‘How’s that going?’ asked Erich.
Franz’s smile waned. ‘Well, it won’t be next year. I’ve made some enquires at the University of Sydney and the first year is full-time study with the next three years part time. We’re not in a position to manage that just yet.’
‘But he’s not giving up,’ said Claudia, clasping her husband’s hand.
I nibbled on my fruit cake and gazed at Erich, relaxed and happy. In this moment, life couldn’t be any better. We were spending Christmas in our own home, with friends whose company we truly enjoyed and our children were happy, healthy and safely tucked up into bed, perhaps dreaming of Christmas joy. We had a lot to be thankful for.
‘Merry Christmas,’ I said, raising my glass. ‘Here’s to family and good friends.’
*
I was content in our new home despite the long hours that Erich and I worked. We’d breached a vast psychological barrier by moving out of the hostel and it felt like we could finally get ahead. Our goal now was to make an inviting home for ourselves before Mutti arrived.
Erich found a new purpose, too, when he was elected as union delegate at the factory. It was his responsibility to talk with new workers, mostly migrants, explain how things worked, provide support and act as intermediary between the workers, union and the factory managers. He took his commitment seriously. Although union meetings only occurred once a month, Erich gave support to migrant workers where he could, translating letters and official documents, providing useful tips on how to manage in this strange new country and organising social gatherings for families.
Something had changed for him – he’d slipped into the role as if it were made for him and he seemed more comfortable, like he felt he belonged there.
‘So many migrants don’t want to get involved in unions because they don’t believe that their needs are being understood,’ Erich told me one day when we were in the backyard. He was making a cupboard for Mutti.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, pegging washing on the line.
‘People are making less money working in unskilled jobs or performing manual labour – if they can get a job at all – because their qualifications aren’t recognised. Nobody likes to be treated like an idiot. And the wealth of experience and culture that we’ve brought with us is often forgotten.’
‘We want to be part of Australian society,’ I agreed, ‘but our cultures are part of who we are. I think the bosses need to remember that.’
He stood straight, and rolled up his sleeves to reveal lean, muscular arms, bronzed by the Australian sun. ‘Being Australian now is different from what it was even ten years ago – a bigger proportion of the population aren’t from a British background. What’s needed is information for workers in their own languages. It’s all well and good to expect them to learn English, but translations will go a long way towards offering them a sense of belonging and empowerment.’
‘We need more people like you, who care enough to try to make a difference.’
Erich raised his head and smiled. ‘I’m glad you think so.’
*
We were expecting Mutti in April. She was arriving on the Skaubryn and I knew she would enjoy the luxury of the boat as we had. When I wasn’t working, I spent my time preparing the house: hanging new curtains I’d made, making sure all the pictures and ornaments from Germany were in pride of place and creating a small flower garden with Erich and the girls. We even got a little orange kitten from one of the photographers at work, and we called it Moshi. Our home felt comfortable, warm and welcoming. We were ready for my mother to come.
The week before Easter was busy, not just because of the workload – especially with Good Friday off – but because of the number of weddings and christenings booked for the Sunday. It was all hands on deck and I didn’t know how I was going to leave the studio to buy my groceries, the fish for Good Friday and duck for our Easter lunch. I decided to skip my lunch break and work through each day to try to finish a little earlier on the Thursday.
On Tuesday, I came out of the darkroom with some of the developed proofs for Reinhardt. Before taking them to him I checked with Otto, his son, and one of the senior photographers who was in the lunchroom.
‘Are these the photos you wanted for Reinhardt?’
Otto drew on his cigarette and took the proofs from me, leaning back in his chair as he checked each sheet. ‘Yes, these are good. I like the ones you’ve chosen,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a good eye.’
I blushed, pleased to have his approval and praise. After having nothing to do with the industry for so long, I had lost my confidence and belief in my abilities. It was returning slowly the more work I did, and now most of the photographers were happy for me to choose the proofs to go to Reinhardt, although he often still checked them all.
