Life After Forty (16 page)

“Three weeks after the trip, he turned up on my doorstep. His marriage was rather strange. His wife lived with the children in Munich, and he had been the manager of the Hamburg branch of a Munich software company for the last year. During the week he lived in Eppendorf, and on Fridays he flew to Munich. To start with I thought our situation was ideal. I didn’t want a serious relationship, especially after the last debacle. We saw each other regularly and got along brilliantly. We hardly ever went away together in case we ran into people we knew. We kept things private, and that was enough for me. He was good for me.”

I listened to her in fascination. Richard.

Franziska’s eyes were sad.

“After a year it got more and more difficult. He had me, exclusively. There was nothing about me that he didn’t know—job, friends, fears, family, emotions, even contracts and insurance policies. I only knew the Hamburg part of him. I had no idea what he was like in Munich with his family. You know, I always had to stay on my guard to make sure I didn’t fall for him completely. Friday to Monday he was away, and I couldn’t reach him; he left me there. Sometimes there would be a stolen phone call here and there, when he went shopping. I waited, for him to contact me, for him to come back to me from Munich on the spur of the moment; I was always waiting for something. I never let my cell phone out of my sight. I missed him so much, and it became more and more of a torment.”

I was almost scared to ask. “Did you think he would leave her for you?”

Franziska thought about it. “Not for me, but perhaps with my help. He wasn’t happy in his old life; we often spoke about that. After the first year he said to me that he wanted to get a divorce, that he felt so at ease with me and wanted to have that forever. In total, he said that five times, but it never happened. All I could do was wait. At some point I had the feeling that he only needed me to be able to endure his muddled life. I was making the very thing bearable that broke my heart every weekend. Plaster for the soul.”

I saw Edith’s triumphant smile.
Now, listen closely please. This is what happens.

Charlotte seemed worried.

Franziska stood up and reached for the towel again. “It lasted two years; then he wanted to take a break, allegedly because I was finding the whole thing harder and harder to cope with. I had no more energy to fight him, so that’s how it ended.”

I stood beside her and washed the last two glasses. “What does Hannes do now?”

Franziska smiled bitterly. “He’s working back in the Munich head office again. And is presumably a husband and father with a clear conscience.”

My gaze fell on her wedding ring again. “So when did you meet Stefan?”

“I already knew him from before. He was one of my brother’s colleagues. We were all celebrating New Year’s together, and at midnight I had a crying fit about Hannes. Stefan came to my rescue. He was so caring, and that’s how it happened. He’s so different from Hannes, but he was there for me. It sounds silly, but you can’t imagine how much I enjoyed just going to the supermarket with him. Everything was suddenly allowed—and simple.”

I found her story unbearably sad. “How long ago was this?”

Her answer came quickly. “Five years. Shortly after that things with Stefan started, and we got married three years ago.”

“Do you still think about Hannes?”

Franziska thought for a while. “Sometimes, when I hear certain songs and other memories come up. But it’s always a sad feeling. Then I look at Stefan and feel that everything is safe and right. That calms me.”

I felt a longing grow within me. And I felt Charlotte’s fears at the same time. Before either of us could say anything, Dorothea ripped the door open.

“Are you guys laying contact paper in all the drawers or what? What’s taking you so long?”

Franziska laughed. “That’s an idea. Contact paper. Does that even still exist? We’re done now.”

She pushed me out of the kitchen and whispered, “I hope you didn’t take that the wrong way. It’s just that it was very hard for me at times, and I would prefer to spare you from feeling the same thing. But if you’re not sure, then don’t pay too much attention to the bitter ramblings of a middle-aged woman.”

I let her go ahead of me, watching her walk away. At that moment my cell rang. My heart pounded when I saw the name on the display. Richard. I answered the call and went back into the kitchen.

“Christine, I at least wanted to congratulate you myself. Many happy returns on your birthday. I’m kissing and hugging you.”

I could hear strange noises in the background.

“Thank you. I’m kissing you too. Where are you?”

There was so much clattering and rattling that I could hardly hear him.

“I’m just bringing the bottles to the recycling. They’re making such a racket.”

Edith whispered,
Stolen conversations.

I swallowed. Then I heard his voice again, and it went straight to my heart.

“Have you had a nice day?”

“Ines and Dorothea invited lots of guests over. It’s lovely, but you’re not here.”

