Gisela pushes Lena away. It breaks her heart when she wants to comfort the child. Lena screams when she does this, her face contorted with terror. “Hush, Liebchen. This is your mother. You must go with her. Jan will be there.”
“No,” screams Lena. “I won’t go. She’s not my mother. You’re my mother. Why are you doing this? I don’t want to go.”
Gisela turns away. She can’t bear this. Lena grabs her arm. Gisela has to unpick her fingers to loosen the grasp; she can’t look Lena in the eye. Lena kicks out at her, and she winces, but who can blame her? “Friedrich,” she pleads, “help me.”
The woman from the Red Cross strides across the room and pulls Lena away from Gisela. “I haven’t got time for this. You’re coming with your mother now.”
Lena is hysterical. Gisela runs over and grabs her back. She can’t let her go in this state. It’s inhuman. Lena is shaking with fright.
Lena’s mother stands by, looking on with helplessness. Tears stream down her face. Jan wants to scream at her, do something, you’re her mother.
Gisela is speaking softly to Lena, whispering in her ear. Jan can’t hear what she’s saying. Lena’s sobs grow quieter.
“What did you say to her?” asks the Red Cross woman.
“I told her she has to go away, but that she can come back and visit us.”
“I don’t think—”
“I don’t care what you think,” interrupts Friedrich. “Look at the state of the child.”
The woman’s face gets even redder. There’s sweat on her forehead. “We have to go.”
Lena’s mother turns to Jan and speaks to him. He says to Gisela, “My mother says you’re right, and we will come back to visit. She asks if there’s something you can give to Lena, something that she’ll have to return to you. To prove to her that we’ll be back.”
Gisela looks round the room. They have so few possessions, little that is valuable. What is there that would convince Lena that she will be back? Her glance settles on a photograph of Wilhelm. She goes over to the dresser and picks it up.
“Lena,” she says, “take Willi with you. But just for a few weeks, and then you must come and see us and bring him back. Will you do that?”
Lena is calmer now, still crying, but no longer hysterical. She nods and takes the photograph. Jan leads her out to the car.
As the door closes behind them, Gisela stuffs her fist into her mouth to muffle the roar of grief that is welling up inside her. She knows they’ll never be back; the mother did what she had to do to comfort Lena. Friedrich goes to her and hugs her. They stand in a close embrace, sobbing as their reason for living leaves.
Outside, Jan, his mother and Lena reach the car that is waiting for them. As he waits for the Red Cross woman to open it up, Jan looks up at his white-faced mother. She gazes back at him as if she’s trying to remember who he is.
“Will we come back to see them?”
She brushes the hair back from his forehead. “I don’t know, Jan. I just don’t know. It’s so far away…” Her voice tails off.
He slides into the back seat, Lena is already there, still crying. The engine starts, and they’re off, the car bumping down the rough track to the main road. Jan twists round in his seat to gaze at the farmhouse for one last time. It looks like home.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to Alessandro and Elisabetta for cutting out all the unnecessary bits and making The Search a slimmer, fitter volume. My agent, Diane Banks, has been brilliant; so enthusiastic and such a good advocate. I met many people who were inspirational when I studied creative writing at Glasgow University, but especially Adam Piette and John Coyle who supervised my PhD and who were so helpful and patient with me. I’d also like to thank my group of writing friends: Ann MacKinnon; Alison Miller; Heather Mackay; Ailsa Crum; Karen Campbell; Griz Gordon and Clare Morrison. We’ve shared so much: successes and disappointments, many bottles of wine and a mountain of crisps. I look forward to drinking to more successes in this group.
My family have been very patient with me, reading drafts, making helpful comments and listening to my angst. Thanks to Katherine, Kevin and Peter and their other halves, Thusha, Alana and Helen. And thanks to my husband Martin, even if he did wait until the book was published before reading it. Lastly, my mother has been the most enthusiastic reader I could ever hope for and it is to her that this book is dedicated. Thanks Mum!
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