Helen and Audrey hugged and said hello in a slightly formal fashion that came as no surprise to Audrey in its restraint but which came as a slight surprise to Helen in its warmth from her own side. But she was, on seeing her old neighbour, perhaps genuinely overwhelmed by such a generous gesture on Audrey’s part as it was disproportionate to the quality of their friendship, which had never been one of great intimacy. Helen, though, had no quibble with this as she was desperately in need of a familiar face. That that face was Audrey’s was unexpected.

  “My dear, what on earth’s going on?” asked Audrey, as a face-to-face reiteration of what had already been spoken was perhaps the best way to start and would hopefully overrule any initial hesitation or discomfort.

  Helen started to cry, something Audrey hadn’t bargained for quite so quickly, so she said they were to go back to her room where they could talk in private. Keeping Helen by her side, she went to the reception desk and asked if tea could be brought to their room.

  “Come on, we’ll get the lift,” she said softly and put her arms round Helen’s waist.

  That evening, they talked of many things mainly, but not exclusively, relat
ing to Helen. She learnt from her old neighbour that there was nothing unusual in the way she’d met Stephen, it was all a bit of a cliché, really, as simple as she was a secretary, he was a solicitor and they both worked for the same firm. Her initial impression of him was that he was very unassuming in an environment where many were not. Unlike some of his colleagues, things had to be teased out of him. It was as if he felt that anything he had to say wasn’t worth listening to or would, in some way, alienate him from his listener rather than bring them closer. Over the years, she’d begun to realise that this may have been the point because he was someone who kept a distance that was safe enough for him to be able to have some kind of relationship with others but that didn’t involve any kind of intimacy he might find disconcerting.

  But his reserve, his shyness, she supposed, was very appealing, especially as before him, she’d been out with a terrible show-off and was tired of all that.

  When it came to having children, they both wanted them and there was a silent agreement that she would stay at home while they were young, something she had never regretted, even when she was bored or tired or both. Of course, she got tetchy and fed up. Emma and James were pretty good on the whole, but they were bright and always needed things to do and there’s no recognition of the work you do. It was harder than being at work. Concentration was required all the time and she was invariably on her feet, something as a secretary she of course wasn’t used to.

  Stephen was good with them, there was no denying that; she sometimes just wished he’d had them for more hours in the week, but then they’d made the decision for her to stay at home. She did go back to work part-time when James, the youngest, went to primary school, something she’d found very enjoyable. All those sentences she could finally finish without either Emma or James or the child of a friend wanting something or the answer to something. The times she’d gone home after seeing someone and wondered where it was they had gone out that day.

  She didn’t work in Stephen’s office and was, by then, glad she could do something that was completely away from the family. It was somewhere she could not only make her own friendships but also where she had time to process what was happening at home so she could go home and say to one of them, “I was thinking about what you said, your homework, what so-and-so said to you the other day.”

  She also began to see more clearly that there were many things Stephen and she didn’t talk about because she heard what others said to partners. Yes, there was a lot they didn’t say; too often, she didn’t ask him what was bothering him when he was quiet and, this was hard, but sometimes she didn’t feel he was that interested in finding out what was troubling her.

  Nevertheless, theirs had been a workable marriage and the children, they all, missed him terribly. In fact, she thought she’d neglected them recently. Yes, they were grown up now, but she hadn’t been able to express much interest in what they were doing and she couldn’t help feeling guilty about it. And this trip, well, it was just another way, she was feeling now, of her being a bit self-indulgent, even though they’d supported her coming here and perhaps thought it was about time she spread her wings a bit. She was trying to find something, she didn’t know quite what, but she found herself wanting to know more about the person she’d married because he had always been so reluctant to impart any information.

  She spoke of Hans and Margot and everything they’d told her. Audrey was as astounded as her friend had been and they both talked about what courage that required. In fact, Helen talked a lot about courage and how she felt she didn’t have any.

  “Nonsense,” Audrey had interjected. “What rot,” and she said that, from her point of view, having not had children, being a mother, for one thing, required a huge amount of it, not to mention the fact she’d come here on her own and without any German. She didn’t speak German, did she? No, she didn’t.

  Yes, but being a mother was what so many did; if it was courageous, it was everyday courage. What Stephen had done was exceptional. Audrey pointed out that befriending a couple where there’s illness in the house is something not many holidaymakers would do and, for the first time, her friend smiled a little and they agreed they needed to ring down for another pot. While they waited, Helen told her again about what had happened at Peter’s and Audrey thought that sometimes horrible things happen for a reason. It didn’t mean that perhaps this Peter shouldn’t have been a little more aware of what could happen, but still, sometimes, life has a way of sorting itself out. She thought this because it had been the only way, on many occasions, she felt she could survive.

