Life After Forty (2 page)

A
few hours later, I felt numb as I made my way to my first appointment.

My clients were booksellers. They ordered the latest books produced by various publishing houses from me to sell to their customers. I had known them all for years and hoped that no one would notice that my world had just been turned upside down. I wouldn’t be able to handle their pity.

But it seemed that no one noticed a thing. Or at least, they didn’t mention it to me. I managed to get through my scheduled appointments on autopilot and just hoped that I’d make it through the day. It was only on my journey back that the sadness washed over me again. My fear of the conversation looming before me was breaking through the numbness.

As I drove into the driveway, it seemed almost strange that everything looked just as it had when I’d left. My cats came over to greet me, the mailbox was full, and my neighbor waved at me. Everything was just like it always was. Bernd had seen me from the window and opened the front door. That was different. He cleared his throat, gave a subdued smile, and took my bag from me, a gesture which seemed to surprise even him.

“So, how was it?”

I couldn’t think of an answer. Not to do justice to the night and day I’d just had.

“Um, have you eaten anything? Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Everything felt wrong.

“I’m not hungry. I just want to talk.”

I sat down at the kitchen table. Bernd began to feed the cats. I watched him for a while.

“Bernd, please, fill up the bowls properly!”

He went to the sink and scrubbed the water bowl. With the brush we used for the dishes.

I could feel a crashing headache coming on, and my skin felt itchy. With great effort, I concentrated on not losing my temper. Finally, he sat down on the chair next to me. Then he stood straight back up, fetched an ashtray and his cigarettes, and then sat back down again. I looked at him. He looked the same as he always had.

“So?”

“What more is there to say? I already told you everything yesterday.”

“On the phone. At Ines’s. Why didn’t you do it on the weekend?”

“It’s easier by phone. And it was good that you weren’t alone.”

I had to take a deep breath. What a thing to say.
Easier.

“Can you at least explain why?”

“I already have.”

“But I don’t understand.”

I breathed deeply again and thought about my conversation with Ines.

“Have you met someone else?”

“Nonsense, when would I have met someone? It’s about me. It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t believe you. Something must have happened.”

“Let it go; nothing’s happened.”

He stood up, fetched two mugs from the cupboard, and poured the coffee.

“So, you can stay here, of course; I’ll move out.”

“I won’t be able to manage it, not the house and the yard and the cats. Not with my job. I’ll probably move to Hamburg.”

I watched him. Perhaps he would realize what we were doing.

“Yes, you should do that. After all, Hamburg is a great place and so practical for you. I’ll help you with the move, of course.”

I felt sick. I couldn’t understand what was happening, just that it
was
happening. We sat in the kitchen a while longer. I battled to stop my tears and the questions pouring out. Bernd avoided giving proper answers and just spouted sentences like “We’ll stay friends,” and “There’s no need to legalize the divorce right away, not with the current tax rates.”

After a while I couldn’t bear it anymore and went upstairs. As I lay down on the bed, unable to hold the tears back any longer, I heard the front door slam shut and then Bernd’s car starting up.

An hour later I didn’t have the strength left to cry anymore. I felt abandoned, humiliated, and very alone. I thought of calling Ines, but I didn’t want to unload on her again so soon. Then I thought of Antje; she’d have to know sooner or later in any case. I dialed her number. After the second ring I heard her voice.

“Antje, it’s me. Bernd wants a divorce.”

The tears were back again.

“What? Oh, you poor thing. What a shame, but then I always did think you’d end up separating from him.”

“I didn’t want to. Antje, I’ll probably move to Hamburg. I don’t want to stay here alone. But what about you?”

“Don’t you worry about me. If it weren’t for the children, then I would have stayed in the city too; it’s what you should do. And it’s not the first divorce that we’ll get through together. I’ll help you; we’ll figure it all out.”

We spoke for a few more minutes. After I hung up, I felt a little comforted. Then I phoned Marleen. She was the ex-wife of Bernd’s best friend. We’d met each other through our husbands, lived in the same town, and had become close in recent years. Besides that, she was refreshingly robust and practical; I had no reason to fear pity from her. After my short explanation, she asked the reason for the separation, found my answer unsatisfactory, and offered me her guest room. I politely refused, but promised to call her again over the next few days.

The next few days and weeks passed as though everything was covered in dense fog. Parts of my life were reassuringly normal: I visited my booksellers, kept my appointments as planned, and made no mention whatsoever of what was currently going on in my life. On one of the evenings that I spent with Ines, Leonie came by. Ines had met up with her and told her everything. We had been colleagues for a number of years, and we saw each other three or four times a year outside of work.

Standing in front of the door with a bottle of champagne, she didn’t beat around the bush.

“It’s all good: I still have a picture of him in my mind standing there with that vacuum in his hand, he wasn’t interested in your job, he never read any books, and he never came to Hamburg. Just be happy that you’re rid of him and can get out of that backwater. Here’s to the start of your new life!”

