Devil in Disguise

by Julian Clary

  ‘I am so tired,” said Molly, finally. ‘I wish I could go to sleep and never wake up.’

  ‘You will go to sleep. Your room is unoccupied and you need to sleep and heal yourself. Come.’ Lilia, despite her fragility, pulled Molly out of her chair and hooked an arm round her waist. ‘In the morning it will not seem so dark. It is the end of a chapter in your life, but by the same token it is also a new beginning. Better you find out the truth about Daniel and Simon now than in six months’ or two years’ time. All will be well. Come along now.’ As she spoke she led Molly out of the door, along the corridor and into her old room. ‘There now,’ she said, releasing her grip and allowing Molly to collapse on the bed. ‘Sleep well. Rest is what is required. You are home now, my dear Molly.’ She stroked Molly’s cheek and hummed a gentle, soothing lullaby. Molly went gratefully to sleep, escaping her misery in unconsciousness, the only true escape for the broken-hearted — apart from death, and that seemed a little dramatic, even for a musical-theatre actress.

  Molly slept and slept, not opening her eyes until late the next afternoon. It took her a moment or two to remember the tumultuous events of the night before and her drive through the night to Long Buckby. She had cried in her sleep so the pillow was damp and her cheeks sore with salty tears. She blinked at the ceiling for a few moments before, as if on cue, Lilia tapped on the door and entered, carrying a mahogany tray loaded with a steaming mug of tea and a plate of digestive biscuits. She was wearing a navy dress with a white blouse underneath. ‘Good afternoon, Camille,’ she said. ‘It is the day after the night before.’

  ‘I’m glad to wake up here,’ Molly croaked weakly.

  Lilia peered over her. ‘Oh dear. You are a little injured bird. Your wings are broken. It will take time, but they will mend.’

  ‘There’s no escape, even in sleep,” Molly whispered. ‘I’ve had awful dreams. I didn’t know I could hurt so much.’

  Lilia patted her arm, then pulled the covers up and over Molly’s shoulders. ‘You’ve had a double-whammy. Lover and best friend. Daniel and Simon. At it like dogs in the street.’

  Still lying and staring at the ceiling, Molly closed her eyes but fresh tears forced their way out and flowed down in tiny rivulets to bounce jaggedly on her tangled hair.

  ‘Indeed!’ said Lilia,’ tenderly. ‘I did not mean to upset you, but we must squeeze a spot to get all the poison out. Now, so many tears are very dehydrating. Sit up, my dear, and try some tea.’

  Molly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and wriggled upright. Lilia handed her the tea and sat on the edge of the bed. She put her palm on Molly’s forehead as if she was taking her temperature. ‘Feverish.’

  Molly sipped the tea. It was hot and sweet.

  ‘That’s right, drink up. I shall get you some water presently. A jug. I think you will need it. There will be more weeping where that came from. The pain will intensify, and you will keep seeing them together until the sordid image is tattooed on your consciousness for ever.’

  ‘Do you have to keep reminding me?’ said Molly, her lower lip trembling.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I do,’ said Lilia, nodding sagely. ‘It will fester inside you otherwise. I will make sure, in the next few days or weeks, that it is flushed out of your system for good.’

  Through her haze of misery and tears, Molly could hardly bring herself to imagine a future of any kind, but deep inside, some instinct for survival stirred, and she said,’ ‘Lilia, I won’t be a burden on you for that long, I promise. As soon as I can, I’ll get myself together and leave you in peace.’

  Lilia blinked at her. ‘Don’t talk nonsense. Where can you go? You have walked out on that life. You cannot go back. You have had a trauma and your mind and body need some tender, loving care.’ She stood up to go. ‘You will survive, my little bluebird. I shall see to that.’ She went to the door, opened it and turned back.

  ‘Eat the biscuits and drink the tea. But, most of all, you should sleep. It will help you to heal.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Molly, managing a weak smile, although she had no appetite at all. Lilia bowed to her patient and left the room.

  As soon as she was alone, wave after wave of sorrow washed over her and flattened her. She felt anger, jealousy and despair. She curled herself up in a ball under the sheets, weeping. What had she done to deserve this double betrayal? How could she bear the pain of losing her boyfriend and her best friend in one terrible moment?

