by Heldt,Dora
A week later they went to the movies together, had a beer afterwards, and found they had the same opinions about the film. They also discovered they had both played handball, and Sven had said he would get tickets for the HSV.
Two days after that, she was drawing her curtains while on the phone to Sven and managed to rip the curtain pole out of the wall support. The metal pole had cracked her on the head. Christine was telling Sven about the energy dance, rubbing the bump on her head at the same time, and went into a fit of laughter. The next evening Sven came by with his drill, and for the first time ever, Christine canceled her plans with Richard at the last minute.
Sven repaired the curtain pole while Christine cooked pasta. Over dinner they spoke for the first time about their failed marriages and about life as single people. Christine felt an ache in her stomach and put it down to the meat sauce. Sven was still funny, still laid-back, and still noncommittal. That evening, Richard’s text messages went unanswered.
And now she was walking behind him and could feel her pulse racing after the kiss. He turned around to her now, and then as they made their way to the exit and walked over to the parking lot together. They stayed silent until they saw his car. He went to the passenger side, opened it for her, and looked at Christine. Standing in front of him, she thought briefly of Richard. Then she saw Sven’s face, felt his hand on her back, let him take her in his arms, and shut her eyes.
In the parking lot of the stadium, she thought, just like the old days. And her heart started to pound.
Hamburg
Gabi stood in front of the hair salon and looked up at the windows on the second floor. It must be here; the lights were on in the apartment. She climbed up the three steps to the entrance door and looked at the names on the buzzer. The third one from the top read R. Johannis. Gabi took a deep breath, switched the bunch of flowers into her other hand, and rang the bell. Moments later a voice came out of the loudspeaker.
“Yes, who is it?”
Gabi cleared her throat. “Hi, it’s me, Gabi.”
The answer was hesitant. “Oh, Gabi…come on up.”
The door buzzer went; Gabi pushed it open and walked into the entrance hall.
She hadn’t seen Ruth since their argument at work. At first she had thought they were going to make a fresh start. Then Ruth had gone away to Cologne for a week to attend a seminar, and after that Gabi had been away on vacation for two weeks. She had tried to call Ruth but could never get a hold of her. At home she had her answering machine on, and at work Ruth’s secretary just kept turning her away.
Gabi had thought long and hard about their fight: she was sorry; she had gotten a few things clear in her mind and wanted to talk to Ruth about them, but she wasn’t giving her the chance to.
Eventually, last week, she had spoken to Christine and told her everything. Christine had been flabbergasted that Gabi had no idea about what had been happening. She updated her: shortly after their fight, Ruth’s secret affair had come out. Ruth had organized the seminar in Cologne at the last minute to get out of the heat of it. And a week ago she had moved into a new apartment. Gabi was stunned, all the more so after Christine had tentatively asked her if she had been the one who had told Karsten, which was apparently what Ruth suspected.
And now Gabi was standing in front of the apartment door, which was slightly ajar. She rang the bell briefly then walked into the apartment. Ruth was coming toward her, an empty carton in her hand, which she dropped to the floor. She had no makeup on and was wearing old jeans and a checkered man’s shirt. She looked at Gabi, her face expressionless.
“To what do I owe the honor?”
Gabi came straight to the point: she was too worked up to be diplomatic.
“It wasn’t me that told Karsten. I would never have done that. You accused me last month of never telling you anything. We argued, that’s true, but I thought we were on our way to working things out. And now you keep something like this from me.”
Her shoulders slumped, Ruth sank down onto a stool in the hallway. She looked up at Gabi.
“You were the only one who knew about Markus. Who else could it have been?”
“Thomas.”
Ruth looked blankly at Gabi. “Thomas? Your Thomas? But he’s in Frankfurt, what does he have to do with it? Did you tell him?”
Gabi pulled her coat off, pressed the flowers into Ruth’s hand, and squatted down on a pile of moving boxes.
“Karsten must have been picking someone up from the airport. He ran into Thomas. And he told him that we’d separated and asked Karsten if you both could look out for me a bit.”
“Oh, shit.” Ruth suddenly remembered a conversation she’d had with Karsten. She had come home one evening, and he was cooking. As they ate dinner he had asked her—sounding completely normal—how Gabi and Thomas were. Ruth had answered—in an equally normal tone—that everything was fine. Gabi was just feeling very lonely during the week, and Ruth was trying to keep her mind off it all. Karsten had said it was good they had such a close friendship again, and Ruth had agreed with him earnestly.
As she said good-bye to him the next evening, on her way out to meet Markus, he had told her to give Gabi his best. After that, he had followed her in the car and confronted them at the hotel.
Ruth shook her head and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I thought you said something to him; I knew you always had a soft spot for Karsten. I’m sorry, everything just got so mixed up. I was so bitter, at myself, too. I’m really sorry, Gabi, truly I am, not just for the false accusations but for how I’ve been acting recently. I always thought I could handle things better than this. I’d forgotten how much change stresses me out.” She raised her head and held her hand up in a pledge. “I promise I’ll do better in future. I’ll start over. I mean, you’re doing that at the moment, too; we’re both starting a new life, and that’s when you need your friends the most.” She stood up and spread her arms wide. “Come on, sweetie, let’s kiss and make up and then I’ll open some champagne.”