I didn’t yet share her opinion, but I was touched when she—by herself and together with Ines—viewed numerous apartments over the following weeks, whittled them down to possibles, and arranged three or four viewings for me over the weekends. When I wasn’t looking at apartments, I went to visit my parents in Sylt, spent hours running along the beach in the March cold, cried a little, and slept a lot.

Once a week I had to go back to the house. It was still my address for my office, and all my mail was sent there. Bernd kept out of my way. If he was at home, I went to see Marleen, who had already arranged for moving boxes and a map of Hamburg for me. She had put her divorce behind her, and I found her unshakeable optimism very comforting.

“Sweetheart, trust me, in six months’ time you’ll look back and laugh at it all.”

By now, everyone knew. Lots of people avoided me, which I found hurtful. Perhaps they thought separations could be contagious. I hadn’t heard much from Antje either. It occurred to me when Marleen asked after her one evening as we were sitting in her kitchen. It was the beginning of April. Ines and Leonie had found an apartment for me, which I’d managed to secure. Nine hundred square feet, terrace, open fireplace, and a balcony leading off of the kitchen. It was situated almost exactly between Ines and Leonie, a fifteen-minute drive from them both. This made my heart feel a lot lighter, and so Marleen’s question didn’t bother me too much.

“Antje is so busy. Children, a job—you know what it’s like. She’s helping me with the move. She already booked the fifteenth off work.”

“I just find it a bit strange. She’s your best friend, and yet you haven’t heard from her in six weeks. Does she even know that you’ve found an apartment?”

“I’ll tell her tomorrow. I’m going over there for Karola’s birthday. And Marleen, I know you’re not particularly fond of Antje, but you just don’t know her that well, that’s all.”

She didn’t answer. I had the feeling that she wanted to tell me something. But I didn’t ask, and she said nothing more.

When I went out to the car the next day with a birthday present in my hand, Bernd followed me.

“Where are you off to?”

“It’s Karola’s birthday. She’s ten today.”

“Do you have time to be going to a child’s birthday party? I thought you wanted to pack.”

“She’s my goddaughter. I’ll manage the packing in time; I’ve still got two weeks.”

“Well, you know best, I guess.”

Bernd turned around and went back into the house. Maybe he was regretting his decision after all. I didn’t understand what had put him in such a bad mood; he usually seemed very happy not to have to see me in the house.

When I rang Antje’s doorbell, Karola opened the door and flung herself around my neck.

“You’re here at last! Are you better now? Is that for me? Can I open it now?”

Answers weren’t necessary; the hallway was suddenly full of ten-year-old girls all shouting at once. I squeezed past them and went into the kitchen. Antje was standing in front of the stove and stirring a pot with a concentrated expression. She only raised her head briefly to nod at me.

“Hi, Christina, how’s it going?”

Then she buried her head back in the recipe next to her. I was amazed.

“Hi, Antje. You know, nothing new. What’s up with you?”

“Oh, you know what it’s like. These birthday parties always stress me out. I spent the whole afternoon running around town, my feet are sore, and Kathleen, that friend of Karola’s, the fat one, she’s got one heck of a voice on her.”

She was chattering like a wind-up puppet, loud, banal sentences, not looking up at me even once. I went over to her and pushed the recipe away.

“Have I done something to upset you?”

“No, er, it’s just…nothing. So, it’s really great that you’ve got a terrace in your new place. That means you can take the wicker beach chair with you.”

I suddenly went cold. First it was just a feeling, and then my brain started to work. She stared into the pot.

“Antje?”

She was silent, just stirring.

I took my bag and my jacket and went into the children’s room to say goodbye to Karola. She was caught up with unwrapping her presents, smiling at her friends with her eyes sparkling.

I left.

I
nes sat on her toolbox and uncapped her beer bottle with a cigarette lighter. She looked first at Dorothea, then me, with a triumphant smile.

“Nine minutes.”

Dorothea nodded at her and rubbed the blister on her forefinger.

“Under ten—I knew it.”

I’d come into the living room with a box full of books and had no idea what they were talking about.

“What’s nine minutes?”

Ines put the bottle to her mouth, took a few long swigs, put it down again, and then looked at me.

“That’s a record. We just built the last Billy bookcase in under ten minutes.”

Dorothea held up her forefinger for me to see.

“Under ten. With this blister!”

Years ago she’d been my brother Georg’s girlfriend. After a while their love had faded, but the friendship had stayed. And Dorothea, who had won our family’s hearts with her charm and wit, stayed too. She was very enthusiastic about my plan to move to Hamburg. She lived there as well.

Ines put her lighter against another bottle of beer, opened it, and handed it to Dorothea. She pushed herself off from the wall, took a chair from where it was stacked, upturned against another, and sat down with a groan.

