Wish Me Dead

by Helen Grant

  Had Hanna seen me? I dared not look out in case she saw me, but my ears strained for every sound. I heard running footsteps, then they were muffled and I guessed that she was crossing the grass. I bit my lip in an agony of terror but dared not move a muscle.

  ‘Steffi?’

  Hanna’s voice sounded so calm, so reasonable. If I had not seen the gun in her hand for myself, if I had not heard its deadly report, I might have been tempted to come out. I caught the sound of something – a dried leaf, a tuft of baked grass – whispering under her feet and then a rustling. Judging that it was far enough from where I lay that she would not detect a very stealthy movement, I edged far enough forward to peep out from my hiding place.

  On the other side of the lawn, Hanna was searching the bushes, thrusting them aside with the hand that still grasped the revolver. With a thrill of horror I realized that she was conducting a search and that sooner or later she would work her way over to the spot where I lay hidden. I had to move and the sooner the better, before she got close enough to spot me.

  Trying desperately not to make a sound, I wormed my way backwards, deeper into the shelter of the overhanging vegetation. And at last luck was with me. I was right at the border of the garden, where it backed on to the forest. There was a wire fence separating the two, but even Herr Landberg’s fastidiousness had not extended to fighting his way through the shrubbery to maintain it. A long section was torn and curling upwards. I ducked my head and wriggled underneath, shrinking as low as I could, aware that to catch my clothing on the wire now was to sign my own death warrant.

  I emerged on the other side, dusty and scratched but in one piece. I paused for a second, listening, and I heard my name hanging on the air, ragged as the cry of a lynx. Then I was scrambling up through brambles and saplings and the dry summer vegetation, until I found myself on a proper forest path and could break into a run.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  It took me a little over twenty minutes to run the length of the path, which ran high along the side of the hill and came out at the edge of the old town. By then I knew that no one was following me, but I was so exhausted that each breath I took seared my lungs like smoke. Brown with dust and bleeding from a dozen tiny scratches, I limped back into the town and made my way to the police station. The town was heaving with tourists, as it always was on hot summer days, but there were also a good many locals on the streets, plenty to turn and watch Steffi Nett of the Konditorei Nett struggle her way up the front steps of the police station, looking as though she had been in some kind of brawl.

  It took me some time to convince the policeman on duty that my story was a serious one, which was no surprise. When he had understood the bit about a young woman armed with a hunting revolver and possibly a couple of rifles, he began to make some phone calls, but I could see that that favourite parental expression You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, young lady was going to be applied pretty rigorously once the situation had been defused. It was more than a rural police station could deal with, so reinforcements had to be sent for. In all it must have been at least an hour, perhaps longer, before anyone ventured cautiously up the road to the Landbergs’ house.

  Hanna had no intention of being hunted down and tried by the twin courts of law and public opinion. All the same, I think she waited to see whether I would change my mind and come back, take up her offer of carousing among the bones of her victims. It was not until the police actually approached the house that a single sharp crack was heard. When they finally got inside, Hanna had put herself out of their reach forever.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  The explanations were not so easily evaded. Weary days were spent relating my side of the story to the Kriminalpolizei. More weary weeks and months lie ahead while every aspect of the sorry story is investigated and examined. So far as I know, Hanna lied about keeping my notes. Certainly, to date, nobody has confronted me with a single one of them. At the same time, a document was discovered that nobody was expecting, least of all myself: a will written by Hanna leaving everything she owned to me. Under German law it is almost impossible to leave everything away from your family, but Hanna’s parents were both dead and she had no other relatives that have been traced yet. And then there was the envelope with the ten thousand euros in it. I handed it over to the police with every single note intact, but I had to admit that it had arrived anonymously and that there was only the word of a dead girl to say where it had come from. It is possible that a very great deal of money will come to me – and my family – one day, and it is equally possible that none of it will come at all. As long as the bakery stays afloat, and with it my parents’ dreams, I can truthfully say that I do not care which of these two possibilities comes to pass.

  Assuming that there are no legal consequences for me – and there are those in the town, such as Frau von Jülich, who would like to see somebody pay – I shall have to leave Bad Münstereifel for the foreseeable future. It is not comfortable to think of running into Kai’s parents or Frau Kessel’s cronies. I am not the only one who feels this way: Max’s uncle has been persuaded to offer him a job in Frankfurt; Izabela has gone to stay with relatives in her mother’s homeland. So I am escaping from Bad Münstereifel, although not in a way or for reasons I would ever have hoped for. If you make a bargain with the Devil you must be very careful what you wish for.

  The day my father came home from hospital was cool and overcast, with a hint of the coming autumn in the air. By the time he arrived at the bakery, a small crowd of interested citizens had gathered. My mother had not advertised the fact that he was coming home, and the bakery was still closed, but word had a way of getting around in Bad Münstereifel, as we knew well. I should dearly have loved to run downstairs and greet my father, but seeing the little gathering below I thought better of it and stayed at the upstairs front window instead.

