How I Lose You

by Kate McNaughton

  ‘Really? How come?’

  ‘Um. I don’t know – I kind of stopped after primary school – I think I felt like it would make me look uncool or something. Or maybe I was worried I wouldn’t fit in. The World War Two jokes get kind of tired after a while.’

  ‘Hm, yeah, I can imagine. Shame, though.’

  ‘Yeah. You’re so stupid when you’re a teenager, aren’t you?’

  ‘We still are teenagers, aren’t we?’

  ‘Hm. Yeah, I guess we are. Anyway. You speak German, then?’

  ‘Yes, I did it for A level. It was my favourite subject, in fact. And I’ve spent a fair bit of time in Berlin too.’

  ‘Oh, really? How come?’

  ‘Oh, I just love it. I went there on a school trip in the early nineties, just after the Wall came down, and it was just mind-blowing. This one half of the city that still had a foot in the Communist era, and all these ruins … I was too young to really explore the party scene back then, unfortunately, but still you could feel that there was this incredible, anarchic freedom …’

  ‘…’

  ‘I guess you must have seen a different side of it, though, if your mum is from East Berlin.’

  ‘Oh – I’ve never been, actually.’

  ‘Really? How come?’

  ‘I don’t know, I guess – my mum has never wanted to. I mean, I guess she doesn’t have particularly good memories of it. And she has no family left there, anyway.’

  ‘Really? No siblings or aunts and uncles or anything?’

  ‘No, she was an only child, and her parents didn’t have any siblings either.’

  ‘And you’ve never wanted to go back?’

  ‘It’s funny you use the phrase “going back” – I’ve never been there in the first place …’

  ‘But still. It’s where your family’s from.’

  ‘Well – half of it, yes.’

  ‘You’ve never been curious to see what it’s like out there?’

  ‘I don’t know, I – Not really, to be honest. I mean – it’s not that all of that isn’t important to me. I definitely feel it’s part of who I am: I grew up speaking German, or when I was a kid at least, and my mum would read me these German stories and everything … And I think there are definitely a lot of things she taught me, a lot of values that probably have to do with her growing up under Communism, so I guess that’s always something I’ve felt is a part of me. But, I don’t know. I feel like all of the stuff I’d be interested in seeing, like East Berlin as it was when she was growing up, that’s all in the past now. I’m not sure what I’d be looking for if I did go to Berlin.’

  ‘Well – there are still a lot of traces of the past there.’

  ‘But, you know – if my mum doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to help me decipher those traces …’

  ‘She really doesn’t want to go back?’

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, to be honest, it’s not something we’ve really discussed much. I just kind of know she doesn’t want to.’

  ‘Right, sure – I understand.’

  ‘…’

  ‘Well, if you ever do decide to go to Berlin, I’d be happy to give you some tips.’

  ‘Thanks, good to know – I’ll bear it in mind.’

  ONCE SHE HAD unpacked, Eva went to the toilet. She had to stop herself from knocking on Ulrich’s door and asking for his permission – she lived here now, or would for a while, at least. She needed to behave as though she were at home.

  The bathroom, like her bedroom, was sparse and white, the only indications of life a towel draped over the radiator, a bar of soap on the sink and a tube of shower gel on the side of the bath. There was a cupboard hanging over the sink, which Eva peeked into: it was packed full of male grooming products, packets of plasters, medicines. There was a shaving brush, which bristled at being exposed to the light: it must have been resting slightly against the door that Eva had just opened. She felt herself flush at having intruded on Ulrich’s intimacy in this way, and closed the cupboard again.

