Forever Yours (8 page)

Together they lurched back to her flat. Their only physical contact was when they bumped into each other and attempted to say goodnight with a kiss on the cheek. “Do you want to come up? You can sleep on the sofa,” Judith slurred. No thanks, Lukas said, he was going to stay at the nearby flat of a colleague who was away, and in any case he could do with a bit more fresh air. He would wait until the light was on in Judith's flat so he could be sure she'd got in safely.

Judith ignored the lift and staggered up the curved staircase. She stopped on each floor to be sure that she couldn't hear groaning or any other noises. When she had reached the top, one of her senses told her that something was different from usual. Pre-emptively she took a deep breath so that she could scream quickly enough to confront its cause. But when she saw the card on her door she fell silent. With a black line around the edge and a cross in the middle, it had to be a death notice. She turned away in panic. She didn't need to read the name, it had branded itself on her mind long ago. In haste she stumbled down the staircase, the steps rushing towards her. “Lukas!” she screamed. “What happened?” Finally she managed to open the front door. “I think Hannes is dead!” She collapsed into his arms.

It took her half an hour to calm down and a further half hour before she dared to go back inside and up to her flat, this time glued to Lukas.

“Helmut Schneider,” Lukas read from the card, as if he were choosing the only worthy candidate as winner. Judith had entrenched herself behind his back. “Judy, it's someone else's death announcement. Do you know Helmut Schneider? Do you recognise this face?” “My neighbour,” Judith murmured. “An old man… But what's that doing on my door? I hardly ever saw him. Why, given the situation I'm in, is this announcement now hanging on my door? It can't be a coincidence.” “I expect it's hanging on all the doors,” Lukas replied. “Shall we check?” “No, I don't want to check. I just want it to be hanging on all the doors. And I don't want to be frightened anymore. I've had enough of being frightened. I want to sleep and have sweet dreams. And I want to wake up and think nice thoughts. Could you stay with me, Lukas? Just until it gets light? Please, stay! Just this once. You can sleep on the sofa in the living room. Or you can sleep in my bed and I'll sleep on the sofa. Or the other way round. Whatever you want.”

*

The following morning there were two sore heads. The coffee gave Judith a rapid boost. “Lukas, I think I've got to see him.” “Really? Is that a good idea?” “I've got to do it. Otherwise I'll be seeing ghosts everywhere.” “What are you going to say to him?” “No idea. Doesn't matter. Something. The key is that I see him. Then he won't terrify me so much.” “Do you want me to come with you?” “Would you?” “If it makes it any easier for you.” “Maybe you could come by later and pick me up.” “If you like.” “Yes, I think that would be best.” “And how are you going to get in contact with him?” “I'll give him a call, today or tomorrow.” “Judy, he's in hospital.” “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Shit.”

September 24, seven in the morning. Her radio alarm switches on. First the weather. She gives a start. Low pressure. She pulls the pillow over her head. Black on grey. Come on Judith, think of something nice. Fast!

7.16:
She is sufficiently awake not to want to wake up. No incentive. No reason to open her eyes. What is she missing? Is someone missing? Is she missing the man by her side, the protector who's always there for her? Who takes her in his arms? Who caresses her. Who presses her to himself. Who covers her with his body. Who allows her to feel at the deepest level. Breathing and trembling for joy and excitement. Is it excitement that she's missing? Has her passion vanished? Nothing but dark thoughts, black on grey?

She flees into the shower. Hot water. Steamy bathroom. Locked door. Nobody can get in. She remains alone with herself. In the mirror – thirty-seven years old. Beautiful woman with a beautiful face. Beautiful face with not-so-beautiful wrinkles of fear. Cover with make-up. Look right for the office. Ready for the daily routine. Away with the ugly woollen jumper, no-one will discover you beneath that. Into the once-tight jeans. They hang like an empty sack from your hips.

7.46:
Thick, green autumn coat. The woman with the golden-yellow hair leaves the building. Look left. Look right. Deep breath. Well done, Judith! Rid of him. Shaken him off. You can go on. No need to worry. Just you. All on your own. Cool day, cold life.