‘Lotte,’ called Sabine, breezing into the lunchroom after returning from a job, a cigarette between her fingers. She was Otto’s younger sister and a photographer too. It seemed everyone in the photography business smoked to get through the busy schedules and long hours, but it wasn’t for me. ‘Lucky I found you here. Didn’t you tell me that your mother’s coming out to Australia soon?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said, taking the proofs from Otto. ‘She left a couple of weeks ago and should arrive in Melbourne on the twentieth.’
‘What ship did she sail on?’ she asked.
‘The Skaubryn. Why?’
Sabine turned pale, dropping the cigarette onto the edge of an ashtray, her eyes wide. ‘Haven’t you heard the midday news?’
‘No, I worked through lunch today. Why? What’s wrong?’
Sabine threw a worried glance at her brother, who only frowned. Clutching my arm, she tried to pull me towards the chair. ‘I think you’d better sit down.’
I remained standing and shook my head in irritation. I had to get back to work. ‘Just tell me what’s going on.’
Concern creased her smooth brow. ‘The Skaubryn caught fire overnight. It sank in the Indian Ocean.’
Spots swam in front of my eyes and I began to sway. I reached for the table to prevent collapsing and sagged into a chair, staring at her in disbelief. ‘No, that can’t be right.’
‘Are you sure?’ Otto asked. ‘Maybe you misheard.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Sabine. ‘I know what I heard.’ She crouched beside me, placing her hand on my arm. ‘I’m sorry, Lotte, but it was the Skaubryn.’
‘What about the passengers?’ Otto asked.
Sabine shook her head sadly. ‘No news yet.’
Without saying a word, I stood and left the lunchroom, still holding the proofs. I knocked on Reinhardt’s door and went into his office.
He looked up from his desk. ‘Lotte! What’s wrong? You’re as white as a sheet.’ He guided me to a chair. ‘Sit before you fall down.’
I sat and placed the proofs on his desk, unable to speak. I couldn’t begin to imagine that my mother was gone, and on the ship that had given our family so much joy.
Reinhardt shook me gently by the shoulder, his brow furrowed with worry. ‘Are you unwell?’
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Sabine just told me that the ship my mother is on has sunk in the Indian Ocean.’
‘What?’
‘She heard it on the midday news.’
Reinhardt stared at me a moment. ‘What day is this?’ he asked finally.
‘The first of April.’
Realisation flooded his face and he breathed a sigh of relief. ‘It’s an April Fool’s joke. It has to be!’
‘What?’
Reinhardt waved his hand in dismissal. ‘It’s an old English tradition to play a joke on the first of April, April Fool’s Day.’ He shook his head, his face darkening with fury. ‘Wait until I speak with her. That kind of joke is unacceptable.’
I began to rise from the chair. ‘No, please don’t. I’m sure it was some kind of mistake.’ Reinhardt was quite hard on Otto and Sabine. Perhaps it was his way of compensating for the fa
ct that his wife had died shortly after arriving in Australia, when the children were only young.
‘No, Lotte. Stay here, please, while I get to the bottom of this.’ He strode out of the room before I could protest further.
I didn’t know how to feel. On one hand I hoped he was right and my mother and the Skaubryn were safe, but I couldn’t imagine Sabine doing anything as cruel as this, even as an April Fool’s joke, and I felt bad about the wrath Reinhardt was about to bring down on his daughter’s head. On the other hand, what if Sabine was right? My mother could be gone, all because I wanted to see her and receive the gift she was bringing. My hands were clammy and I felt as if I was going to vomit.
Reinhardt returned, his brows drawn low over his eyes. ‘We’re ringing the radio station,’ he said brusquely, picking up the receiver of the telephone.
‘It’s not a joke?’ I stared at him, not daring to breathe.
‘Sabine swears it’s what she heard.’
Blood roared in my ears as I watched Reinhardt on the phone. He shook his head and hung up.
‘I’m so sorry, Lotte. It’s all true.’
