Bone and Blood (24 page)

‘Look, leave it to this evening and we'll sort it out then.' Aisling felt better taking charge. She didn't want her parents coming and taking over everything.

‘I'll ring you later. The priest has just turned up and is waiting for me.' She could see Yola standing by the staff desk with Monika and a man in dark clothes – some sort of priest for sure. Time to go and join the hypocrites, she thought. Or maybe Yola is a real Catholic.

‘The priest, of course. Oh you poor baby,' her mother's voice was panicky yet.

Aisling cut her mother off and went over to give Monika a stiff hug. ‘How did you hear?' Monika pointed at Yola who had the aunt's book of numbers in her hand. Aisling reminded herself to get it back. ‘Why and who for?' she didn't know but she'd deal with that later.

Yola had located a Catholic chaplain who knew his prayers in English better than Aisling. She wondered if he spotted how she forgot the words of the Our Father. Monika wasn't much help just standing there silent. Luckily Yola mumbled away anyhow and Aisling recovered some automatic mode from earlier days. The priest asked then about the funeral arrangements. When one looked at the other, he offered his card, ‘Let me know if you want anything – it's got my handy on it too.

Monika and Yola stood then looking at her like she was in charge.

‘Let's go back to the apartment and have coffee,' Aisling suggested.

The three of them sat around the table, drinking the coffee made by Yola who sat sideways not sure of her place in all this. Suddenly her shoulders started to heave and she came out with a mixture of German, Polish and English. Her grief was real enough and Aisling and Monika both comforted her and sent her home.

When she'd gone, Monika said, ‘You should have Brigitte's testament?'

‘Come again? Testament? Do you mean her will?' Aisling asked.

‘Yes sorry about my bad English,' Monika looked tired now.

‘You have Brigitte's will?' That must have been some change of heart, Aisling thought.

‘No, but Brigitte asked me to take her to the lawyer and she showed me where you will find her copy.'

It was in the locked bureau and Aisling knew well where the key was kept hidden. She wondered if they shouldn't wait for the funeral and some solicitor person but thought the better of it. This wasn't a film but real life. If Brigitte wanted her to have it, then she should have it. She read it then to Monika. Nothing complicated. Yola was to have all her clothes or get rid of them and 3 months wages. Aisling was to have what was left after the funeral expenses. Monika explained Katharina had already arranged for her to pay the funeral expenses so whatever was in Brigitte's bank would be Aisling's when the solicitor had sorted it out. Aisling was glad that there was nothing about papers or other belongings. It would be up to her to decide.

‘What about the apartment?' Aisling asked blushing – would Monika think she was greedy? Monika was matter-of-fact about it. She and Brigitte had spoken to the landlord. Brigitte and her family had the right to live there. So as long as Aisling wanted to stay in it, it was hers and there would be enough money to pay the rent for a year.

When Monika left, Aisling went through the apartment. Could she live here for a year – or even more maybe? She sat in Brigitte's chair, willing her ghost to come and be with her. She would have enjoyed a Schnapps and a bit of a story from the old bat and a chat about this and that. She had enough Schnaps for both of them and fell asleep then. When she woke the curtain waltzing in the draft gave her a fright. Well she'd asked for a ghost.

She went through the apartment again. This time, in her mind's eye, she imagined how she would have it. She pictured it with most of the furniture gone and it felt better. She resolved to try it.

Monika came back the next day around noon. Arrangements were made. The same procedure as for Katharina. She made a few more phone calls and they agreed the date for the funeral. Aisling debated whether to stay but decided against it. She would go home and come back again with her parents and then she would stay for the year. No argument.

Back in Dublin, she was glad to meet Matt on his halfway visit, brown and beardy from his six months in Venezuela. He kept looking at her.

‘Something has changed. Or somebody has changed you.'

‘For better or worse?' she demanded laughing.

‘For the better: you're more human. No sign of the spoilt child. Who was it? '

‘There's nobody to compete with you. I've lost more friends than I've made in the last year.'

‘And what about Berlin?'

‘I spent most of the time with Brigitte.'

‘“Brigitte” not “the Aunt” or “the awl Biddy?”

‘I'm going to go back over there. Maybe stay in her flat until I find a place of my own.'

‘Stay in an old flat like that. Something has changed.'

‘I'm giving up the course.'

‘No more marketing?'

‘Naw. I'm going to do comic-strips and maybe a graphic novel. I've got information about courses in Berlin. I'm hoping I can start in January. I haven't told the parents yet.'

Matt cocked his head sideways, ‘So not everything has changed. But I like the sound of you doing something creative. More likely to keep you out of mischief. You've been unbearable since you stopped doing your comic-strips.'

Aisling grimaced at him. ‘I'd like to go with you to visit the concentration camp she was in.'

‘Tourist trips to concentration camps are not my thing. Making entertainment out of somebody else's suffering.'

‘It's not my trip either but she was there and she never went to the memorial even after the wall came down. I want to go to connect to her.'

‘For her? Mmhuh, you have changed.

Aisling tried to persuade him to come to the funeral.

‘No way, I'm not going to the funeral of somebody I've never met. You're going to stay on after it aren't you? I'll be on your doorstep soon enough. We'll visit her grave.'

‘It's worth a visit and there's a great café there.'