  In contrast to the bathroom, the kitchen was narrow and cluttered, and consisted mainly of inventively repurposed objects: four Moët & Chandon cases provided the struts for a shelf, a fruit crate pinned to the wall with an extra board nailed into it became a spice rack. One shelf had a line of jam jars glued to the bottom of it by their tops; they contained sugar, coffee, loose-leaf tea. Eva gave one of them a twist, and it unscrewed free. Ingenious. There was an old dresser with chipped paint and no glass where glass should have been. Eva put her hand through the non-existent pane and touched the plates and bowls inside. She thought of the tasteful, carefully selected furniture of her and Adam’s home back in London; it was a nice kitchen they’d created for themselves. But this had a certain ramshackle charm to it too. They were both nice kitchens. She wondered if Adam had liked it.

  She ran herself a glass of water, still not feeling quite comfortable with the idea that she could do this without checking with Ulrich first. She needed to be like Adam, at home in this foreign kitchen. He would have turned the tap on with the familiarity of habit, would have known how long you needed to wait till the water was properly cold, perhaps would have cast a glance at the unwashed chopping board on the side and shaken his head in affectionate despair at Ulrich’s messiness. Perhaps would have washed the chopping board. She hadn’t thought about this before: Adam sharing a domestic existence with this burly German man.

  ‘Everything is OK?’

  Ulrich was standing in the doorway, like an oak tree: solid, firmly rooted, imperturbable.

  ‘Oh. Yes. Sorry. I was just getting a glass of water.’

  ‘No problem, take whatever you want. Maybe you like a coffee?’

  ‘Oh thanks, that would be great.’

  She stepped aside to let Ulrich manoeuvre his body into the room. The space was too narrow to allow for more than a couple of centimetres as he went past her, and she caught a whiff of the aftershave she had just seen in his bathroom cabinet.

  He unscrewed the jam jar that contained coffee; his hands were enormous and chiselled, as though they had been sculpted out of granite. They looked like hands that could till a field, or lash a sail to a mast.

  ‘Actually, you know what? Sorry, I won’t have one after all – I’ve drunk far too many coffees today already. But have you got some herbal tea, maybe?’

  ‘Sure. Or I could make you a hot chocolate, also?’

  ‘Oh. Wow. Yes, a hot chocolate would be lovely.’

  Ulrich smiled.

  ‘Adam was used to say, my hot chocolate was the best he ever tasted.’

  ‘Ah. Well. In that case, I definitely want hot chocolate.’

  ‘WHERE DO THESE go?’

  ‘Well – I mean – I don’t know any better than you, do I?’

  ‘Well, where should they go?’

  ‘Where do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.’

  ‘OK. How about in there?’

  ‘Oh. Actually, I was thinking of keeping that cupboard for things like flour and stuff …’

  ‘Ah. Right. Fine.’

  ‘It’s just because it’s high up, you see, mice wouldn’t be able to get to it, I think we should keep it for foodstuffs.’

  ‘Yes. I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘I mean, we’ll put everything in jars anyway, obviously.’

  ‘Oh Adam. What would I do without you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, you just – it’s good you think about all these things, because they would never occur to me.’

  ‘Well, you know, it’s our place. I want it to be nice.’

  ‘Yes, so do I – I’d just be terrible at actually making it nice in any practical way.’

  ‘You make it nice by being here.’

  ‘Flatterer!’

  ‘So where should we put these?’

  ‘I don’t know. Down there?’

  ‘Oh, no, remember, that one’s for …’

 
‘You’re just trying to wind me up, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, I’m not! I’m just trying to have us decide together.’

  It is sometimes hard to tell whether Adam is teasing or not. In this case, Eva decides, following close examination of his guileless expression: no.

  ‘OK. Why don’t you tell me what you were thinking?’

  ‘Well. I mean, I’m open to all suggestions really, but I was wondering about either there, in the cupboard two across from the sink, or in the commode.’

  ‘…’

  ‘You don’t seem convinced.’

  ‘No, I just – I mean, both those options seem fine to me.’

  ‘Are you laughing at me?’

  ‘No, no, of course I’m not …’

  ‘You are! You’re smirking.’

  ‘I just – sorry …’

  ‘What’s so hilarious?’

  ‘It’s just – I literally cannot see what the difference is between putting them in the cupboard or in the other thing.’