  My mother got out of the car first and bustled round to my father’s side to open the door. My father emerged, holding on to the car door, thinner and paler than he had been when he had started his last working day at the bakery, but still recognizably himself. My mother fussed around, fetching his bags for him and trying to take his arm, as though he was too terribly frail to take a single step on his own. He waved her off. Then he drew himself upright, let go of the car door and surveyed the little crowd of his fellow citizens.

  ‘Guten Morgen zusammen,’ he said.

  There was a moment’s pause before someone said, ‘Guten Morgen,’ and then others followed suit.

  The crowd parted as my father made his way slowly and carefully but unaided towards the door of the bakery, my mother following with the bags. He had reached the front step and my mother was fumbling for the key when someone stepped forward.

  It should have been perfectly plain from the beginning that Udo Meyer would never let a situation like this one pass by without sticking his oar in. ‘Herr Nett,’ he said, in that droning voice that made you want to put your fingers in your ears or else take a swing at him, ‘is the bakery going to close for good?’

  My father stopped and turned to face Udo, with his back to the bakery’s open door. He spent perhaps a quarter of a minute looking Udo up and down, as though he were some highly perplexing object, then he said, ‘The bakery will be reopening as soon as possible and remaining open.’

  He turned to go inside, but Udo was not finished yet.

  ‘Herr Nett, what about your daughter?’ he asked.

  My father had one foot on the doorstep, but now he paused and looked Udo in the eyes. By neither the slightest change of expression nor an infinitesimal sigh did he betray what everyone knew, which was that Udo – as the self-elected representative of the town – wanted to find out whether my father was going to disown me, as he properly should. The stare my father gave Udo was absolutely level and he held Udo’s gaze so long that the other man began to fidget visibly.

  ‘Both my daughters are well, thank you,’ said my father at last, very deliberately. Then finally
he took my mother’s proffered arm, stepped into the bakery and closed the door.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Yesterday afternoon, when I was alone in the flat, there was a knock on the front door. My parents were both downstairs in the bakery with the new baker’s assistant – someone from out of town, recently qualified, keen and energetic and with absolutely no prior knowledge of Bad Münstereifel gossip.

  I was surprised and a little apprehensive to hear the knock. There were very few people I wanted to see. I dreaded the thought of having to rehash what had happened at the Landbergs’ house or, just as bad, having to converse with someone without referring to it, while knowing full well that that was the only thing on their mind, that they were studying me the whole time with speculation in their eyes. Still, I presumed that my parents had not allowed whomever it was upstairs without a reason. Reluctantly I went and opened the door.

  A familiar figure was standing there: tall, slim, with the collar of his tatty black coat turned up and his shock of coppery hair standing up like a corona of flame as usual.

  ‘Julius,’ I said.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he asked.

  Of course I stood back to let him in, but as he passed me I bit my lip. I was not sure what reason Julius could have for coming. If he was going to berate me for lying to him so that I could go off to Hanna’s alone I didn’t think I could stand it.

  He paused to look at me.

  ‘We can go into the kitchen,’ I said, indicating the way.

  I had a feeling that it would be awkward in the living room, each of us sitting on one of my parents’ overstuffed armchairs, looking at each other across the expanse of coffee table. At least in the kitchen I could stay on my feet and busy myself making tea or something.

  Julius sat at the kitchen table, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. I didn’t sit; somehow I felt safer on my feet, as though I could bolt like a startled animal if need be. Instead I leaned against the kitchen units.

  ‘Do you want anything?’ I said. ‘Tea, or …’

  ‘A glass of water maybe,’ he said.

  I turned away and reached for a glass from the shelf. Then I picked up a bottle of mineral water that was standing on the work surface and began to undo the cap. It was a new bottle and the cap was very tight. As I struggled with it I kept my back turned to Julius.

  ‘Steffi,’ he said into the silence between us, ‘is it true that you’re leaving Bad Münstereifel?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, without turning round.

  I expected a hail of questions. Everyone else around here would have wanted to know all the details. But maybe he knew them already from the town’s extensive gossip network, because all he said was, ‘I’m sorry.’

  I managed to get the cap off the bottle and began to pour water into the glass, but I seemed unusually clumsy. Water cascaded over the side of the glass and on to the worktop. I put the bottle down and reached for a cloth.

  ‘Are you coming back?’ he asked.

  I didn’t reply for a few moments. It was not a question I had even begun to answer for myself.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said in the end.

  ‘Well, can we keep in touch?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, rubbing at the wet work surface, not daring to turn round.

  ‘The band still needs a singer,’ he said. There was a pause and I imagined him sitting there with his head to one side, thinking. ‘We don’t only do gigs in Bad Münstereifel, you know.’

  ‘The band,’ I repeated. I suddenly felt chilled, as though the cold of the water I was mopping from the worktop were leaching into my skin, making my fingers clumsy and my hands tremble. ‘You’re always thinking of that band of yours. You never give up, do you?’

  I heard the sound of chair legs scraping on the tiles as Julius stood up.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he said, and this time his voice was right behind me, centimetres away.

