‘I was late to collect her, the unforgiveable sin.’ His voice was so quiet, Karen could barely hear it. ‘I was caught up in a raid on the printers where we were meant to collect the next batch of leaflets, pinned down in a crawl space for hours. By the time the soldiers left and I could get to the flat, Liese and Lottie were gone. I am so sorry.’
He kept saying it; Karen needed him to stop talking.
‘You are in shock. Breathe slowly, deeply. Look at me.’
Markus had her shaking hands cupped in one of his, had her chin tilted so she was forced to see him.
‘Good girl. Slow down – that’s it.’
‘I am so very sorry.’
Why did he keep saying it? Did he want her forgiveness? She didn’t know what to say, what to do. She knew none of the blame was Michael’s, but she badly needed someone to shout at. Why had she thought uncovering the past would be helpful? How would she ever push the image of her sister’s murder, of her mother’s anguish, out of her brain?
She stared past Markus to where Michael was curled up, his arms wrapped tight round himself. The way he was looking at her. There was more to the story – she knew it. She could see it in his tear-filled eyes, in his suddenly snapped-shut mouth.
‘There’s something else, something you’re not—’
And then nausea swept her words away. The walls were closing in. She couldn’t stay – there were too many horrors in the room.
She jumped up, pushed past Markus and ran out of the flat with no thought beyond getting away.
‘What are you doing?’
Markus pulled her hands away from the lift buttons she was furiously pressing.
‘I have to go back to my hotel.’
She twisted away from him and ran for the stairs.
‘Karen, stop! I understand, I do. But you can’t go alone. Never mind that you’ll get lost; it’s too dangerous. And you will never find a taxi on your own, not on this side. You have had a terrible shock. We all have. I need a drink; so must you. Come on.’
He took her arm and steered her to a bar that was as bare as the café. A counter lined with rough stools, a handful of plain wooden tables; fewer bottles on show than she had ever seen in the West. Markus sat her down and fetched a jug of red wine and two glasses half-filled with clear liquid.
‘Drink this; it will take the edge off. If you need more, there’s plenty.’
Karen gulped the vodka, gasping as the rough alcohol rasped over her throat.
‘Do you always give so many orders?’
He poured out the wine and passed her a full glass.
‘Yes. I’m a doctor. Most days, it’s the main part of the job. I thought I’d told you.’
‘You didn’t tell me anything, but don’t worry: I’m used to that.’
And then the shock sheared away and she burst into tears.
‘Good. Get it out.’
He moved his chair, pulled her head onto his shoulder.
‘Nobody cares. Too many people have cried in here for one more to matter.’
He let her sob until she was empty and then found a handkerchief.
‘Karen, I swear I didn’t know about Lottie. If I had, I would have warned you, prepared you. He never breathed a word about it. I can’t imagine how it must feel for you to hear that, never mind for him to tell it. So much pain to carry round and so much guilt, for both of them, and now for you. And all the secrecy. It’s all right to feel angry, if that’s how you feel.’
Karen flushed.
‘He kept saying he was sorry and I couldn’t bear it. I know it’s not Michael’s fault; I know that he’s suffering. He was almost captured himself – what could he have done? How could he have known what would happen? There’s nobody to blame but the guard, I know that. But in there, I wanted to hit out at him, I did, and that’s awful. And as for my mother’s pain, I can’t imagine it; I don’t want to…’
She took another deep drink.
‘The agony of it is unthinkable. To have to witness that; to be so powerless to stop it. What was it Michael said? “Liese spent the whole of Lottie’s little life trying to keep her safe, but in the end she failed.” We know that wasn’t her fault, but did she? Did she carry the guilt or, God help her, the blame, her whole life? The damage of that is beyond measuring.’
‘Perhaps there is your answer. Such an awful thing would explain her suicide.’
Karen put down her glass, wanting and not wanting a clear head.
‘Maybe. I’d like to believe it’s as simple as that. But your father also said he always knew my mother would follow Lottie. If that was true, why did she wait so long to do it?’
Her voice cracked as the question that had haunted the past eighteen years surfaced.
‘Lottie was long dead when my mother killed herself, but I was alive. I needed her. How could she do it when she had me to love and look after? Explain that, Markus, with all your medical training. She lost one child and then she chose to leave another. Why would she do it?’
His arm was the only thing keeping her on the chair.
‘I can’t explain it; I wish I could. I’m not that kind of doctor, although I once wanted to be. It was safer here to deal with broken limbs than broken minds; the authorities were less prescriptive.’
He fell silent.
Karen took a deep breath and hoped he would still trust her to do the right thing.
‘I have to talk to him again, Markus. I’ll apologise for running away so rudely, but I have to speak to him again. My mother carried on. She married my father; she went to England. Lottie’s murder is a reason for her death, but it’s not the end of her story.’
He rubbed his eyes and nodded.
‘I think you’re right – I do. But not now. Wait until tomorrow. Please. Give him the day to recover and understand you need more from him. After your meetings, after my shift, I’ll come for you. Will that be all right?’
It was a question, not a decision taken and delivered. His tone was concerned, not commanding.
Karen managed a smile, managed to look properly at him. There was a kindness in him she could sense ran deep.
‘Yes. Yes, I can manage with that.’
Markus held her briefly before she climbed into the taxi he had called from the bar. It was barely a hug, but there was a reassurance in its warmth that stayed curled round Karen through the long, sleepless night.
Markus was waiting in the lobby the next afternoon when Karen extricated herself from the day’s final appointment, his boxy blue car parked outside. They didn’t touch. They didn’t speak beyond greetings until they were clear of Checkpoint Charlie.
‘He’s different today. More recognisable, more in control. More like the father I’m used to, who always works to a plan.’
‘What does that mean? Is this a warning that he won’t tell me everything?’
Markus took so long to answer, Karen wondered if he had heard her.
‘Nobody who lived under the DDR tells anyone everything. We’ve been trained too well. Part of me is wondering now if I am making a huge mistake. If talking to you could have consequences I can’t foresee and should avoid.’
‘You make it sound like I’m a spy!’
Markus managed a smile that was warm enough to relax her.