Richard’s voice was hesitant. “Yes, I know, but it wouldn’t be possible. I have to go now. Will it wait until Wednesday?”

I answered quickly. “Of course, seven p.m. at your place. I’m looking forward to it a lot.”

Richard’s voice was tender now. “Me too. And we’ll celebrate your birthday in style. See you soon. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

We hung up.

I took a deep breath and went back to my birthday guests.

We sat together for another few hours, ate a lot, drank a lot, and talked without stopping. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun with this many guests. Richard’s call had set my heart at ease, and the people here, my mind.

As the evening approached, the party began to draw to a close. Marleen had taken the next day off and was staying at my place for the night, so I said sentimental goodbyes to the others. Ines and Dorothea offered their help cleaning up, which Marleen and I refused.

“We’ll manage. I’ve hardly spoken with Christine yet, and you get to see her in Hamburg all the time. Leave us alone this once.”

I hugged Dorothea and Ines. “Thank you, both of you, that was the most wonderful birthday I’ve had in years.”

They were the last guests to leave. As the door closed behind them, Marleen and I were left alone. We looked around us in the apartment and took a deep breath at the sight of the chaos. Marleen pulled her sleeves up and looked at me.

“Come on, let’s make a start. We’ll get things shipshape now, and then we can open up the champagne I brought.”

An hour later we were sitting in the tidied and cleaned kitchen with a cooler holding an open bottle of champagne between us. We had lit candles, and there were vases full of flowers everywhere. I felt good, the day had been great, my apartment was beautiful, I had only had people around me whom I liked, and they had all liked each other too. It was easy and undemanding in a way that I hadn’t experienced for ages.

Marleen stretched out her legs, reached for my cigarettes, and lit one up.

“I only ever smoke when I’m drinking with you. I really should bring you a box sometime.”

I pushed an ashtray towards her. “Don’t you dare!”

Marleen smiled and looked at me. “Are you proud?”

I thought about the question. “Of myself? I don’t know. I’m proud of all the people who were here, I know that. It’s good for me, this new life of mine.”

Marleen poured champagne. “I told you, didn’t I? That we’d be laughing about it on your birthday. And I’m certainly proud of you.” She raised her glass at me.

We both drank and fell into a peaceful silence. Images flew through my head: Marleen and I in her house on the day when she told me everything, Bernd and I on her terrace, the bottle bank, the mailbox application, Luise and Stilwerk, and then suddenly, Richard.

I felt Marleen watching me. When I looked up, she asked me.

“Now, tell me what’s going on. Something’s up with you. I wanted to ask you weeks ago on the phone, but you always dodge the question. Where are you on Wednesdays, for example? I can never get hold of you then. I realized that last month.”

I looked at her, heard Franziska’s voice in my mind, took a deep breath, and started. “Six years ago I met one of Bernd’s colleagues in Berlin. His name is Richard.”

I told her the whole story, making an effort to keep everything in the right chronological order and to relay it in a factual voice. I only hinted at my feelings, but I did describe him, recount some of the many funny things he’d said, and talked about his job, his apartment, his life.

It did me good to talk about him.

When I finished, Marleen took another cigarette. I couldn’t read her facial expression. I tried to preempt a possible judgment.

“Marleen, I know what you’re going to say. I’m getting involved in someone else’s marriage, I’m no better than Antje, it will all end in tears, after all my experiences I shouldn’t be someone’s lover, I…”

Looking amazed, she interrupted me. “You have no idea what I’m going to say. Perhaps you could let me speak for myself?”

“Sorry, I take it back.”

Marleen smiled and thought for a moment. “I saw your face when you were talking about him. And I read between the lines a little. The rest doesn’t really matter to me. If it’s doing you good, if he makes your heart race and you feel alive again, then let it be. It’s right for now.”

I thought about Franziska’s story and her warning. “When I was in the kitchen with Franziska before, she told me her story to scare me off. Before she met her husband she was having an affair with a married man for three years. She suffered a lot, and I found the story quite depressing.”

Marleen waved that aside. “That was her story, not yours. It’s nonsense too. What do you want to make plans for at this stage? You’re in love, Richard seems to be too, and so what? As long as you’re okay, it’s the best thing that could happen to you right now. You can build up your new life here in peace, but have something for your heart and your desires too. So just wait and see.”

Edith butted in.
You can’t plan anything. You have to share him. You’re the other woman.