7.59:
On her knees outside the shop. Rummaging in her black handbag. Where's the key? Surely she hasn't. Surely he hasn't. Got it! Lighting shop opened. Surprise? None! Deep breath. All lights on, quick. Coffee machine. Department store music. She warms her numb fingers beneath the oval crystal chandelier from Barcelona, her most beautiful piece. This is where it all began. Does she remember? What did she make of it? What became of her? Of her and him? Of him? Where has he gone, her pursuer? She can sense him, he can't be far away. He's there, sitting inside her. To where is he pursuing her? To where is she following him? Who was the first?

During the lunch break, as Judith dialled the number of Hannes' office, she had to hold Bianca's hand. (Bianca had fallen in love at the weekend and returned with red cheeks, and it was the first time Judith had seen her without makeup). Beatrix Ferstl answered. She spoke patronisingly, like a P.A. sitting on the lap of a boss who's “not in the office at the moment, unfortunately”. Did she want to leave a message for Herr Bergtaler? “Is he no longer in hospital, then?” Judith asked. Hospital? Frau Ferstl hoped she'd understand that such confidential information of a private nature… “Could he ring me back today?” That would be difficult. But she'd be happy to pass on the number. “He's got it.” Fine, but all the same would she be so kind as to… And what was the name? “Judith. Judith's the name. We met once, in spring, in the Phoenix Bar. And a few weeks ago I do believe your colleague, Frau Wolff, was in my shop!” “Surname, please?” “He knows me!” “Judith…?” “Judith will do.” “Fine, Frau… er… Judith. But I can't promise you anything…” “You don't need to promise me anything. Just tell him to call me, that will do.” “What's it about?” “It's urgent!” “Excuse me, what's it about, please?” “Me.”

On the evening of the fourth day that Hannes had not called back, Judith was invited to Gerd's. Her other “past-life” friends were there too. Not only was there no specific occasion to celebrate, it soon transpired that there was no reason for the evening at all. When she arrived Judith realised that something wasn't quite right with all of them – the same thing, in fact. Their handshakes were limp, their kisses as pointed as pinpricks. They gave her bittersweet smiles and spoke only in half tones.

“I'm so glad you've come, Judith,” Gerd began dramatically, as if she'd risen from the grave. After a few empty phrases to fill the embarrassing interlude until the glasses of Prosecco were handed round, the conversation turned to the first teeth lost by Mimi and Billi, the children who were keeping Roland and Ilse together. Then Gerd's bachelor pumpkin gnocchi were served, scooped, as usual, straight from the deep freeze into the microwave. Lara, who in the meantime had stopped holding hands with Valentin and was now thumping him on the shoulder after every one of his sexist comments, complimented Judith on her beautiful violet dress, which went superbly with her shoes, asked what brand it was, which shop it came from, what price it was, what sizes it was available in, what range of colours, if it had been made in Taiwan, and whether it was actually worth making clothes in Taiwan and sending them to the rich Western world, what sort of wages and under which conditions Taiwanese clothes makers were… They ended up in the depths of the world's misery. Logically the dress ought to have been ripped from Judith's body.

When the evening appeared to be reaching its climax, Ilse, emboldened by slight intoxication, allowed herself to make a comment which she regretted at once: “I hear you've got a new lover?” Judith: “Me? Says who?” Ilse: “Oh, perhaps it's just idle gossip. You know how people like to talk on a slow day. There's obviously nothing to it.” “Which people?” As Ilse was having difficulty swallowing, Roland pitched in: “You were seen at Iris with a good-looking bloke, that's all. Ilse's just envious; she has to make do with me.” Some of the company attempted a smile. Judith: “Seen by who?” Roland: “Judith, please don't get yourself into a lather. It's all perfectly harmless. One of Paul's colleagues was there. Do you know Paul? He and Ilse's brother…” Judith: “Lukas is a very close and very old friend.” Ilse: “Judith, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to… It's nothing, honest…” “What's more, he's a friend who's around when you need him!” Well, that silenced them. And because they were all sitting there looking so beautifully shamefaced and watching her tears as if she were a weeping statue of the Virgin Mary, Judith continued, without lowering the volume: “By the way, what news of Hannes? You don't need to behave as if he's suddenly vanished off the face of the earth. How is he? What's he up to? Where's he hanging out?” “Judith, please, it's really not a good topic at the moment,” Gerd said softly, desperate to sound calm. “What do you mean ‘not a good topic'? I haven't been able to think of a better one for months!” “None of us have seen him in ages,” Valentin said, sounding offended. “Are you happy now?” No, furious. “You can meet him as often as you want. You can go on tennis camps with him, you can share a flat, your lives, anything else you want with him. But please, don't beat around the bush when his name is mentioned. So, what's wrong with him? Why is he or why was he in hospital? What ominous illness does he have?” “Hospital?” muttered Valentin, surprised. And even more quietly, “Illness?” “My dear Judith,” Gerd said. She shrugged his hand from her shoulder. “All Hannes wants is to forget you. He's working hard at it, believe me. And he wants you to forget him. He knows that's best for both of you.” “He's even toyed with the idea of emigrating,” Lara added. “A splendid idea,” Judith replied. “Why doesn't he?” Lara: “Why are you being so mean, Judith? What's he ever done to you apart from love you?” Judith: “That's what he's done!” Her index finger went from one person to the next. “And that.” Now she pointed to herself. “And let me tell you, he's still doing it.” They stared at their empty dessert bowls, and soon afterwards the door behind them slammed.