As they hugged, Gabi looked over Ruth’s shoulder and wondered whether she should tell her exactly how she had found out about the conversation between Thomas and Karsten at the airport.
As Ruth released her from her grasp and looked searchingly into her eyes, Gabi suppressed the memory of her evening with Karsten. There were more important things right now.
Bremen
Christine was awoken by the final gurgles of the coffee machine. She heard the clattering of cups and the sound of Richard whistling. Groaning softly, she turned on her side and pulled her legs up toward her stomach. Everything hurt: she had a horrid taste in her mouth, her head was banging, she was cold and felt nauseous.
They had seen each other the day before for the first time in a month. On the drive from Hamburg to Bremen, Christine had tried to bring the intense feelings she had felt for Richard over the last three years back to life. His voice, his warmth, the way he looked at her. But all she could think of were the things that tormented her: the secrets, the lonely weekends, his silences, his demanding wife. Christine had been waiting for three years. Waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for him to come to see her, and above all, waiting for a decision. Small things happened, but nothing major. All this waiting was tiring.
She had spoken to Dorothea about it. Dorothea had listened to her for a long time and then asked Christine what she really thought, whether she still believed that this secret affair would one day become a real, honest relationship.
Christine hadn’t hesitated long before shaking her head. “I had such strong feelings for him, but this waiting around just corrodes everything.” Then she had started to cry.
Two weeks later Sven had been standing in her office.
Richard put the two coffee cups down on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. He brushed Christine’s hair aside and kissed her on the neck.
“Good morning, beautiful. Would you like some coffee?”
Christine pulled the d
uvet around her and sat up straight against the wall. She reached for the cup and avoided Richard’s gaze.
“Thank you, that’s sweet of you. What time is it anyway?”
“No idea, probably nine or so. But it’s Sunday.”
She could feel him looking at her, but tried to keep her gaze fixed on her cup. The smell of the coffee made her feel even more nauseous. Richard put his cup down, lifted the duvet, and lay down next to her. His hand caressed her stomach; his face close to hers, he kissed her shoulder.
“So, Christine, tell me what…”
His phone rang. Richard jumped up immediately. Christine knew who it would be.
“Jürgensen.”
She didn’t move. Richard took the phone into the next room but left the door open, so she couldn’t help but hear what he was saying.
“No, no, I’m awake already, and I’m about to drive into the chambers…Yes. Oh, you’ll figure it out, and we can talk about it later, but I really have to go now…yes, I hope you do, too, Sabine. Bye now, bye.”
Christine’s headache felt worse. Sometimes she wondered whether she should just start screeching like a madwoman in the background during these “check-up” phone calls. Or cough. Or shout out, “Come back to bed, darling.” But, unfortunately, she was too discrete for that.
Richard came back, looking embarrassed, but that didn’t make her feel any better. Before he could lie down again, Christine stood up.
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Christine, I…”
“It’s fine.”
She pushed past him, She needed to be alone for a moment. Closing the bathroom door, she sat down on the edge of the bath. Noticing she was trembling, she stood up and pulled Richard’s bathrobe on. It smelled of him. She was fighting tears.
She had felt nervous as she rang his doorbell yesterday evening. To her surprise he had beamed at her and pulled her close. He was pleased to see her and had seemingly forgotten the sad and strained phone calls of the last four weeks. Christine had noticed how awkwardly her body had reacted in his arms, but Richard hadn’t seemed to.
They had eaten at the Italian restaurant they often went to, presumably because it was far enough away from the chambers to ensure they wouldn’t bump into anyone he knew. Christine hadn’t been hungry; she had chewed her meat as if it were cardboard and could barely swallow. But she drank to make up for it in the hope that it would help reduce the tension she felt. Their conversation dragged; Richard was making an effort to tell funny stories about his colleagues, but Christine wanted to talk about something else. When she asked him how he was doing, he waved the question away.
“Come on, I want to enjoy a nice evening with you. Everything is complicated at home; I don’t want to talk about that.”
He never wanted to. A blond man in a light leather jacket came into the restaurant, and Christine jumped. As he turned around, she saw it was just a stranger.
Richard had noticed her glancing up. He looked at her questioningly and took her hand. Christine felt her heart ache. Why couldn’t Sven be Richard or Richard, Sven? Feeling completely confused, she ordered a double grappa. She heard Dorothea’s voice: “Why do you feel guilty about going out with Sven when Richard is sharing a bed with his wife?”
She felt her face getting hot. Richard paid, and they went back to his apartment in silence. Christine wanted another glass of wine, so Richard reluctantly opened a bottle. He noticed how drunk she was but didn’t say a word. After a while she fell asleep in the chair; then Richard undressed her and carried her to bed. That was all. And now she was crouching on the bath in tears and had no idea what to do.
Cuxhaven
Marleen answered the phone after the second ring.
“Hello, Marleen, I just wanted to check whether you were already in the pub. I’m on my way to see you,” said Christine, sounding relieved.