As if Marleen had heard Edith, she answered. “You’re coming out of a supposedly dependable, planned relationship. When was the last time someone made your heart pound? Five years ago? Ten? That’s a real shame. What you have, right now, doesn’t come along very often.”

Charlotte thanked her quietly.

I wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know. My heart says yes, but my head says no.”

Marleen shared out the rest of the champagne between our glasses. She looked me straight in the eyes. “Christine, then listen to your heart and let yourself go. You can rely on your head; after all, you’ve achieved enough. But you haven’t
lived
enough in the last few years, that’s my opinion. You’re forty, you’re independent, you’ve set up a wonderful life for yourself, and Richard is just the icing on the cake. And even if it goes wrong, you can laugh about this in half a year’s time as well. So, I’m happy for you. Just let it be.”

I drank down the rest of the champagne.

Edith retreated. Charlotte smiled.

I caught Marleen’s eye. “I thought my life would be more peaceful and well-ordered now.”

She looked at me, pretending to be horror-struck. “Heaven forbid. That would be awful.”

As I lay in bed later, my thoughts turned to Richard. So, I thought, we’ll just let it happen.

Moments later, I fell fast asleep.

I
t was December 23, and I was in a good mood. At least, that was my intention.

The car radio was playing the eternally popular Christmas hits, and the Christmas lights on the houses and streets put to rest any dark thoughts. I had an amazingly tender night behind me and days of festivities in Sylt in front of me. I turned the volume up as Chris Rea sang “Driving Home for Christmas” and drove along the highway towards Hamburg.

Richard and I had had our Christmas meal the night before. He was now on his way to Berlin, and I was driving to my parents’. The two highways separated in Hamburg. I joined the long line of cars driving northwards.

The radio presenter was talking in her professionally jolly voice about some jolly event at a Christmas market in Harz organized by Radio NDR, and she said that—as a result—the traffic jam near the Walsroder triangle was now backed up to twenty-one kilometers. Reassured, I turned the volume down—it wasn’t on my route—and then I turned it right back up again as Dido sang “White Flag,” from the album we’d listened to for half the night.

I saw Richard’s face in front of me. He had such a particular way of looking at me when I was getting undressed. Tender, full of desire, and a little lustful. I loved that look. I also loved what came after it.

The brake lights on the Opel Zafira in front of me suddenly lit up. I braked too, went to fifty, then thirty, and then came to a standstill.

Dido was blended out by the jolly NDR voice that cheerfully announced that there was now very slow-moving traffic for twenty-five kilometers on the A1 between the Bremen crossing and Stuckenborstel.

Great, I thought. But I still had time. And I was in a good mood.

The driver of the Opel laid his hand on his passenger’s neck. He said something to her, and she looked at him and laughed. Then she stroked his cheek and bent over and kissed him.

I cleared my throat and lit up a cigarette.

My separation was now ten months ago, and there was no doubt that my life had changed for the better since then. I felt at home in Hamburg, I liked my circle of girlfriends, I had more money, more freedom, more self-confidence, and I was in love again. But despite that there were still moments when I felt alone.

Last weekend Leonie and Michael had asked me over for a pre-Christmas coffee. I really liked the way they were in each other’s company. They never walked past each other without a brief touch or caress. After fifteen years they still looked at each other proudly and winked at one another.

The traffic was beginning to move, slowly.

My thoughts wandered back to Richard. When he stood up from the table we had been sitting at for hours, talking about the world, he went around the back of my chair and kissed me on the neck. I felt a small shiver.

I turned my concentration back to the highway. I drove slowly along the route on autopilot. For the last three months I’d been visiting Richard regularly, first in the hotel, then at his apartment, first just on Wednesdays, and now as often as we could. The small apartment in Bremen had become an important part of my new life, and I was happy each time I went.

Edith tried to push Richard’s face from my mind.
And every weekend you’re sad because your wonderful guy is with his wife in Berlin. You guys aren’t Leonie and Michael, remember; you’re having an affair.

Charlotte answered.
So what? As long as you feel good with him, it’s all fine. On weekends you have time for your girlfriends, for single life in the big city, for you. Not many people can have both; that’s a good thing.

Edith disagreed.
You have no choice in the matter; it’s not your decision. And to top it off, if you’d driven to Sylt from Hamburg as you’d planned, you wouldn’t be sitting in this damn traffic jam now.

I felt a headache coming on and reminded myself it was the holidays.