On the evening of the sixth day that he hadn't called she heard his voice for the first time. She was lying on her back on the sofa, beneath the light of her laburnum lamp, waiting for her eyes to close. For the past few nights this method had proved the most reliable for ensuring at least a few hours of sleep before dawn released her from her shadowy fears.

To begin with there were noises that sounded as if someone were making sheets of metal reverberate in a cave. Then the whispering began, and eventually the hissing sounds gave way to a babble that got continually louder. Suddenly the voice was there, a voice that was unmistakably his. “Such a scrum in here,” he said, just as he had on their first encounter in the supermarket. The words resounded in echoing waves: “Such a scrum, such a such a scrum, such a such a such a scrum scrum scrum…” As she listened she gauged her own reaction. To her surprise, it was not at all one of panic, on the contrary. The voice sounded familiar. Indeed, it had been deep inside her for some time, though she had suppressed it painfully, an agonising secret which was finally freeing itself and assuming its own tone, Hannes' tone. Judith didn't stir and tried to breathe as silently as possible so as not to miss a word. “I know it can hurt like hell,” the voice said. He must have meant treading on her heel. And: “I hope I'm not disturbing you.” This was when he stood for the first time beneath her crystal chandelier from Barcelona. “I hope this isn't a bad time, hope, hope, bad time, bad time, bad, bad, bad…” No, it wasn't bad; it was comforting, the way he droned at her, it made her mellow and tired. The last thing she heard was: “Sleep well, Darling. Darling. Dar Dar Dar…” Then all went dark and silent.

*

Early the following morning her head hurt as if she'd spent a night on the razzle, and she felt embarrassed by her experience, which she took to be some sort of crude brain malfunction. It had not been a dream in the true sense of the word, for when you were awake you always knew whether you had dreamed something or not. But Judith didn't know. This had never happened to her before.

When she got to the shop she confided in her apprentice. Bianca was unperturbed by the story. “I hear voices all the time, my mother's usually, hers is totally shrill.” “Come on, Bianca,” said Judith. “Be serious. Is there something wrong with me?” Bianca: “You want the truth?” Judith: “Yes, please.” Bianca: “O.K., Frau Wangermann. You look like shit.” Judith: “Thanks, that's very constructive! What do you mean by shit?” Bianca: “How should I put it? You're a shadow of yourself. You're getting thinner and paler. You're shaking. You don't wear cool clothes anymore. And just look at your hair, how unfashionable is that? You chew your fingernails, you're nervous and agitated when we've got customers. That kind of stuff. Maybe you just need a holiday. Or a decent boyfriend who'll knock it out of you and make you think of other things. That's what's happening to me at the moment. You forget all your worries.” She rolled her dark, pretty pupils in a complete circle. “Or at least a new pair of boots. Whenever you're not feeling so hot you should always treat yourself to something lush.”

“Do you know what drives me mad?” Judith asked. “Hannes?” Bianca replied. Judith: “The fact that he hasn't rung.” Bianca: “Maybe he's found someone else. That can be upsetting, even if you want nothing more to do with them.” Judith: “Bianca, he hasn't got anyone else, I just know it.” Bianca: “Then be happy that he's leaving you in peace!” “But he's not leaving me in peace. He's got inside me, he's taking me over.” “Hmm,” Bianca replied, putting her index finger to the side of her head. It wasn't often that you saw Bianca giving her cognitive faculties a proper workout. “You know what, Frau Wangermann?” she said finally. “Let's go and buy some boots!”