Forever Yours (2 page)

Judith was about to join the global warming crisis-intervention group that had formed at the bar when she felt a tap on her shoulder, unpleasantly sharp and pointed. She turned around and was shocked to see a face that didn't belong there. “What a surprise!” the banana man said. Judith: “Yes.” Him: “I was wondering whether or not it was you.” Judith: “Yes.” It was her, she meant. Her heart was pounding, it was as if she had been caught out; it felt oppressive. There was only one thing for it – she had to talk. “What are
you
doing here? I mean, what brings you here? Do you know Gerd? Are you part of the birthday party? Do you come here often? Are you a regular? Do you play the piano? Are you the new pianist?” Some of these questions she did actually ask; the rest were just in her head. Including: “Did you see me coming in?” And: “Did you just want to say hello?”

No, he was here with a couple of colleagues, he explained. They were sitting a few metres away at a round table bathed in the yellow light of a bulky 1980s lampshade that was hanging too low. He pointed them out, they waved back, Judith gave them a nod. The two women certainly looked like colleagues; indeed, they couldn't have looked more colleague-like if they'd tried. Perhaps this was the monthly outing of a tax advisors' office, made less stiff by the jaunty piano music.

The banana man was called Hannes Berghofer or Burghofer or Burgtaler or Bergmeier. The palm of his right hand was large and warm, and his gaze was so penetrating that Judith imagined she could feel it touching her insides. Again her cheeks began to burn from the inside out. He said: “How nice to bump into you so often. Our lives seem to be obeying the same rhythm.” Then he added: “Why don't you join us?” Judith was sorry, but she'd have to pass; she was heading back to Iris next door, where her great friend Gerd – just a friend – was having his birthday party. “But another time…” she said. What was she thinking? She hadn't been this forward in ages.

“Maybe we could have a coffee together,” replied Berghofer or Burghofer or Burgtaler or Bergmeier. “Yes, why not?” Judith said, because it didn't matter. The heat had reached the outside of her cheeks. But she really had to go now. Him: “O.K., then.” Her: “Yes.” Him: “Right.” Her: “Yes.” Him: “Oh, and about the coffee – I'll just pop into your shop sometime when it suits.” Her: “Yes, do.” Him: “Looking forward to it.” Her: “Yes.”

“Sometime” was the following morning. Bianca called out: “Frau Wangermann! You've got a visitor.” Judith knew at once what that meant. Hannes with “Berg” or “Burg” in his surname was standing under one of her most valuable pieces, the immense oval crystal chandelier from Barcelona, which everybody had been admiring for five years and nobody had bought. “I hope this isn't a bad time…” he said. He was wearing a blue cardigan with light-brown buttons and looked like a man who spent his evenings drinking Earl Grey tea in front of an open fire, his toes sunk in the shaggy coat of an overweight St Bernhard, while children tumbled around him wiping their banana-y fingers on the sofa.

Judith: “No, no, this is fine.” She was annoyed that she felt so excited; there was no logical reason for it, really there wasn't. She thought this man was nice, but on the surface not very exciting. And as for what went on beneath the surface, well, this was something she made a point of scarcely dwelling on. He wasn't her type at all, although she had to admit that she no longer needed to meet her type, because once you'd met one you'd met them all.

She didn't know precisely what it was that gave Herr Hannes with “Berg” or “Burg”-something his charm; perhaps the energy with which he was able to steer coincidence in her direction, the unexpected way he popped up, always much earlier than expected, and the determination with which he made a beeline for her, as if she were the only person on earth who meant anything to him.

But please God don't let him suggest going for a coffee today, that would be too soon, she would find that too pushy, she'd have to say no, with regret, and say it loud and clear. She had no desire to become the first refuge for a possibly oversexed husband and father of two or three, whose wife was at home knitting blue cardigans and sewing light-brown buttons onto them.

Him: “I don't want to be too pushy.” Her: “Not at all.” Him: “It's just that I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since yesterday evening.” Her: “What?” Him: “Well, you, if I'm honest.” At least he was honest, she thought. Him: “I'd really love to take you out for a coffee and a chat. Are you busy after you close today?” “After we close?” Judith said, as if that were the most ridiculous time of day she'd ever heard. Her: “Yes, I'm afraid I am.”

