Forever Yours (14 page)

From that point on she simply posted every one of her pills through the wide slit into the belly of her thirty-year-old piggy bank, Porky. She kept this pink plastic object hidden beneath her summer T-shirts in the wardrobe – for bad times; you never knew when they might be just around the corner.

To the outside world she pretended to be feeble and disoriented, spending most of her time in bed or on the sofa, making strange contortions of her body, going on routine marches to the bathroom or the loo, a bit like Dustin Hoffman in
Rain Man
, muttering animatedly and incomprehensibly to herself (often letting a third self into the conversation to avoid going gaga), staring into the distance for hours on end for relaxation, then suddenly trembling all over and burying herself under her duvet – a colourful and varied programme that made up the daily routine of a person whose psychological disorders were on display at all times. The more certain she was that nothing of it escaped Hannes' attention, the more fun it became.

He was a model carer. When he was there for night duty, which he now alternated with her mother, he was always within earshot. Whenever he came to her bedside she pretended to be asleep. A few times he stroked her hair and touched her cheek. Occasionally she heard him whisper: “Sleep well, my darling.” Sometimes she felt his breath and heard the sound of an air kiss just above her face. She survived these queasy moments bravely and with patience. He came no closer; she had nothing more to fear from him.

The two carers liked to spend the evenings together, preferably in the kitchen. Mum became the equivalent of a first-year architecture student. She was fairly slow off the mark, which motivated him even more. He loved explaining the world in lay terms. During the day he could be expected to turn up at any moment, even if he was just bringing and putting away the food he'd bought. Bananas always featured amongst his purchases. Judith was delighted by each one of these deliveries, and she sparked with ideas as to how she might dispose of this or that specimen as discreetly as possible. From time to time, if there was nothing but yellow fruit in the bowl, she even ate one. Actually, they didn't taste so bad and left a pleasant feeling in her stomach.

When Hannes was not there, Bianca took her out ‘to stretch her legs', as she called it officially, and to accustom her lungs to the winter. Mum protested at these excursions, as it meant she had to manage the lighting shop alone. Besides, she would have preferred to see Hannes out and about with the patient. The moment Judith and Bianca turned the corner, they dived into the nearest café, usually to enjoy a caffeine-rich cappuccino and a fat nougat cake. Afterwards they got down to business, just as Jessica Reimann had advised.

Bianca didn't like bananas either. “The worst torture in the world? To be locked in a small windowless room with a brown banana skin. I'd freak,” she said.

Judith told her what it was about the Easter supermarket bananas that had stuck in the memory. It was their first meeting at Café Rainer, and Judith had asked him whether he had a family or whether he'd eaten all those bananas she'd seen in his trolley himself. He'd laughed and said something about the bananas being for a neighbour who had difficulty walking, a widow with three children. He went shopping for her once or twice a week and didn't ask for anything in return, because if ever he was in a bad way he'd like to have neighbours who'd help him out too.

“And?” Bianca asked after a pause. “No ‘and' – that was it,” Judith replied. Bianca grimaced. “To be honest, I was expecting more, seeing as you're so worked up. What's so strange about that story?” Judith: “What's strange is that he never said a single word about that neighbour ever again.” Bianca: “O.K., that is a bit odd. But it's probably not that exciting either, going shopping for someone. I mean, going shopping for shoes, well, that's different. But food? What's there to say about that? Maybe he doesn't even know the woman that well. Maybe he just brings her the bananas and other stuff and then leaves. Maybe she's moved, too. There's all sorts of possibilities, Judith. But I suppose…” Judith: “I've just got a feeling about this, and it's the first feeling I've had in a long time. Couldn't your boyfriend, Basti, do a little…” “Of course, you know how he loves that sort of thing. He can say he's the new bike messenger, or something like that.”

Basti's research at Nisslgasse 14 was not progressing well. The Serbian caretaker on the ground floor was the only inhabitant who had been willing to give him any information. And she'd dismissed the suggestion that a widow with mobility problems and three children lived at that address. Bianca: “She was absolutely sure of that 'cause there aren't any children at all in the house, apart from her own baby, of course, and one on its way in Frau Holzer's tummy, but she's no widow, and she can't have trouble walking 'cause she did the Vienna Marathon in the summer, but she wasn't pregnant then, or at least she didn't know she was, 'cause when you're pregnant and run marathons…” “I get the picture,” Judith said.