“My back! And this blister. And you think I can drink after eight Billys?”

“After eight Billys, it’s compulsory to have a drink. Want one too, Christine?”

I looked around me. Everything was all over the place. Empty bookshelves, coats, cushions, and curtains all over the sofa, chairs stacked on top of one another, rolls of carpet and moving boxes everywhere.

“It’s getting worse and worse in here.”

My heart sank.

“Well, Christine, I really think you could at least tidy up a little. You used to be so neat, and as soon as you’re in the big city, then bam—you let it all go!”

Dorothea laughed heartily at her own joke. She tapped the bookshelf that was serving as a table, full of beer bottles, bags of licorice, cigarette ashes, bottle caps, and various screws.

“I mean, at least put a tablecloth down; then it’ll have some style around here.”

Ines laughed too.

“And I’m sure you’ve got some coasters for the bottles. Not that we’re making rings.”

Dorothea wanted to say more, but she was laughing so hard she was crying.

“You’re silly.”

Ines shook her head with amusement and handed me a beer.

“She’s just exhausted. These artistic types aren’t used to hard work.”

Dorothea was a costume designer; she worked in television and also painted. Sweeping her dark locks and the tears from her face with the backs of her hands, she put on a hurt expression.

“Eight Billys, three of which I did with a blister. Not to mention the chest of drawers, desk, and kitchen table.”

“The kitchen table came ready-made!”

“Well, I put a tablecloth on it at least.”

She roared with laughter again.

Her silliness was catching. We sat for a while amongst the boxes of books just giggling and drinking beer. Eventually Ines got up, dropped the empty bottles into the box, and reached for her drill.

“Back to work; we’re not done yet. It’s six o’clock and I’ve got to go in two hours.”

Dorothea held her side, breathing heavily.

“Christine, just do as I said and have a quick clean-up here—then it’ll all be good.”

Laughing softly, she followed Ines and helped to hold the curtain rails while she fixed them in place.

We’d met that morning at my new apartment. My furniture and moving boxes had arrived the day before. Along with Ines, I’d helped with the unloading, lugged everything inside, and then had promptly burst into floods of tears. So Ines had decided that the unpacking, drilling, and screwing could wait until the next morning. Dorothea, who had jumped to offer her help, arrived in the best of moods and could hardly wait to get going. Ines brought her toolbox and oversaw the proceedings, gave directions, crossed things off her list, and screwed and drilled with dedication and no signs of tiring. By midday the kitchen, office, and bedroom were almost finished.

Ines and Dorothea had built things piece by piece and screwed everything together while I unpacked box after box and arranged everything.

Georg came too, laden with trays of rolls and cakes and a crate of beer.

“I couldn’t make it sooner, I’m afraid. Is there anything I can still do to help?”

We all laughed. Georg was a journalist. According to Ines, his ability to work with his hands was limited to plugging his laptop in. And sometimes he couldn’t even manage that! She stared at him for a while and decided that he could cope with breaking down the empty moving boxes and bringing them up to the loft.

“I’m sure you can manage that without breaking anything or hurting yourself.”

Her sarcasm was like water off a duck’s back.

“Without me you’d be starving and thirsty. I’m perfectly capable of folding and carrying, and besides, you all love me really.”

He stayed in spite of all the teasing, and Ines gave him job after job to do. Within half an hour he had held lamps, unpacked books, made coffee, and hugged me compassionately at least twenty times. Then he had to go. For the last two hours we worked on under Ines’s command, and then we drank our last beer around the dining table. Ines stretched and looked around with satisfaction.

“You can sleep properly in your own bed, your kitchen’s ready, all the lamps are up, and the bathroom’s cleaned. The only thing left is the rest of your unpacking and a few odds and ends. But there’s plenty of time for all that. Aren’t we wonderful?”

Dorothea looked at me with her big eyes and stroked her hand over the wooden table.

“But still no tablecloth.” She giggled. “My darlings, I’m so done in, I’m getting all silly again. I’d love to have another beer with you, but I have to go to bed. I’ve got a broadcast tomorrow morning at eight.”

It was eight o’clock in the evening. We’d been at it for almost twelve hours.

“Will you be okay?” asked Dorothea.

“Of course.”

I was looking forward to being alone.

“I’ll do a little more unpacking and then have an early night too.”

“Good.”

Dorothea paused behind me.

“Remember, what you dream on the first night will come true.”

She kissed the top of my head.

“And you really need to get to the salon, sweetie. Graying roots may be okay out in the sticks, but not here. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Have fun unpacking.”

I stood up too and kissed Ines on the cheek. She looked at me with a slightly worried expression.

“It’s fine, Ines. Really. And thank you.”

“Till tomorrow then. Sleep well on your first night.”

I closed the door behind them.

And I was in my new apartment alone for the first time.