How sad he looked, how dejectedly his shoulders drooped, how deeply he sighed, how hurt he seemed, like a little boy who's had his ball taken away. Her: “But maybe I can put it off for a bit. I'm sure I could manage a quick coffee after locking up.” For good measure she checked the time again. “Yes, I'm sure that would work out,” she said.

“Great, great,” he replied. She had to admit that it was a delight to watch the broad grin unfurl across his face, and even more satisfying to be responsible for producing the dozens of wrinkles which, reflecting the light of her favourite chandelier from Barcelona, encircled his eyes like sunbeams.

They met at Café Rainer in Märzstrasse, where she often went for lunch. Judith arrived ten minutes before the appointed time. She badly wanted to get there before him to grab a table where they could sit opposite one another, rather than having to squash together in some corner. But he was already there, on an uncomfortable chair opposite an inviting corner seat which, thank goodness, was for her and her alone.

They had set aside an hour for their rendezvous, which proved too short. They went into extra time, followed by a round of penalties. Then Judith brought the meeting to a tactical close. Her parting shot: “I really enjoyed this, Hannes. I'd love to do it again sometime.” As she said these words she tried to brand on her memory the way he was gazing at her, so she could retrieve the image when she wasn't feeling so good about herself. She needed to digest properly what he'd said to her – and particularly
about
her – over the course of this hour and a half. She was actually looking forward to the rest of the evening, at home with just herself and the thoughts of a lovely new discovery, a man who had placed her on an ornate pedestal in the most flattering light. It was ages since she'd been elevated so high, and she wanted to stay there for a few hours at least, until the reality of everyday life brought her back down to earth.

In the bath she recapped: he refurbished pharmacies, and if they couldn't be refurbished he built them again from scratch. Or at least produced the designs. He was an architect. He was forty-two. He'd never been to the dentist; his fine set of teeth had been inherited from his grandmother. Well, not the teeth themselves, but the predisposition.

He was forty-two and single, that's to say, not single again, but still single. Which meant he'd never been married and thus never divorced either. He was not responsible for anyone. Which meant he had no children nor babies, as the result of no marriages. “Who were the bananas for then? Did you eat them all yourself?” she'd asked. He had flinched for a second. Had she offended him? Had she been too indiscreet? Did he have a funny thing for bananas? But then he flashed those teeth and set the matter straight. The bananas were for his disabled neighbour, a widowed mother of three children. He went shopping for her once a week. As a favour, he said; he didn't want anything in return. The fact was, if he was ever in a bad way he'd like to have neighbours who would help him out too.

He was forty-two and his name was definitely Hannes Bergtaler. “Bergtaler,” Judith said, blowing on the bath foam. “Mountain and valley.” What was she to make of a single, not-quite-so-young pharmacy-refurbisher, whose surname conveyed both his high and low points? Didn't that sound like a perfectly balanced personality? Is that why he came across as slightly boring to be with?
Was
he boring? Had she been bored with him? Not for a second, she thought. This spoke volumes for the quality of the seconds she'd just spent with him, and also for the man himself, Hannes Bergtaler, the unmarried pharmacy-refurbisher with his grandmother's magnificent teeth.

Right, one thing at a time. When he stepped on her heel and looked at her, there must have been two sharp pains: one in her heel, and the other piercing his heart. “When I saw you, Judith, you knocked my socks off,” he said. “Knocked my socks off” was not exactly her favourite metaphor – there was something indecent and unerotic about socks – but the way he looked at her, with that twinkle in his eye, with all those sunbeam wrinkles beneath a 60-watt pearl light bulb in Café Rainer, was sort of nice, very nice in fact.

“And since then I haven't been able to get you out of my mind,” she recalled him saying. “Haven't been able to get you out of my mind” was… yes, it was a compliment, a lovely compliment. And because the compliment really had been very nice Judith ran a little more hot water into the bath.

But what was it that had made her so unforgettable at their first encounter? “That sequence when you turned to me, that three-second film, the movement of your shoulder, your raised eyebrows, your whole expression,” he said. “Please forgive me for sounding so banal, but I thought you looked simply stunning.” It did indeed sound banal, but she'd heard worse, she reflected. Maybe she should encourage men to tread on her heel more often.