Bianca: “But the caretaker doesn't know the tenants that well. She said it's that kind of house where no one knows anybody else, typical Vienna really. At some point you smell a corpse and realise that someone lived there after all. And then you read in the newspaper that the person who died kept themselves to themselves. Well, of course they did, otherwise someone would have noticed them, wouldn't they?” “True,” Judith said.

Bianca: “For example, she didn't know that Herr Bergtaler lives at number 22 'cause she doesn't have a clue who he is. When Basti described him she was like, oh, that's the nice man who always holds the door open for me, at least he's friendly and says hello. But she didn't know he lived at number 22 on the fourth floor. She thought the flat was empty.” “I see,” Judith said.

Bianca: “But then Basti noticed something else.” Judith: “What?” Bianca: “He didn't tell me, I'm afraid. He was like, I need to have a closer look to see if it's true. But if it
is
true, he was like, I'm on to something.” Judith: “Well, now I'm curious.” Bianca: “Me, too. Totally. Believe me.”

The
annus horribilis
reached its conclusion with colourless, snowless advent days. Although Judith had not completely shaken off her persecution complex, she believed she was at least a few steps closer to doing so. Without the pills her legs felt wobbly and her nerves were extremely delicate, but her thoughts seemed substantially clearer and she believed she could sense the knot slowly loosening inside her head. Now all she had to do was tug on the right string.

She impressed even herself with her acting efforts, knowing intuitively that it would be a good idea to play the mentally deranged woman for a while longer. Hannes had deceived her plenty of times; now it was her turn. What's more, his presence no longer filled her with dread. She still felt a little too weak to cope with life on her own, but she was looking forward to the moment when she could pass him Porky, her overflowing piggy bank, and say: “Thanks, my dear carer. Take this as a souvenir of our second time together. I've healed myself and don't need you here anymore – sorry!”

Meanwhile, in the much-loved kitchen conversations with Mum, Hannes was talking about a big Christmas surprise. Of course it was for Judith, but her friends and family should also share in the fun. It sounded like he was planning a small party. “It'll knock her socks off,” she heard Hannes whisper. “Will she realise what's going on, in her state?” Mum asked with her usual charm. “Yes, of course,” Hannes replied. “Even if she can't show it outwardly, inside she feels just as we do.”

On the afternoon of 15 December, a day free from Hannes-surveillance as he was out of town, she let Bianca take her all the way to Aida Café in Thaliastrasse, where Basti, his red hair shining with particular vibrancy in the bright light of a naked bulb, was waiting for them, excitedly twisting the stud on his upper lip. “His suspicions have been confirmed,” said Bianca, who within a few weeks had matured into the perfect candidate for a T.V. detective role herself. Basti nodded, although his mouth was demonstratively open – a sure sign that he had surrendered for ever the role of speaker to his girlfriend.

“Remember what I told you in hospital about the squares of light, Frau Wangermann?” Bianca asked. Without waiting for an answer she continued: “Well, whenever it's dark and Hannes comes home, the five squares above each other light up, which means he's switched on the stairwell lights like everyone else does. But squares number seven and eight on the fourth floor
never
light up, which means he doesn't turn the light on when he goes into his flat. Remember?” Judith: “Yes, it's dark.” Bianca: “Well, listen to this. Now we know why he doesn't turn the light on.” Judith: “Why?” Bianca: “I'll give you three guesses.” Judith: “Bianca, please, I don't want three guesses, I don't even want one!” “Go on, tell her,” Basti muttered. Bianca: “He doesn't turn the light on 'cause… he doesn't live in his flat. See?” Judith: “Why not?” Bianca: “Hold on, first I've got to give you a bit of background.” Judith: “Bianca, you're driving me crazy!”