‘The passengers?’
‘Nothing yet, I’m afraid.’
My breathing came in ragged gasps and my vision swam and doubled. No news of passengers couldn’t be good.
Reinhardt’s hand was on my shoulder once again, keeping me steady. ‘Should I call Erich home from work?’
I shook my head, trying to get my panic under control. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment.’
‘The best we can do is to call the newspaper. I’ll ring the Sydney Morning Herald. I have a friend who works there and as soon as there’s any news, we’ll know.’
I smiled weakly at him, grateful for his help. ‘Thank you, Reinhardt. You’re too kind.’ I stood shakily.
‘Otto can walk you home if you want to take the rest of the day off.’
‘No. I’ll be all right. There’s lots to do before the weekend and I don’t want to get behind.’
Reinhardt’s eyes narrowed. ‘Okay then. Do what you can and I’ll let you know as soon as I have news.’
I nodded, clicking the door closed softly behind me.
7
The next hours passed in a haze as I focused on the repetitive work, pushing away thoughts of my mother, but images still played in my mind. I remembered sitting in her arms as a small child before her divorce, the joy of her long-awaited visits to boarding school, walking through the Englischer Garten in Munich with her, and the grief we had shared at the deaths of my brothers. There was still so much I wanted to say to her, too many moments I wanted to share. With Vati’s death still so raw, I wasn’t ready to let her go.
It was five o’clock when Reinhardt called me from the darkroom. My eyes hurt as I squinted up at him and I wasn’t sure if it was from the light or the fact that I had been crying.
‘Lotte, please sit down,’ said Reinhardt, gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk.
I sat slowly, looking into his face for some clue, but as usual his face was carefully guarded. My hands gripped the sides of the chair. ‘What did you find out?’
‘BBC News in London has confirmed that all the passengers made it to the lifeboats and were picked up by an Australian oil tanker.’
I stared at him. Mutti was safe, she was alive. I took a big gulp of air and dropped my head into my hands. I started to shake.
‘She’s safe, Lotte. You’ll see her again soon.’ Reinhardt’s voice was calm and soothing.
I lifted my head and saw the sympathy in his eyes. Pulling myself together, I sat up tall and nodded. ‘Yes – thank you, Reinhardt, for your help and support.’ I clasped my hands to stop them from shaking. ‘I would’ve been out of my mind with worry, not knowing what had happened to her if it wasn’t for you.’
‘It was nothing – I’m glad I could help.’ He stood and came around the desk to where I was sitting, tears filling my eyes, and patted my shoulder. ‘Now, I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day. Otto will walk you home. Try to get some rest.’
I nodded, relief gushing through me. My legs still felt weak but Reinhardt’s arm was at my back and his hand under my elbow as he helped me stand. Suddenly I wanted to be home and I was glad Otto was accompanying me because I didn’t feel like myself.
I walked through the front door dazed, a million thoughts going through my head. Not wanting the girls to see my distraction and distress, I immediately directed Greta to put some potatoes on to boil and told Johanna to feed Moshi.
‘What is it, Mutti?’ asked Greta. She was watching me curiously, and I realised that I was still standing by the door.
‘Johanna!’ shouted Greta. ‘Something’s wrong with Mutti!’
Small hands grasped my arms and guided me gently into a chair. My daughters peered into my face.
Greta shook me by the shoulder. ‘Mutti, are you okay? Johanna, get her a glass of water.’
I blinked, realising how I was worrying my daughters. ‘I’m all right,’ I said, taking a deep breath. I had to keep my emotions in check. I couldn’t worry the girls with something they couldn’t do anything about. ‘It’s nothing.’ I tried to smile.
‘Nothing?’ Johanna echoed, handing me a glass of water.
‘That’s right.’ I took a long drink of water, unable to look her in the eye.
‘Something’s happened, Mutti,’ said Greta, her eyes narrowing as she tried to work it out. ‘Have you lost your job again?’