“I’ve been here since nine this morning. I have to cook Grünkohl stew for forty people for a birthday party here tonight. So you’re very welcome to come and peel potatoes with me. When will you be here?”
Christine looked at the clock next to the speedometer. “I’m just passing Osterholz now, so in about half an hour.”
“Great, see you soon then.”
Marleen hung up, and Christine was reminded once again of how much she appreciated Marleen never asking questions. She was just there for you, and that was that.
Richard had waited half an hour and then come into the bathroom. He sat down next to her on the edge of the bath and took her in his arms.
Christine tried to regain her composure. She failed. Despite her best efforts the tears continued to flow, and Richard had struggled to make sense of snippets of sentences in between the tears like “and next month it will be my birthday again,” “I’d like to be able to spontaneously…,” and “this damn waiting around.” He understood, but couldn’t work out what had brought on this outburst.
An hour later Christine had showered and calmed down. She drank another cup of coffee and suddenly had the burning need to be comforted. By Marleen. Richard watched helplessly as she got dressed, and asked if he had messed everything up. Christine shook her head sadly.
“No, at least…not completely. But I don’t think this is enough for me anymore; it’s not that what we have is awful, but it’s certainly not great either. I’m so fed up of having to wait to see you all the time and of having these secrets.”
Richard stroked her back. “Me too, believe me. I just can’t find a solution to it at the moment.”
Christine looked at him sadly. “Exactly. And that’s the problem.”
He stood at the window as she left the house. She couldn’t bring herself to turn around.
Christine honked her horn as she drove onto the parking lot in front of the pub. Marleen waved at her from the kitchen window. Moments later she opened the door and walked out to meet her.
“Now, I hope you’re only here because you knew I needed a potato peeler.” She hugged Christine and gave her an appraising look. “But it doesn’t look like it. Did you get a bit sloshed last night? Your eyes are all red.”
“I did a little. But there’s something therapeutic about peeling potatoes. I’ll tell you as we work.”
Marleen laughed. “You’ll have to. I don’t have time for a leisurely breakfast with you; we have to get to it.”
Christine gulped when she saw the mountain of potatoes on the kitchen table.
“Heavens above, you really are making Grünkohl. Where are the old ladies that always help you out?”
Marleen handed Christine an apron. “Here, get this on; otherwise you’ll ruin your nice clothes. My ladies are off on a bus trip with the Red Cross; they’ve gone to Schwerin. Mathilde was really excited: her first love came from there, and I think she’s hoping to run into him.”
“How long ago was her first love?”
Marleen thought for a moment. “She said something about 1949. But she reckoned she would recognize him by his eyes. Anneliese and Gerda are worried she’s going to start chatting up all the old men she sees.”
Christine laughed. “Mathilde, what a character. I haven’t seen her for ages; it’s a shame. It must be ten years ago now.”
A picture came into her mind of Lena sitting next to her mother, Mathilde, and rolling her eyes as the older woman held forth with a merciless commentary about her daughter’s ex-boyfriend. “He might think he’s all that now he’s got money, but you can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.”
Life was easy the way Mathilde and her friends saw it. Lena had inherited her mother’s pragmatism; she just talked problems into submission. And quite rightly so.
Christine reached for the peeler and the first potato.
“Sometimes I miss the old get-togethers. There was something very comforting about Mathilde and Martha. Lena was exactly the same; she never let things get on top of her. She helped me a lot back then. When Bernd came into the picture, everything fell apart somehow.”
“Well.” Marleen glanced at Christine. “You didn’t do much to prevent it.”
Christine shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes you do stupid things and then you can’t figure out how to make it good again. I behaved badly back then, I know that now. But I can’t just phone and say: ‘Hey, I know everything turned out badly and that it was ten years ago now, but let’s forget it and go get a beer.’ I’m not sure that would go down well.”
Marleen tossed her peeled potato into the huge bowl and nodded.
“You’re right,” she said, thinking about the fact that Lena hadn’t answered her letter yet. She would call her this evening. In spite of her initial doubts, the plan was really starting to grow on her.
For a while they sat in silence, just peeling. Then Marleen wiped her hands on her apron and went over to the coffee machine. “We don’t have to work in thirst, you know. Would you like a coffee, too?”
Christine nodded and kept peeling. Marleen was much quicker than she so this was her chance to catch up. Even potato peeling could be made into an exciting competitive sport.
Moments later Marleen was back, peeling three potatoes in the time it took Christine to do one. Christine sighed. Marleen looked at her.
“So, come on, tell me. What’s happened?”
“You do three to my one.”
“What?”
“Potatoes.”
“I’m an expert. Don’t change the subject. Why are you here and not with Richard?”
Christine took a deep breath and, for the duration of the next forty potatoes, told her about Richard, Sven, and the kiss in the parking lot.
Marleen listened intently, peeling all the while. As Christine talked about the kiss with Sven, she looked up. “And then?”
“What do you mean, and then?”
“What happened after that? Something must have happened after kissing? Come on, don’t make me drag it out of you.”
Christine stared at a black patch on the potato in her hand.