And then one film had followed another, he told her. Director: Sheer Coincidence. Producer: Higher Destiny. All of a sudden she, the woman he'd been thinking about incessantly, was opening up the lighting shop he'd often stood in front of. All of a sudden she, the woman he'd just been raving about to his colleagues, was in the same bar, fending off an admirer, one of many no doubt. He couldn't pass up the opportunity to go and talk to her. Yes, she could understand that. But he was terrified of coming across as pushy. Yes, his fear was justified. But he sensed that she didn't categorically object to him. No, she didn't categorically object to him, he was quite right there.

She got out of the bath. The intense heat had passed. Now she could think more coolly. Hannes Bergtaler was totally nuts about her. These things could happen. But they could fade just as quickly. It might involve the odd meeting in a café. She liked him. She liked the tip of his nose. He came across as decent and disarmingly honest. He said unbelievably nice things. He said straight out what he felt. It made her feel good, really good.

And when she imagined someone treading on her heel and she turned to the mirror, flashing her eyes at him as if he were the culprit, all of a sudden she saw – even with wet hair and a three-centimetre-thick layer of cream on her face – a stunning woman. And that was his doing.

On Judith's tiny roof terrace the bright-red azalea flowered for the first time in three years. These were good weeks. Something was blossoming. It blossomed anew each day, bringing with it everything that had blossomed previously. Judith tried to keep the number of meetings with Hannes down to a minimum, so not five times per day, which would have been his preference, but just once or twice. She was worried that her allure might wane, that he'd soon be tired of her, of the way she turned and the expression on her face. She worried that he wouldn't know which flowers to send anymore, or what to write in his letters or e-mails, what compliments to pay, or which words to use when texting “Good morning” or “Goodnight”.

Judith found herself in an entirely new situation. For once she wasn't expecting more from a man than he was prepared to give or seemed capable of giving from the outset. No, here was a man who, quite openly, was longing to fulfil her expectations. She scaled down these expectations as much as possible, to ensure that he kept fulfilling them. With a little luck she might be able to stay fulfilled throughout the summer. Fulfilled by Hannes Bergtaler, height: 1.90 metres, weight: 85 kilos, powerful, ungainly, forty-two, single, wrinkles around the eyes, and equipped with Grandmother's dazzling teeth.

Many things about him stood out, but none were cause for concern. Not his joke-telling, which tended to start with the punchline and only then proceed to the joke. Not his idea of spring fashion, which took some getting used to. Not his faded vests, which even the most generous interpretation couldn't call T-shirts. Not even his beloved phrase “knocked my socks off”, which recurred every few minutes. Up till now Judith had avoided asking whether he still lived with his (sock-darning) mother.

He was different from every other man she had known; not her type, nor any other type as far as she could make out. He was shy yet bold, coy yet cheeky, composed yet driven, and determined, in an awkward way. He knew what he wanted: to be close to her. A most noble desire, Judith thought. She decided to proceed cautiously and not rush into anything. She didn't want to arouse any false hopes in him. Hopes, yes, but no false ones. Soon enough the future would whisper to the present which the right ones were.

To begin with she spent the nights and weekends without him, at least physically. It sounded paradoxical, but for Judith the hours spent alone were some of the loveliest and most intense times with him. No matter which of her routine tasks she pursued, everything happened as if under the influence of a happiness drug. Yes, for the first time – even though it was unlikely to last – she was a happy and carefree single woman. She was able to do the thing she wanted most of all: think of Hannes Bergtaler. She loved feeling her desire for him grow. Perhaps all that was growing was her desire for his desire, but desire was desire, and at last Judith was hooked on it again.

On the second Saturday in May she was invited to Ilse and Roland's for a return dinner. Gerd and the relentless hand-holders, Lara and Valentin, were there again too. It was warm enough to eat out on the terrace. The cheap, ordinary garden lanterns did not mar the evening; four large party candles around the table lent warmth to the electric light and gave it some colour.

By eight o'clock, as Roland was bringing out the
amuse-bouche
of prawns and avocado garnished with coriander, Mimi (4) and Billi (3), who had spectacularly commandeered each visitor in turn, were already tired and crotchety. At ten o'clock, when Ilse was rounding off the meal with her “dead easy” Jamie Oliver cheesecake, the little ones had finally sobbed their way to sleep, and adult conversation could begin.

“I've got some news,” Judith said, fortified by her third glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. “What's his name?” Gerd asked. He'd been watching her. She'd made no secret of the fact that she was harbouring a delightful little secret. “He's called Hannes and you'd really like him,” Judith said with far too much enthusiasm. This immediately came back to roost.