  Eventually she cried herself into an exhausted sleep, but she was tormented by terrible dreams that were vivid, stark and long. She was a little girl again, and she was cold, lying helpless on a kitchen floor. She screamed and shouted, but no one came to rescue her. She held her stomach with hunger. She wet herself. The policewoman who carried her down the stairs smelt of peppermints — Molly noticed this when the officer kissed the top of her head. ‘It’s all right. It’s all over now,’ said the policewoman, with a quiver in her voice. Was she crying too?

  She woke, sobbing, in the darkness. It was night. She was vaguely aware of Lilia wiping her face with a wet flannel, and holding a cup of cool water to her lips.

  She slept again. Now a doctor was examining four-year-old Molly, and someone else was taking photographs of her bruised legs. She had become mute with distress. She saw her mother wearing a coat and looking at her through a window. Her mother was a dark-haired, waxy-skinned woman with sad, simple eyes. Her coat was shapeless, beige, worn out and grubby. Then her mother was being dragged away, calling Molly’s name, screaming as she went. The sound was clean and bright and piercing.

  In the morning, Molly woke even more tired and weak than she had been the day before, wearied by her dark dreams and the flashbacks to childhood traumas. Lilia came in as soon as she woke and helped her to the bathroom, supporting her as she put one foot in front of the other. Her limbs felt heavy and stiff, and as soon as she was done she made her slow, painful way back to the comfort of the bed. ‘It’s a bit like having the flu,’ she said. ‘I feel terrible.’

  ‘It’s normal,” said Lilia, with a shrug. ‘Your body shuts down to protect itself. Sleep — even if you have dreams as bad as yours —is a restorative thing. It would be very unwise for you to walk about. You would fall and hurt yourself. Just give in to it, my dear Molly. I will take care of you.’

  Molly did as she was told. Lilia brought her some toast with a poached egg, and coaxed her into eating some. Hot tea and cool water revived her a little, but she still felt drowsy. Her thoughts were fuzzy and she couldn’t remember anything much from the day before. Is this what a nervous breakdown feels like? she wondered. She really couldn’t have moved just then, even if a fire had broken out.

  When Lilia returned to collect the tray, she felt Molly’s forehead and nodded. ‘Another day of rest for you, my girl. Its only development will be me drawing the curtains. There. You can look out at the grey sky. Maybe the starling will hop on to the windowsill and peer at you. I will put a few crumbs there to encourage him.’

  ‘Thank you, Lilia,’ said Molly. Yes, it was a very grey, dark day, the clouds heavy with rain. ‘How long am I going to feel like this?’

  ‘When you see a sky like that, you wonder if the sun will ever shine again. But it will.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. At some point, I need to sort my life out. I have nowhere to live, no job, no boyfriend …‘ Molly’s voice trailed away.

  ‘I will help you,’ said Lilia. ‘But there is no rush. Today you cannot even raise your head off the pillow. You must give yourself time.’

  ‘How come you are so kind to me?’ asked Molly.

  Lilia sat down on the bed and gazed out of the window. At last she spoke. ‘I see some of myself in you. I’ve known sadness and loss like yours. I, too, lost my parents. When they took my father away I was eight years old. My mother must have understood what was happening, but I did not and she tried to protect me from the terrible truth.’

  ‘Who took your. father away?’ asked Molly.

/>   ‘The Nazis,’ of course,’ said Lilia, rolling her eyes. ‘You really aren’t with it, are you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Molly said hastily. ‘I should have guessed.’

  But Lilia was staring out of the window again, lost in her recollections. ‘They knocked on the door early one morning when Papa was still asleep after a late-night show. We lived in a big modern flat on the corner of Jerusalemer Strasse and Schützenstrasse. It had big windows that let in lots of pearly white light when the sun was shining. My parents were very fashionable, but also disdainful of anything frivolous. We had simple cotton curtains and a glass table that was always kept spotless and gleaming, surrounded by metal chairs. There was a single shelf between the windows on which lived eight cacti in individual grey pots. My father’s pride and joy. There were two small leather cup chairs but mainly I remember the table. I ran into it once and cut my head. Look, I have the scar.’ Lilia pulled back her hair and showed a jagged line on her temple, its contours incorporated into the wrinkles her long life had earned her. ‘I cannot remember any fuss when they took him,’ she continued. ‘There was no shouting. No guns.’ She stared into the distance.