Bianca: “When Basti watched squares seven and eight and saw they didn't light up, he noticed that the square next to them, that's square six, is always lit. Isn't that right, Basti?” He nodded. Bianca: “And square five – that's further to the left – was always lit too, but not as brightly, 'cause effectively it was lit up by square six, 'cause the light must be in square six.” Judith: “O.K. So?” Bianca: “Whenever Hannes went into the building…” Judith: “Yes, the stairwell lights, I know. Please, get to the point!” “Don't be so impatient. You're spoiling all the fun!” the apprentice protested. “Come on, tell her!” Basti murmured.

Bianca: “Well, at some point Basti noticed that square five was suddenly brighter than before, and that was at exactly the time Hannes came home. Of course, at first he thought it was just a huge coincidence. But whenever…” Judith: “Hannes came home…” Bianca: “Exactly! Then square five was suddenly brighter. And 100 per cent 'cause someone had turned on the light in square five. And that someone can only be one person.” “Hannes,” Basti murmured. Bianca: “Amazing, don't you think? What that means is… Hannes doesn't live in his flat! If he lives anywhere at all, it's in the flat next door.” “Flat 21,” Basti murmured. Bianca: “And if he lives there alone then he's not the type to save electricity, quite the opposite, 'cause all day long he leaves the light on in square six.” Judith: “So maybe he doesn't live…” Bianca: “Alone! Brilliant, Frau Wangermann, that's exactly the conclusion Basti and I came to.” Judith: “And maybe…” Bianca: “Exactly, Frau Wangermann.” “The banana-hungry widow with mobility problems,” Basti murmured, fiddling with his silver stud.

For five days she had to feign a feeble mind and pretend that nothing had happened. Apart from her Year 7 maths exam re-sit, this was the most difficult challenge she'd faced in her life, and overcoming it perhaps the greatest achievement.

On 20 December Hannes was busy all day with meetings and Christmas commitments. Mum was tied to the shop in the afternoon because Bianca had an appointment with her gynaecologist, which one could hardly deny her, certainly not four days before Christmas.

In fact, Bianca and Basti in his fireman's uniform picked up Judith around one o'clock in thick snow, so they could pay a visit together to Nisslgasse 14. “Look, Frau Wangermann,” Bianca said from the passenger seat of the car as they were parking. “Two squares are lit up four floors up – number six brightly, number five weakly. Just like we said.”

Bianca stayed in the car and watched the entrance so she could alert them by mobile if Hannes arrived. Within seconds Basti had opened the communal door. He took the lift to the fourth floor and rang at the door of flat number 21. Judith was standing a few steps lower down in the stairwell, listening to what was happening. The bell sounded three times and a moment later he whispered: “No one there.” But then someone apparently did open the door. Basti muttered something about: “Fire safety, escape routes, routine, won't take long.” After what seemed like an eternity the door closed. Judith waited a few more seconds, just to be sure that Basti was in the flat. Then she scuttled down the stairs and hurried out to Bianca in the car. “Want some?” she said, offering Judith a lip balm that smelled of wild strawberries. “It's epic if you're feeling nervous.” Basti came down five minutes later. His mouth was open wider than usual.

“One thing's for sure, Frau Wangermann: Herr Bergtaler lied to you,” Basti said. They were having their debrief in Gasthaus Raab, a popular haunt with the fire brigade. Customers served themselves beer from the pumps, above which hung a sign that read: “Advanced fire extinguishing training”. The problem with the debrief was that it was entirely dependent on what Basti had to say, and the words had to be teased from his lips one by one.

The door had been opened by a sixty- or seventy-year-old woman with no mobility problems
or
children – at least no children were present. “What did she look like?” Basti: “Pretty normal. But she didn't want to let me in at first.” “Why not?” Basti: “Because she said her son-in-law wasn't home.” “Son-in-law?” Basti: “Exactly.” “Did you ask what his name was?” Basti: “No, but it's definitely our Hannes.” “How do you know?” “Because she said my son-in-law Hannes isn't home.”

“Unbelievable! What else did she say?” Basti: “Not much.” “Basti, please try! What else?” Basti: “Then she let me in after all. And I had a good look around.” “And?” Basti: “From a fireman's point of view it was all O.K., just the access to the roof…” “What else?” Basti: “Er… pretty nice flat, really. All tidy. Clean. Well looked after. You know, normal.” Judith and Bianca both shrugged.