“So why's he not here?” Ilse asked, almost lost for words. Roland looked piqued. An atmosphere of mock indignation began to brew, climaxing in Gerd's absurd idea that Judith could atone for her mistake by telephoning this Hannes, who they'd all really like, and spontaneously inviting him over. That's how curious they were to meet him.

Judith was resistant. She wanted to enjoy Hannes for a while longer in her mind, rather than have him irrevocably on the bench next to her. In any case, it was doubtful that on a Saturday night he'd be enticed by an invitation to visit strangers on the western fringes of Vienna.

But eventually Judith caved in to her friends' pressure and sent Hannes a text – more as a gesture than a serious invitation – asking whether he'd like to join them; they were having such a nice evening, he was very welcome, the address was so and so. She was confident that he wouldn't reply, that he was out and about or busy, that he probably wouldn't register that she'd texted, or at least not soon enough to come, even if he did have nothing better to do, which she thought was highly unlikely. Barely a minute later Judith's mobile beeped with the following message: “Thanks for the invite!!! I'll be there in twenty! H.”

In retrospect Judith would have loved to have a more accurate recollection of the hours that followed. But she needed another two large glasses of red wine to survive the wait, to drown her intense nervousness, which she found inexplicable. So her recall lasted just about long enough to take in the bizarre scene that accompanied Hannes' arrival.

The conversation fell silent. All of a sudden he was standing before them, in brown corduroy trousers, a white shirt buttoned to the collar and a light-blue tank top. His face radiated the euphoria of someone who's just been called up to accept the Best Actor award at the Oscars. His broad smile easily outshone the garden lights as he said, “I'm Hannes.” Judith wanted to crawl into a dark corner. He bent over the table, shook everyone's hand in turn, bringing his face up close and giving each of them a good stare while repeating their names with great deliberation, as if he were compiling a detailed study on the assembled company.

Nothing suggested that he was aware of Judith's presence, least of all Judith herself. He took two yellow boxes from a jute bag: chocolate bananas, possibly? “For the little ones,” he said. How on earth could he have known that the hosts had children? Had Judith ever told him about Ilse and Roland? Had she mentioned Mimi and Billi? Had he actually remembered?

For Ilse he magicked from the bag a bottle of olive oil with the casual remark: “In my opinion the best oil in the whole of Umbria. Wonderfully fruity. I hope you like it.” Into Roland's hands he placed a bottle whose contents were yellowy-gold – whisky, presumably. Then he addressed the table solemnly, as if reciting a poem for Mothers' Day: “Once again, many thanks for the terribly kind invitation.” He gave the impression that this was the first time he'd been asked to someone's house in twenty years and had spent at least three weeks preparing for his rehabilitation into society.

Only now did he turn demonstratively to Judith. He brought her out from her hiding place in the shadows and gripped her upper arms with both hands. She felt a slight upwards pressure, prompting her to stand. He stood facing her, almost two heads taller, an arm's length away, his hands on her shoulders, staring at her with such emotion, as if she were the first sunrise from the sea ever touched by man. And after an almost unbearably long pause, during which her knees worryingly turned to jelly and the alcohol set her mind on its first spin cycle, he said within earshot of the others: “Judith, you can't imagine how happy I am to see you again!”

This was the point at which her recollection of the evening came to an end, and with it the entire film, the closing credits rolling until early the following morning. Judith still had the odd moment of lucidity, which she took advantage of to raise her wine glass to her lips. One by one the faces surrounding her blurred and vanished. Only Hannes kept popping up again and again, sometimes far away, then very close by. Once she smelled his breath, then Grandmother's teeth shone from a distance. When his deep voice boomed there was movement, muttering and laughter.

*

At some point she woke up because she was suddenly aware that it was silent. Hannes was the wall she was leaning against. Was she feeling sick? How could she tell? She was too addled to make that judgement. At some point a window opened and a pleasantly cool breeze blew against her face. And at some point the taxi which had been ferrying her stopped outside her house. Hannes got out with her, supporting her. It was nice to hear his voice. She could smell the stairwell. In the lift he pressed the button which took them to the top floor. She gave him her handbag, the key jangled. She could feel his corduroy legs touching hers, and her cheek rubbed against his soft tank top. The door unlocked and opened easily, and then closed behind them. After that it was dark and silent. And the bed came to meet her halfway.