  ‘The commode?’

  ‘…’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Oh Adam, I mean, who actually says “commode”?’

  ‘It is a commode! That’s what it is!’

  ‘You’ve got to admit, it’s a pretty funny word.’

  ‘OK, “commode” is a pretty funny word. Still, you’ll be happy when you’ve got a well-furnished kitchen to swan around in.’

  ‘I will indeed. Especially with such a well-furnished man inside it.’

  ‘Flatterer.’

  ‘Aren’t those a bit heavy, by the way?’

  ‘Yeah, they are actually.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you put them down?’

  ‘Yes, but where though?’

  ‘OK, I vote for the commode.’

  ‘You’re not just saying that because you like saying the word “commode”?’

  ‘You’re the one who keeps saying “commode”! No, I just think it’s the right place for them.’

  ‘OK.’

  While Adam shifts objects around from one oaken shelf to another, Eva creeps up behind him and slips her arms around his waist.

  ‘You know, I really don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Right, enough of that, I’ve got a commode to sort out.’

  ‘What’s that noise, by the way?’

  ‘What noise?’

  ‘That ringing noise.’

  ‘Oh. It must be our landline.’

  ‘I didn’t even know we had a landline.’

  ‘I got it installed yesterday. It’s on that little ledge by the front door.’

  ‘What would I do without you?’

  Eva sets off in search of the phone. It’s an old model with a cord which she recognizes from Adam’s room when they were at university. It feels strange to have to stand in one place to have a conversation on it.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Eva.’

  ‘Henry! How come you’re calling on this number? How come you even have this number?’

  ‘Oh, er, I don’t know – why, what number am I calling on?’

  ‘Our brand-new landline – it’s really weird, it’s one of those old phones with a cord where you can’t wander around while you’re talking, it’s really making me realize how—’

  ‘Um. Eva.’

  ‘Er, yes? Is everything OK, Henry?’

  ‘Not really. I mean, I’m fine – I’m absolutely fine. But …’

  ‘…’

  ‘Something’s happened to Carmen.’

  SMOKE FILLED THE bar, curling around tables and stools like a lazy ferret. She wasn’t sure how they’d found a way of escaping the smoking ban, which surely was meant to apply across the whole EU – or maybe they just ignored it. Eva liked it: it felt like going back in time, to the smoky pubs they used to hang out in as students, or when she was living near Brick Lane.

  ‘Adam liked this place a lot. He said it reminded him of being younger.’

  ‘Yes, I can see why. It reminds me of the places we used to go to when we first lived in London. I think it’s the smokiness that makes it feel that way.’

  ‘Funny. This is what Adam said, also.’

  ‘Oh dear – I didn’t realize we’d got to the stage of having the same thoughts as each other …’

  ‘It is quite beautiful, I think. To know another person so well.’

  ‘Hm.’

  A nice thing about Ulrich was that he didn’t mind sitting in silence. In this stillness, side by side, watching life unravel in the bar, Eva could almost convince herself she could feel Adam sitting here with them – not right next to them, but at another table perhaps, one a little behind them, that was just out of sight.

  Her eyes strayed to Ulrich’s hands: they were broad, weathered. Nails clipped short. Hands that told a story. What had these hands done? Repaired bicycles, shaken Adam’s hand, made hot chocolate. Put up shelves. She wondered how many women had felt those hands run over their bodies.

  But enough about the hands. Eva wanted to concentrate on the traces of Adam, on her memories, which felt so changeable and fading. Sometimes she would be walking around the city, or talking to Ulrich, and it was all so new that her life in London, with Adam, would seem unreal, a life that belonged to another person.

  And yet, she wasn’t another person. She mustn’t let the days pull her further away from him. Mustn’t let life take over. Perhaps she should wall herself up somewhere.

  ‘So you and Adam would come here often, then?’

  Ulrich smiled – a fond smile, a smile full of memories.

  ‘Yes – it was something like our – Stammkneipe.’