  ‘How dreadful for you,’ Lilia,’ said Molly. What was the misery of losing a boyfriend compared to something like that?

  ‘Yes. All the more dreadful, really, because there was no drama. My mother and I were already up that morning, sitting at the glass table eating some rye bread for our breakfast. My mother had been working, too, of course, singing at the Palais der Friedrichstadt,’ but she always got up to make me my breakfast,’ dressed in her favourite silk kimono.’ Lilia looked at Molly and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

  ‘Not the same one you’re wearing?’ asked Molly, incredulously.

  Lilia smiled. ‘Correct. It was the only thing I managed to take with me … when the time came. This is the very kimono my mother was wearing on that dreadful morning — a little threadbare, but the genuine article. The knock — I can hear it still — was a rather gentle one, two, three. Nothing threatening. My mother was humming one of her tunes as she opened the door. There were only three of them. I can still hear their conversation, as clearly as if it happened this morning.

  “‘Good morning. Is this the residence of Otto Falckenberg?” said one.

  “‘It is,” said my mother stiffly.

  “‘May we come in?” continued the man in uniform. He was polite and handsome. Quite young. He took his hat off, I remember. My mother backed away from the door, then turned to me. I could see the utter terror on her face.

  “‘My husband is asleep,” she said. “What do you want him for?”

  “‘Just some questions,” said the young Nazi. “For a few days.” His voice was very reasonable, I remember that. He said something to his two comrades and they moved swiftly towards the bedroom. My mother stood behind my chair now and rested her hands on my shoulders. She said,’ “Now is not a good time to be a political satirist,”’ and the Nazi replied, “Among other things.”

  ‘There was no noise from the bedroom either. But eventually the door opened and my father, his hair sticking up on end and still half asleep,’ emerged incongruously wearing a suit. He stopped in the doorway and looked helplessly at my mother. “These gentlemen will not allow me to kiss either of you goodbye.” And then he went out of the door, with them at either side. They didn’t close it behind them, just left it open, and we listened to the footsteps going along the corridor and down the steps. Fading away. He never came back, of course.

  Molly was speechless. The horror was too much. She reached out and gave the old lady a hug. Lilia slumped forward on to Molly’s shoulder, breathing hurriedly, as if to stop a sob rising in her chest. Then, clearly with some effort, she pushed herself upright again, recovering herself. ‘At this point, I would cry if I could, but I can’t. I have dry eye. My tear ducts no longer function.’ She sighed.

  ‘Oh, Lilia, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Yes. I miss the release of tears. But my point is this: immediately afterwards, once the footsteps had faded into silence, my mother shut the door and told me to finish my breakfast. When that was done she said,’ “I’m tired. Are you? Let us go back to sleep now.” And that is exactly what we did. We slept for ten hours. We escaped into unconsciousness. It is only natural. It is preferable, by far. You must do the same.’

  ‘But what happened next?’ Molly asked, eager to know the end of the story. ‘What happened to you and your mother?’

  Lilia stared at her, then spoke again. ‘After my father was taken from us, my mother realised it was only a matter of time before they came back. I was just a little girl. I didn’t understand what was going on. One afternoon she packed me a small suitcase containing a few clothes and, of course, the kimono. She knew it would be a comfort to me. She took me to the house of a friend of hers, a woman called Mary Tucholsky. Mama told me that she loved me, to be a good girl, and Mary would take care of me. I did not know I would never see my mother again.’

  Molly gasped. However sorry she felt for herself, others had endured far greater tragedies. She could hardly recall her mother, but Lilia had known hers and loved her — and then to lose her like that … it didn’t bear thinking about.