Three weeks of tidying up loose ends. Withdrawal from the course. Saying goodbyes. Her parents postponing the big talk. She knew they would do their best to bring her back with them. More denial. Travelling to Berlin with them felt awkward. Prattling about Berlin and missing Christmas markets. Making time for a bit of sight-seeing. They insisted on taking a taxi from the airport even though they had no luggage worth talking about. They had planned to stay in a hotel but changed their minds when Aisling insisted that she was staying in the apartment.

Aisling regretted it when they took over Brigitte's bedroom. Her mother found clean sheets, made the bed and started rooting around in the dressing table, ‘Let's have a look at what she's left you.' She rifled the jewellery box in the top drawer. ‘Nothing very valuable here and the styles is more your Gran's. I suppose we'd better give her some of it. You know what she's like.'

She looked in the drawers.

‘The clothes are for Yola,' Aisling said, impatiently. Her mother taking charge annoyed her. She'd had a look herself but it felt different. And her mother hadn't even met the woman whose funeral she'd come for. It made Brigitte seem like just so much baggage.

In the living room, Aisling set up the little tray of Schnaps glasses and sat in Brigitte's chair before her mother could. Time to face the reality of her decision to stay after the funeral.

‘You're not going to come back and stay in this old woman's apartment all on your own?' Her mother's voice scaled up to panic. ‘You can't be serious. It would be bad for you. And this fantasy about developing your drawing. Cartoons and comic books are all very fine and well in their place but you'll never make your living from cartoons.'

‘People do,' Aisling muttered.

‘Rare, talented people who stick at it. You've hardly opened a sketch book for ages.'

‘I did when I was here. I can't do it in Dublin. There are good short courses near here in the Volkshochschule in Mitte.'

‘Volkshochschule? What's that?'

‘A place for adult education. They run lots of interesting courses which don't cost much.'

‘Adult education? That's for the unemployed or housewives or retired people. It's not further education.'

‘In Ireland, maybe. It's different here. The course on graphics sounds really upbeat.'

‘Is your German up to it?' A more practical question from Dad.

‘The tutor speaks English. And I will take a language course as well.'

‘And how will you keep yourself?'

‘I have this apartment for a year. I can do waitressing or bar work to feed myself. And I told you, the courses aren't expensive.'

‘Come on, Mary, Aisling is talking about taking some time out, learning more German. Even the experience of living in another country for a while would be good for her C.V. She's not happy in the marketing course at university. It's a waste of her time to carry on there. Things are cooling down. It's not like the days when Dublin was hopping with opportunity. I'm not convinced about this comic-strip idea but if she enjoys it, it would give her something for the CV while she makes decisions.'

‘What – you mean you would agree to her staying here in this mausoleum with the belongings of a musty old woman, all on her own?' Her mother's disgust was palpable.

‘It's not any more of a mausoleum than home and I've already withdrawn from the course,‘ Aisling muttered. Dad sent her a leave-this-to-me-if-you-want-to-win-this-match look. So she did.

‘The apartment is in a good state. It's not such a bad idea: she's got a place to live paid for her for a year. She could rent out a room to bring in a bit of money. We could come over and give her a hand to get it ready.'

Aisling hoped her glance cut into that, Whoah there Dad, there's no way you're gonna do that and you're not palming Mum off on me.

She was relieved when Monika turned up with the ingredients for “Abendbrot”. It was a chance to tell Monika her plans to stay on after the funeral. She'd have a few weeks. Monika could help with enrolment on the course on comic-strip design. They speculated whether it would be possible to join in January or whether she had to wait until September. Monika was encouraging. She offered a lift from her brother in the morning for Aisling and her parents. He would attend the funeral in any case. She smiled and hugged Aisling as she left.

‘Brigitte asked me to give you this.' Monika gave her an envelope.

She was barely out the door when Aisling's mother started checking out the rooms and cupboards.

‘There's a lot of rubbish to clear out,' she said lifting Anna's enamel can from the shelf in Katharina's room. ‘Will Yola or Monika arrange all that too?'

Aisling snatched the can out of her mother's hand, ‘That's mine. She said. It's actually a really valuable antique.'

Her mother went quiet: she could see the battle with tears. Aisling let her hug her.

Her father came in and joined the hug. When her mother headed for the bathroom, he took his chance, ‘Look I know it's hard on you but this funeral is good for your mother too. You have a life of your own to live and she has to get used to it. I think there was a bit of the old green eye with Aunt Bridget. It's clear to a blind man you did something special for her by coming to Katharina's funeral and she appreciated it. I'm sorry now that I never met her myself. But that's life.'

‘That's death, you mean,' Aisling retorted but returned his hug and he laughed. ‘You're right, that's death.Do you want me to stay with you while you read the letter?'

‘Letter?'

‘The one in your hand.'

‘Yes, yes, that letter. I mean no, I don't want you to be with me. I'd rather read it alone, if you don't mind.'

‘O.K. And Aisling, just by the way, I am proud of you.'

‘Dad, I've not done anything. Don't.. .'

‘No, I mean it really . You've grown up in these last months. I trust you now to make your own mistakes and learn from them.'

‘So you think moving to Berlin is a mistake?'

‘No, no, no. Me being clumsy… I think it's a good idea. I trust you to find out what you want.'

‘O.K. Dad, thanks and good night.'

Hug a bit cursory in the impatience to open the letter. Not fat enough for money, so what?

“Aisling” on the envelope in Brigitte's shaky handwriting but inside a different handwriting.