I put the glass on the table and stood abruptly. ‘No, nothing like that. Just something I heard at work today, but it’s fine. Come on now, we’d better get dinner on before Vati gets home. Then you can finish your homework.’
Erich arrived home not long after. ‘God, you’re as white as a sheet! I’ll get you a brandy. Feed the children,’ he said, kissing me. ‘Then come to the bedroom and talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.’
I nodded, my hands beginning to shake again as I spooned scorched potato from the pot.
Brandy was just what I needed. ‘Pour yourself one too,’ I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look at me strangely, frowning with concern, but I didn’t dare look at him because I would have gone to pieces.
‘Vati!’ Johanna came into the kitchen and launched herself into her father’s arms, kissing him on his cheek. ‘Guess what, Vati?’
‘What?’
‘I’m making you an Easter present at school.’
‘Really? Is that true? Just for me?’
Johanna nodded earnestly, her plaits bouncing against her back.
‘What a surprise! I can’t wait for Easter then.’ Erich kissed her on the top of her head. ‘Now tell your sister to come and have her dinner and then go and sit at the table.’ He released Johanna and went to the cupboard for two glasses and the brandy. ‘Mutti and I have to talk.’
‘All right, Vati, but I want to tell you about my day after dinner.’ Johanna glanced at me and I caught the look of concern on her face.
‘Yes, after dinner,’ he said. He handed me a glass, the bottom filled with rich amber liquid. ‘Leave us be until we come out of the bedroom.’ He took my hand and led me to our room.
I perched on the edge of the bed, muscles wound so tight that my body hurt. I sipped the brandy slowly, feeling the pleasant burn down my throat coiling into a warmth in my belly until I was ready to tell him what had happened.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said when I had finished.
‘No, neither can I.’
‘So we don’t know where your mother is now?’
‘No, there’s been no more news.’
‘What a nightmare!’ He took a gulp of brandy. ‘Surely we’ll receive a telegram in the next few days, telling us where your mother is and when she’ll be arriving.’
‘My poor mother,’ I whispered. ‘I can’t imagine the state she’s in.’
Erich gathered me in his arms. ‘All the passengers are safe and well, that’s the ma
in thing.’
My body relaxed against him. He was right. I tried to push my worry to one side. ‘I can’t believe that beautiful ship is gone. The wonderful times we had on it . . . Those poor families, imagine how frightened the children must’ve been. They’ve lost everything.’
He kissed my forehead. ‘We’ll know more tomorrow.’
I nodded, comforted by his solid presence and strength.
Between work and home, I kept myself as busy as possible, continuing as if nothing had changed: baking with the girls, helping them decorate the house with the festive eggs they’d carefully coloured and painted, and socialising with our neighbours and friends. But always in the back of my mind the worry about Mutti churned away, causing spikes of anxiety whenever I let myself think about it. Although I knew Mutti was tough, I didn’t know how she would cope on her own. She had leant on Vati’s support for so many years and now she was truly alone – and the shock of what had happened on the Skanbryn would only have made that harder to bear for her.
We received the telegram on Saturday.
Erich came in from the garden where the girls were helping him clean up. ‘Come on then, let’s open it together.’
Leaving the mop and bucket in the middle of the floor, I joined him at the table. I ripped open the envelope and stared at the paper nestled inside, transported back to when my mother had received the telegrams informing her of my brothers’ deaths years earlier and the terrible numbness deep in my bones.
Erich gently prised the envelope from my hands and slid the telegram out. ‘It’s okay . . . She’s in Aden. She arrived there yesterday on the SS Roma.’
I sagged, relief flooding my body, making me feel weak and giddy. ‘She’s OK.’
‘Yes.’
Looking into Erich’s green eyes, I realised that wasn’t all. ‘What is it?’
‘She’s flying to Australia in the next few days.’
I didn’t know how to feel – excited or horrified. I hadn’t been expecting her for another two weeks. Nothing was ready for her arrival. I stood abruptly. ‘There’s still so much I wanted to do.’
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