  I put down the cloth. Still I did not dare to look at him. How could I tell him what I felt if I wasn’t even sure myself? Sometimes he mesmerized me; sometimes he infuriated me. I had wished for things I now deeply regretted and I was not proud of that. I feared to share those things with someone who had always seemed to think well of me. I had lied to Julius and I had suspected him. Would it ever be possible to get past those things, to start again?

  I didn’t jump when Julius put his hand on my shoulder. He made me turn towards him. He touched my face and made me look at him.

  I let him put his arms around me, but when he bent to try to kiss me I had to turn my head. His lips brushed my cheek instead. He held me very close.

  ‘Is this No?’ said his voice in my ear.

  I held on to him, feeling the rough wool of his coat under my fingers.

  ‘It’s Maybe,’ I said.

  So here I am, sitting by the window in the flat above the bakery that I am soon to leave, looking down at the street below – such a familiar street – and wondering whether I shall see someone tall and red-headed striding down it towards me today or not. When I think of the coming days and weeks and months, and what they will bring, it is like looking at a deck of tarot cards spread out in a fan before me. A whole host of possible futures.

  Where it will go with Julius I still cannot say, nor whether it will survive my leaving Bad Münstereifel. But Julius is determined and I have discovered that I am more resourceful than I ever suspected. If we want to make it work, we will.

  As for the rest of it, well, I could go back to my bakery studies and return to the town one day when the wounds have healed, to see my name painted in next to my father’s on the front of the bakery. Or I could follow my dream of studying music, and starve, or perhaps just about get by, or perhaps be rich.

  It is for me to decide.

  GLOSSARY

  Abitur Final exams taken at the end of secondary education; a prerequisite for entrance to university in Germany

  Arschloch Arsehole

  Bauernbrot Literally ‘farmer’s bread’; a typical German rye bread

  Bienenstich Literally ‘bee sting cake’, which consists of a sweet bread filled with vanilla custard and topped with honeyed almonds

  Currywurst Fast-food snack of German sausage with curry sauce

  Das Goldene Blatt ‘The Golden Leaf’ is a weekly tabloid magazine

  Dinner for One Originally a 1920s comedy sketch by British author Lauri Wylie for the theatre, the 1963 English-language TV recording of this is very popular in Germany

  Florentiner Florentines are baked sweet biscuits made with almonds, orange peel and honey; they’re traditional Christmas sweets in south Germany

  Freizeit Revue ‘Freetime Review’ is a weekly entertainment magazine

  Graubrot Literally ‘grey bread’; a bread made with sourdough, rye and wholegrain wheat, making it lighter than typical rye bread

  Guten Morgen Good morning

  Guten Tag Good day (standard greeting, like ‘hello’)

  Gymnasium Equivalent to a grammar school in the UK

  Hauptschule Least academic type of German secondary school; graduates would still need to attend further education to gain the Abitur in order to attend university

  Karneval Festive season which takes place just before Lent; usually involves a parade or public celebration

  Knackwurst Typically a short, plump sausage; knack (German for ‘to crack’) refers to the sound made when the skin of the sausage is pierced after cooking

  Kölner Stadt-Anzeiger Popular daily newspaper published in Cologne

  Konditorei Little cafe with a bakery/patisserie

  Kosakenbrot Literally ‘Cossack bread’; a rye bread made with sourdough, typically with a cross-hatch pattern on the upper crust

  Kriminalpolizei Criminal investigation agency of the German police force

  Kyllburger Relating to the town of Kyllburg, which is situated on the river Kyll in the Eifel region of Germany

  Mohnbrot Poppy-seed bread

  Notarzt Emergency
doctor

  Nussecke Literally ‘nut corner’; wedge-shaped nut-filled pastry, which is often coated or edged with chocolate

  Nuss-striezel Plaited nut-filled Danish pastry

  Plunderteilchen Danish pastries

  Rathaus Townhall

  Realschule Type of secondary school in Germany, ranked between Hauptschule and Gymnasium

  Sahnetorte Cream cake

  Sauerteig Sourdough

  Scheisse Shit

  Sekt Good-quality sparkling wine

  Sonnenkorn Sunflower-seed bread made with wholemeal oats and also linseed

  Speckstange Rye bread made with bacon

  Tschüss Bye (informal)

  Vorsicht!: Careful!

  Wurst German sausage

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  As ever, I would like to thank Camilla Wray of the Darley Anderson Agency for her enthusiasm and energy. I would also like to thank Amanda Punter, Editorial Director at Puffin, and everyone at Puffin and Penguin for their continuing support and encouragement.

  Special thanks are due to Frau Hildegard Quasten of Bäckerei Cafe Quasten in Mechernich-Kommern, and to Herr Nipp and the team at the Erft-Café and the Café am Salzmarkt in Bad Münstereifel, for their advice about the running of a German bakery and German bakery products. Any inaccuracies are entirely mine.

  Last but definitely not least, I would like to thank my husband Gordon for his unflagging support.