Richard and I had eaten in an enchanting restaurant, walking back through the clear, starry, and cold night to his apartment afterwards, and then we drank another bottle of champagne at his place while undressing each other. Slowly and with endless pleasure.

Charlotte had a smile in her voice.
And this morning you woke up to his caresses. He was right there beside you, and he didn’t want to let you leave.

Edith wouldn’t give up.
But he did, because he had to go as well. And now you’re driving to Sylt alone.

By now I had a full-on headache and was starting to need the bathroom. After a short while I saw the sign: “Ostetal, 1000 meters.”

I put my turn signal on and drove into the parking lot. There was a bustling holiday atmosphere, something I really liked about service stations. Families with their cars packed with suitcases and Christmas presents, young people, who despite now having their own lives still went home for the holidays and were beaming with a little excited anticipation, mothers who shouted loudly that Kevin and Anastasia had to go to the bathroom now.

Washing my hands in the restroom between all the Kevins and Anastasias, I looked at myself in the big mirror.

Not bad at all, I thought. Relaxed posture, good clothes, good mood. That’s what you must look like when you’ve had sex three hours ago. This man was doing me good. And he made me beautiful. Charlotte smiled, and Edith stayed silent.

Before long I was heading for a free table in the cafeteria with coffee, rolls, and water for my headache pills.

You’re the only one who’s sitting here alone. Everyone else is with their loved ones.

I swallowed Edith’s accusatory voice down with the tablet.

At the next table someone was sitting with their loved one. Both were in their mid forties, and they sat opposite one another, sharing breakfast from a tray between them. Judging by their faces, they were sharing for financial rather than romantic reasons. She looked at him through narrow eyes…but he didn’t bother to look at her at all. They weren’t talking. They had probably been married for twenty years and were so saturated with the mundane nature of daily life and had so few real conversations that they no longer had any idea whether they even liked each other. Togetherness at any price.

It made me think of Nina.

We hadn’t seen much of each other in recent weeks; the sports center that we played squash in had been closed for the last month for renovations. Last Friday Nina had phoned me. She suggested that we meet up at the Christmas market in the town hall square for some mulled wine; otherwise, we wouldn’t see each other until the New Year.

As I walked up to where we were meeting, she was already waiting for me. She was in high spirits, her eyes sparkling, and after a short hello her news came rushing out.

“Christine, I’ve met someone. His name is Thomas, and it’s so wonderful.”

I was surprised, but happy for her. “Where did you meet, and when?”

She seemed elated. “I put an ad in the
Scene
, you know, the local magazine. Just imagine, I got forty-two responses; of course lots of them were useless, too young, too old, married, I’m sure you get the picture. But Thomas was one of them. Right age, no baggage, taller than me. We had a coffee date in Blankenese by the river, very romantic, and since then it’s all been great.”

That’s quick, I thought and asked, “Okay, so what’s he like? What does he do?”

Fidgeting, Nina pushed her hair back under her hat. “Well, he’s a civil servant, something in the transport office. He sails, he loves Formula One, and has lots of hobbies. The most important thing is that he’s had enough of single life and wants a serious relationship.”

I was baffled. Nina got seasick and hated Michael Schumacher. I tried to look enthusiastic. “That’s great. So when do I get to meet this Prince Charming?”

Nina looked a little strained. “Oh, let’s do that in the New Year. But Christine, just so you don’t get the wrong idea, he’s not the most good-looking of men, and you probably shouldn’t talk about books with him—he’s not really interested in that kind of thing.”

Now I was amazed. “But Nina, books are your job, so he should at least show an interest. How he looks doesn’t really matter.”

She laughed, a little falsely. “Oh, I’ll get him onto reading at some point; I’m sure he can manage a little of it. But apart from that it’s really great. Over New Year we’re going to the East Frisian Islands together.”

Togetherness at any price.

I was just as depressed by Nina’s obsessive goal to end her single life as I was by the silent couple next to me. They weren’t thinking about their feelings; perhaps they didn’t even have any for one another anymore. They got their satisfaction elsewhere—new furniture, a new car, two weeks in Mallorca. Vacationing together was agony, and out of the stifling boredom and frustrated arguments would come the inevitable postcard summary: “Great weather, great food. Best wishes.”

What Richard and I had was so much better after all. We saw each other because we wanted to, our conversations lasted hours, we listened to one another, held one another, desired each other’s body and soul. Not a single minute was wasted.