  Lilia continued: ‘When my mother left, Mary sat me on her knee and rocked me backwards and forwards for a while. “All will be well, little lamb,” she said to me. She told me I should call her Mother, and that we would be going on a long, long journey together. She showed me my new passport, with my new name on it. Until we reached our destination, I was to be known as Bozena Tucholsky. We boarded the first train at Berlin, then travelled to Hamburg,’ Denmark, Oslo,’ Bergen, then got on to a boat to our eventual destination: England. Once we had escaped she brought me up as her own daughter. We lived in the East End of London, frugally, in a room above a tailor’s shop. I went to school and Mary worked as a cook for a wealthy family in Clerkenwell. People were kind to us when they knew we were fleeing the Nazis.’ Lilia looked at Molly. ‘I owe Mary everything. She gave me a future. Unconditional love. She showed me that kindness is all we have.’

  ‘What happened to her?’ asked Molly.

  ‘We were very close until she died of influenza when I was in my twenties.’ Lilia stood up and moved towards the door. ‘You do not need to ask me again why I am kind. That is the moral of the tale. Sleep some more. I will bring you cauliflower cheese at lunchtime. I will use Mary’s recipe. She would be touched.’ She shut the door gently behind her.

  Molly slept, then ate some cauliflower cheese, which made her feel much better. In the afternoon, she read some of Lilia’s magazines and dozed, amazed she could still sleep. Is this what it feels like to have a mother? she wondered. Someone totally focused on my well-being, someone I trust to look after me, and keep me warm and fed? Perhaps it is. It was a new sensation. Other people always seemed to have the option of escaping to the family nest when in need of some TLC, and Molly had always wondered what that felt like. If this was it, it was blissful.

  When Lilia came back into her room in the evening, she looked up at her with a smile. ‘I feel so much better,’ she announced.

  Lilia shook her head sadly. ‘You are deluded, you poor thing. You actually feel much worse.’

  ‘Oh.’ Molly was confused. ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes. You have experienced terrible pain and loss. You don’t feel better at all.’

  ‘But it’s not as bad as it could be. The Nazis haven’t come for me or my family,’ said Molly.

  ‘But your best friend has betrayed you. That is as bad in its way.’

  ‘Is it?’ Molly wasn’t sure that it was really comparable.

  Lilia leant towards her. ‘Yes. It is a frightful act. The man you love and your best friend have laughed at you, spat at you, mocked you. Imagine the pair of them. Think about it.’

  ‘I’m trying not to,” said Molly, the dread and panic rising again.

  ‘But you must.’

  ‘Why must I? It just
makes me feel worse!’ Molly felt tears spring to her eyes again. She covered her face with her hands as they fell.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ said Lilia. ‘No pain, no gain. You’re not going to feel better any time soon, you know. It’s barely two days since you found out that Simon and Daniel have been rogering each other senseless.’

  Molly buried her face in the pillow, incoherent with misery once again. ‘How could they do such a thing?’ she managed to say, when the storm of sobs had died down.

  ‘Homosexuals cannot easily be understood. It is best not to try.’

  ‘I loved them both!’

  ‘That I do not doubt. But they have instincts they cannot reason against. The cuckoo is a parasite. It lays its eggs in another bird’s nest. The moment the cuckoo hatches it kills the other hatchlings. Nature has no morality. The poor host bird, the pippin,’ raises the cuckoo as its own. Feeds it,’ loves the vile, murderous infiltrator. We cannot even say it is unnatural, can we?’

  Molly carried on crying.

  ‘You must imagine Simon and Daniel writhing together in their lust. You must imagine them scheming to deceive you, conniving to betray you so that they can lie together, caressing each other, moaning gently, taking each other to the peak, and screaming in the ecstasy of their ejaculations.’

  Molly howled as she saw it, as plain as day, in her mind.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Lilia, rubbing her shoulder. ‘The poison is not yet out. The wound cannot heal until it is.’

  Molly was crying so hard now that she was almost retching. All she could imagine was Simon and Daniel kissing passionately and it was agony to her.

  ‘Mind you don’t choke, my dear,” Lilia said, with concern. ‘You are becoming delirious. Maybe I have encouraged you too much … Oh, my. I think I shall get you some medication.’ She scurried from the room. A few moments later, she returned to Molly’s bedside, holding a glass of water in one hand and a pill in the other.