Sunday began around eleven o'clock. Judith noticed that she was half naked, then staggered out of bed and searched for her mobile, which was buzzing irritatingly. The culprit violating her human rights was Gerd. “How are you feeling?” he asked. Judith: “No idea.” Him: “Did you get home O.K.?” Her: “Probably.” Him: “Have you got company?” Her: “No, I don't think so.” Him: “Should I ring back later?” Her: “No.” By which she meant not now, nor later.

Him: “What happened to you yesterday?” Her: “What do you mean?” Him: “You were really smashed.” Her: “What, me?” Him: “Well, you were pretty drunk at any rate.” Her: “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…” Him: “Are you that much in love with him?” Her: “In love? I don't know.” Him: “Do you want me to tell you what I think of Hannes? You know, my first impressions?” Her: “If you like.” Him: “Do you really want to know?” Her: “No, I'd rather not.”

Him: “Hannes is great!” Her: “Do you really think so?” Him: “Yup. We were all raving about him, in every respect. He's open, friendly, warm, attentive. He's got something to say for himself. He's funny.” Her: “Really?” Him: “You've really landed on your feet there.” Her: “Seriously?” Him: “I know you weren't aware of half of what was going on, but do you know how sweet he was to you?” Her: “No, but he's always like that.” Him: “He worships you.” Her: “Does he?” Him: “Let me tell you, he's the best thing that could happen to you.” Her: “Do you mean that?” Him: “If I were a woman, that's exactly the kind of man I'd want as a partner.” Her: “Really?” Him: “Did he take you home?” Here there was a brief pause. Him: “Judith, are you still there?” Her: “Gerd? I think I need to lie down again.”

She found the button with the small red telephone, left her mobile to its own devices, plodded into the bathroom, threw on her black dressing gown, looked in the loo, then in the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom – nothing. She opened the wardrobe, peeked under the bed, felt the mattress and inspected the folds in the sheets before removing the dressing gown, crawling under the covers and taking a deep breath. Hannes was definitely not there. Nor had Hannes ever been there, she would have smelled and sensed his presence, she would have been aware of him, however drunk she was. Now she could sleep. Now she wanted to dream about him.

Nothing came of her Hannes dream, but by three o'clock that afternoon Judith had slept off her hangover and felt hungry. She ordered a
quattro stagioni
by phone. The pizza delivery boy handed over a huge bunch of flowers too. “They're not from me, I'm afraid, they were lying on the doormat,” he said. Twenty-five dark-red roses. An envelope was attached to the cellophane. Judith opened it and read: “For the most wonderful woman I've ever had the opportunity to take home without her noticing. Love, Hannes”

Now it was Judith's turn to have her socks knocked off. Determined to piece together the missing evening, she rang her friends one by one to find out what they thought of Hannes Bergtaler. Ilse: dashing, comes across as very natural, large head, Colgate smile, the darling of any mother-in-law, rather conservative dress sense, crew cut doesn't really suit him, principled, bit quirky but not uptight, can look a woman deep in the eyes, good listener, likes children, asked all about Mimi and Billi, even brought something for them, a real sweetie, a big cuddly bear. And, most importantly of all: “Head over heels for you.” Judith: “Really?” She loved hearing this. “Yes. He spent the whole time singing your praises.”

Roland: a really popular chap, completely trustworthy, nothing shifty about him, warm and open to everyone, very articulate, very persuasive, said a lot of fascinating things about architecture. And: “He didn't take his eyes off you.” Judith: “Seriously?” Roland: “He's crazy for you.” Judith: “Crazy?” Roland: “Absolutely.”

Valentin: an emotional person, not your typical man, not too casual, no poser, quite soft really. Judith: “Soft?” Valentin: “No, actually not soft. He knows exactly what he wants.” Judith: “Does he?” Valentin: “He's got the hots for you.” Judith: “I know.” Valentin: “Big time.”

Lara: “He kept giving me this look.” Judith: “What sort of look?” Lara: “So sweet, so trustful, like a big brother, as if we knew each other inside out. And he told Valentin that he loves it when two people show how much they really belong together. And that he's delighted he met us. And whether you always drink that much. And that he'd like to have us all over sometime. And that you're his dream woman.” Judith: “Dream woman?” Lara: “Yes, those were his very words. How does he kiss?” Judith: “I'm sorry?” Lara: “Is it nice kissing him?” Judith: “Oh, right, kissing. Yeah, sure. Really nice, in fact.” Probably.