Edith had to have her say.
You don’t see each other when you want to, you see each other when it suits him. This isn’t just about feelings.

Charlotte replied,
But there are a lot of feelings here. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you; he does you good. Look at the couple next to you. Do you want that instead?

I stood up and took my tray back. On the way to my car I found myself thinking about Anke and Werner. They had been married for twenty years, fourteen of which Anke had had younger lovers for. Whenever they make her feel too old, she just goes back to Werner, feels younger again because of their twenty-year age gap, and then the whole game starts all over again.

Werner suffers but doesn’t dwell on it, buys one house after the other, increases his wealth for all to see, and that’s how he gets his legitimacy. His fear of a new life was clearly bigger than his suffering in his current one. I shook these miserable stories from my mind, turned the key in the ignition, and rejoined the highway.

Richard’s face pushed its way back into my thoughts.

We always slept entwined in one another, my back against his stomach, his hand on my breast. I could still feel the warmth of his skin, his steady breathing on the back of my neck. As soon as I drove away from him, I missed him.

The feeling of longing overcame me, followed by a wave of sadness. I turned the volume on the car radio back up and tried to capture some childlike anticipation for the family festivities to come with the help of the cheerful Christmas songs. I almost managed it.

But Edith stepped in.
You’re not a child anymore, and you’re missing Richard already. You’re not going to see him again for three whole weeks.

The wave of sadness grew.

My cell phone saved me from my crumbling attempt to control my thoughts. I pressed the green button, and Dorothea’s voice came through the hands-free speaker.

“It’s me. Where are you?”

“I’m almost exactly halfway between Bremen and Hamburg on my way to Sylt.”

“Oh yes, you’re going today. Why Bremen? Oh, were you with Richard?”

I had told Dorothea about him four weeks ago. Dorothea loved hearing about people’s love lives, and she was excited for me. She reacted similarly to Marleen and brushed away any misgivings. “Life is too short to be unhappy in love. Just enjoy it.”

“Yes, I was at Richard’s. It was the last time I’ll see him for the next three weeks.”

The longing mounted again.

Dorothea laughed. “Oh, come on, you’ll hardly have time to miss him. Once you get back from Sylt there’ll be Luise’s ‘Between the Years’ party, then it’ll be New Year’s Eve, then we have to get through all the vouchers for saunas, makeovers, and cinema that I get from my mother each year for Christmas. Believe me, there’ll be so much to do that you wouldn’t have time to go to Bremen anyway.”

I took a deep breath.

Before I could say a word, Dorothea carried on. “It’ll be lovely. I’m off work until the tenth of January too, and we’ve hardly seen each other recently. You’re always with Richard. Just kidding! Anyway, he’ll be missing you too; you’re not the only one. And that’s the good thing about it, looking forward to seeing each other, no moaning or squabbling, no mundane daily life, just champagne, sex, and butterflies in your stomach.”

Dorothea’s confidence filled the whole car.

My voice became more lighthearted. “Was Nils with you?”

Dorothea sighed contentedly before she said, “Yes, for five days. It was divine, but to be honest I’m happy that he’s gone now too. His things were everywhere in my apartment; I’m not used to such close proximity.”

Dorothea had a three-bedroom apartment. I started to laugh.

“You poor thing. Well, now you’ve got free reign for your quirks. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas, and give your family my love.”

“Sweetheart, the same back at you. Drive safely, kiss all the Santa Clauses you can, and I’ll look forward to seeing you next week. Until then, bye!”

I pressed the button on the hands-free and the radio kicked back in.

“Last Christmas.” I must have heard this song playing on the way to Sylt every year for the last twenty years.

Over the next hour I gave in to my thoughts. About Richard, about couples, about love, about Christmas. I’d just gone through the Elbe Tunnel when Luise phoned.

“Hello, Christine. Are you already on the island?”

“Luise! No, I’m still en route. And you?”

“I’m at home. I’ve just got back from shopping, and for the first time in my life I just bought a Christmas tree and dragged it here all by myself. I’m really proud.”

Picturing her slim figure, I was suspicious about the size of the tree.

“I thought you were going to your father’s place in Berlin? Are you at home by yourself?”

I heard a smile in her voice. “Actually, that’s what I was calling to tell you about. No, I cancelled going to Berlin. I met up with Alex two weeks ago. It was really amazing, and he’s coming this evening and staying until New Year. So you’ll get to meet him next week.”