  ‘Your local.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Eva tried to imagine, over her shoulder, out of view, Adam nursing a beer, breathing in the smoke, living his other life.

  ‘Actually, I think Adam liked this place so much because the first time he came here, there was – how do you say it? Krawall – this – a crazy thing. A big battle with the police. There was this guy from an anti-fascist group, he came here, and then some cops came in and tried to arrest him.’

  ‘What had he done?’

  ‘I don’t know – somehow they were after him, and they knew he had come here. But so, there were some other people in the bar, they tried to stop the police from arresting him. And then more police arrived, then more people started opposing them. Eventually there were five police vans outside, and almost everyone in the bar was fighting with them.’

  ‘Wow. It sounds like a proper riot.’

  ‘Krawall. Yes.’

  ‘How did Adam react?’

  ‘Ha! Actually, I had to stop him from getting involved. It was the first evening we went out together, the first time he was renting my room. Suddenly I saw on his face that he wanted to jump in – you know, when you can see that someone has this – in their expression?’

  ‘A look in their eye?’

  ‘Yes, maybe.’

  ‘But a look like what?’

  ‘Like suddenly – first he was looking quite shocked, maybe scared even. And then he changed – like he became a cat who has seen a mouse, who wants to …’

  ‘Pounce?’

  ‘Yes. And I thought, Oh Gott, this English man, I don’t want him to spend his first night in Berlin in a police cell because of me. He was so excited, but he would not have been excited by a stay with the Berliner Polizei.’

  ‘Bloodlust.’

  ‘Ja, genau. So I stopped him from going, I took him outside, and we watched the fight from a distance. At one point three policemen carried out one woman, she was screaming like crazy, I never heard such a scream. Some neighbours came down out of their flats to see what was happening. Adam wanted to go and help her, too, but I again stopped him.’

  ‘Well. Thank you. It sounds like you did a good job of keeping my husband in one piece.’

  ‘It was funny, because afterwards I thought, boah, this guy is a bit
crazy, maybe I don’t want him living in my flat if he is so violent – but I never again saw him act like this.’

  ‘I never saw him act like that. Ever.’

  ‘He did not tell you about this?’

  ‘He did – about all the police coming into the bar, the fight. He didn’t tell me that he had tried to jump in.’

  ‘Maybe he did not even remember – maybe he had this moment of rage, of bloodlust like you say, and then forgot.’

  ‘Or maybe he was embarrassed to tell me – Adam wouldn’t have felt very proud to have reacted like that.’

  Or, who knew – maybe Adam hadn’t felt ashamed at all. Maybe he did have this rage inside him. Eva had a rage of her own that she seldom showed to the world: a rage at life, for being so mundane, a rage at death for having robbed her, a rage that things couldn’t be different, that you couldn’t make them be different. She imagined Adam standing up behind her, stretching his lithe body, testing the suppleness of his joints, throwing some punches into the air, left, right, left, right, limbering up for the struggle.

  And if he had been different to what she knew in this respect, what else about his life here might be unknown to her? Had he sat in this café with Lena Bachmann, leaning towards her with an earnest, steady gaze, just like Ulrich was leaning towards Eva now?

  ‘Still until now, I cannot believe he is … Gone.’

  ‘I know. I often can’t, either.’

  ‘I miss him a lot. He was a good friend.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘…’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call you before the funeral. I just – I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking straight. Or maybe I didn’t realize that he really had a life here. Friends.’

  ‘It’s OK. Of course, this was a difficult time for you.’

  ‘Still. I should have thought of it. You should have been there. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I just wanted you to know, I miss him.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Eva felt as though Adam’s presence behind her was expanding, his ghost turning into a force field that filled the space behind her back, filled the whole bar except for the area that was within her field of vision. As though Adam was everywhere except in front of her. In front of her was Ulrich.

  ‘So – where are you from, Ulrich? I’m sorry, I’ve hardly asked you anything about yourself.’