  The tea came and they were both grateful for those first sips. Audrey looked at her friend, whose eyes were full with tears. This had been a struggle and she said to Helen that what she’d just done took courage. She of course didn’t say anything about the photo that had fallen out of Stephen’s briefcase all those years ago. Instead, she told her about Jean and that they’d found this navy blue jacket they both fancied. And how she’d worn it to Kenneth’s retirement party.

  21

  Margot knocked on Rosa’s door and as she heard her colleague’s footsteps coming towards her, she thought how empty they sounded, unaccompanied by the usual sounds of her children, either telling her frantically that there was someone ringing the doorbell or asking her to tie a shoelace. Normally, when they had things to talk about and they wanted to get away from the museum, Margot came here because Rosa wouldn’t have to find childcare, but she’d asked this time if it was possible for them to be on their own.

  “I’m sorry, I know I look a sight,” she said apologetically, almost before Rosa had finished opening the door properly. She caught a badly disguised look of surprise but had gone too far into a state of crisis to let it worry her.

  “Come on in. Be careful of the toys at the bottom of the stairs. I asked them to put everything away, but you know how these things are. Can I get you a coffee?”

  “A coffee would be great. How are the children?” Margot quickly glanced at the untidy mixture of boys and girls toys cascading down the last two or three steps of their staircase with slightly amused curiosity.

  “They’re fine,” replied Rosa, in that warm yet resigned way she’d got used to hearing when she asked about the children. “I think Katja could be coming down with something. He really had it about him this morning. He was being a right pain.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Rudi’s taken them to the park.”

  “I hope Katja’s well enough to be there. I’m sorry I asked if we could be alone. Will he be OK?”

  “Oh, sure, don’t worry. He was a lot ‘better’” – and she made quotation marks with her forefingers – “when he was promised an ice-cream and even if he is coming down with something, a bit of fresh air isn’t going to do him any harm.”

  Without being invited, because it was what she’d come to do when she visited Rosa, she sat at what she felt was her usual seat in the kitchen, which faced the garden, while Rosa put the coffee on. There were children’s clothes hanging on the washing line waving in the slight breeze and causing a tiny bird a bit of a problem in its efforts to try to eat as much birdseed as it could, which was nestling in a feeder at the end of the line.

  “Would you like milk?”

  “Just a drop. Thank you.”

  Rosa put the mugs of coffee on the table and sat in a chair with her back to the garden.

  “I’m so glad we appointed you as my assistant, Rosa. You know, you’ve been a real asset to the museum.”

  “Thank you. I try my best.”

  “Well, you’ve done brilliantly. You must know that.”

  Rosa smiled. She had been pleased with the way she’d managed the new post and caring for the children. She’d coped better than she thought she was going to.

  “I had an instinct about you. No matter how many official hoops you have to go through, we sho
uld never underestimate instinct. It was the first time I’d followed my instinct so clearly for a long time. And I was right.” She took a sip of her drink. “That’s very good coffee.”

  “It’s from a new shop round the corner.”

  “Well, it’s excellent.” Margot paused and looked at the bird again, who seemed to have had enough and was looking around wondering where to fly off to next. “Did you enjoy the lunch the other day?”

  “Oh yes, I’m so sorry, yes, I did, thank you. The food was delicious, Margot. You’d obviously gone to a lot of trouble.”

  Margot waved her hand, as if brushing her efforts aside. “Thank you, but I wasn’t saying it for that. I just wondered if you enjoyed meeting Helen.”

  “Oh, absolutely. I’d so wanted to meet her. It would’ve been great to meet Stephen, but…”

  “Yes, his death was very sad. So young.” Margot was thinking about the first few minutes she saw Helen the other day and how surprised she’d been to see Helen managing as well as she was. It was that difficulty of always seeing someone as part of something, one half of an entity, not all of another, so she wasn’t used to seeing how Helen was around others away from Stephen. It had been the four of them. She and Helen had never taken the opportunity to get to know one another away from the men. “Actually,” she continued, “Helen seems to have proved to be something of a catalyst.”

  Rosa’s face was quizzical, but she said nothing. Helen carried on, determined to fulfil the purpose of her visit, particularly as a child, possibly poorly, had been whisked off to the park on her account.

  “She wrote to us saying she was coming to Berlin and asked if she could come and see us. I was initially uncertain about it because I thought it might be very difficult for Hans, Stephen having recently died. They were such close friends at university. At least, that was what Hans always told me and I had no reason to disbelieve him because they got on so well when the four of us met up. But he seemed to be pretty indifferent to Helen’s request. ‘Yeah, tell her to come if she wants to’ kind of thing. It’s funny, isn’t it, how the slightest thing can set you thinking. And it wasn’t as if it was a new thought; it was just a thought that had lain buried within me somewhere because I was too frightened to bring it out, I suppose.”