When she had said that, no, she wasn’t grateful to Suhren for saving her, that she hated him for it, that all she had wanted to do was die, so how could she be glad he had thrust a life on her, Michael had sobbed. She hadn’t had the energy to comfort him.
Part of Liese wanted to help him, for the sake of what they had once been. A bigger part of her was filled up with rage that she was still living and her child was not, and that overshadowed every other emotion. She could feel the anger like a fire, simmering in her stomach, waiting for the spark that would let it spill. She knew that she could reach down and haul that fury-wrapped Liese out, replace this blank version sitting in the bed, holding Michael’s hand. It wouldn’t take much effort. That Liese would be able to pour out the truth and watch Michael recoil and scrabble for the platitudes he would offer like sticking plasters. She could do that. Except that would only feed the fury and give it a target it didn’t deserve, so she had swallowed the words down instead.
She had watched him sob and wished, like she always did, that the ward sister would come and tell him that visiting hours were over. Free her from having to be responsible for anyone’s misery but her own. If Michael hadn’t been Michael, they would have chased him away, but handsome and whole and charming men were, apparently, a rare commodity in war-broken Berlin. Since the first day he had appeared, the nurses had fluttered round him like giddy butterflies and the rules went forgotten. So Liese had sat in silence, his tears no use to her, and then he had looked up and there it still was, written all over his anguished face: the love she no longer had a heart whole enough to put it in.
‘One telling.’
He had wiped his sleeve across his face at that and clutched at her hand.
‘One telling of all that happened and then we are done. No more questions; no more asking my forgiveness. Do you understand?’
He had nodded.
‘What about Andrew? Do I repeat it to him or will you tell him yourself?’
‘You do it. Maybe then he’ll stop trying to mend me.’
Andrew’s visits were as exhausting as Michael’s. His cheery British whatever it is, we can fix it beam, and his determination to play the rescuing knight, was as unbearable as Michael’s misery.
‘He doesn’t mean any harm… It’s the guessing, Liese, the trying to imagine what you went through. Tell me the facts and I promise I, at least, won’t keep pushing.’
The facts. Michael still thought that marshalling those could make sense of the world. His belief in that made the pain on his face too raw to be bearable; Liese had had to look away from him, had focused on a water stain on the ceiling instead. Perhaps if she kept to his beloved facts, she could get through this. If she left everything else out. The agony that had fuelled her, that had given her the energy night after night to stay alive and keep watch over the lake’s flat waters. The hatred that still flooded her. For the Nazis who decreed that Lottie’s life had no value. For the guard who could kill a child without looking. For the Allied soldiers who ripped her away from where Lottie was waiting and pushed her into a world that held nothing worth having.
Michael loved her and wanted her to love him. She couldn’t give him that; she was too hollow. He wanted to take her pain. She couldn’t give him that either; it was all that was keeping her breathing. But if she swallowed everything she now was down into the silence that filled her, maybe she could give him what he needed to walk away.
Liese pushed herself up against the pillows and gently pushed Michael’s hand away. Slowly and deliberately, and without looking at him, she began to lay the facts out.
The minutes ticked past; Michael stayed silent. The waiting stretched at Karen’s nerves, but she didn’t want to do anything that might stop him finding a way back from whatever memories had caught him. She glanced over at Markus, who smiled a tight smile and nodded. Small gestures, but they lifted her spirits. When Michael finally began speaking again, she had to bite back a ‘thank God’.
‘None of us were the same people when the war ended. We had all seen too much, lost too much. And the end of the war wasn’t some great healing; it was a mess. Chaos had swallowed Berlin. Andrew stopped your mother disappearing into it. He used his army connections and got her into the Bethel Hospital, rather than being allocated to a displaced persons camp. He told them he was afraid she had TB. She was exhausted and malnourished and had come from a concentration camp, so that seemed believable. He was so protective of her even then: he guarded her bed like a watchdog. But he was pleased when I first turned up – I’m sure of that. Liese had retreated into silence and he was desperate for someone who could fill in the gaps, jolt her into talking. It was… hard when I saw her. She was so tiny against the bedframe. Her hair chopped short, her eyes too big for her face. She had turned young and old, and it broke my heart.’
‘She must have been pleased to see you?’
Karen regretted the question the moment she asked it.
Michael’s voice slipped from the measured tone he was still somehow managing into a jagged stop and start. ‘No. I don’t think I could claim that. She stopped being silent, that’s true. She was shocked at first. And then so furious, I thought she would scratch my eyes out. But then it stopped; it all stopped.’ He paused, his hands fidgeting as if they were fighting the memories. ‘There wasn’t a feeling left in her for me. That’s when I knew something terrible had happened. You have to understand that I had seen people reconnect; I’d brought some of them together. I had seen tears and joy, and also plenty of hurt and anger when one person’s war seemed easier lived than another’s. I could have dealt with any of those. But after that first furious reaction there was nothing. She said the right things: that she forgave me, that she didn’t blame me. It was like listening to a machine.’
He broke off, Markus following a beat behind, and looked directly at Karen.
‘I loved her; I truly loved her. At one point during the war, I was sure she loved me. But then? She didn’t feel anything for me at all. Not even the hatred I felt I deserved. I didn’t matter to her anymore.’
Another piece of the puzzle uncovered, except Karen didn’t know what to do with it. Michael and her mother had been in love. She had guessed his feelings from the wedding photograph; she had never considered the love she saw there was returned.
‘I’m sorry.’ The words sounded too easy, inadequate. Karen forced herself to do better. ‘I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you. But you must have understood, when she told you about Lottie. And she didn’t blame you, so you must have hoped things between you would heal over time. Especially when you saw her with my father. She must have been different, more alive, with him.’
Markus had been right about the Michael who had greeted her earlier that night. That Michael had taken control of the conversation, delivering what little he said calmly and methodically. Even when her questions had surprised him and pricked at old hurts, his answers had remained considered. Now, he stumbled over his words and wouldn’t meet her eye.
‘She didn’t stop loving me because she had fallen for him, if that’s what you think. She was as closed off with Andrew as she was with me. No, that’s not quite true: there were feelings there, although they weren’t what he wanted. Your father was kind, a true gentleman. Liese saw that. When he sat with her quietly, or read to her, she would smile and grow calmer than I could make her. But so often she was angry with him. There were moments when she bristled with it. She tried to hide it, and I doubt Andrew noticed the way that I did. He cared about her and wanted her to like him. I’m not sure how experienced Andrew was with women, but he’d clearly developed a crush on your mother that didn’t have any space in it for flaws. But Liese? She didn’t have romantic feelings for him any more than she did for me. I don’t think she could.’