Life After Forty (3 page)

I
walked slowly through the rooms. I turned the light on in each one, left all the doors open, put a floor lamp on, placed a chair next to it, and smoothed down the bedding. Most of the furniture was new; every free minute of the last two weeks had been spent with either Dorothea or Ines in furniture warehouses and household shops, buying all the things I needed for my new life.

Georg had offered to lend me money. He earned a lot, spent very little, and always had a fair amount left over. I was touched by his offer and accepted it. It enabled me to feel I could separate from the things that reminded me of my marriage. I looked around me. There were so many things in this apartment that I wasn’t used to yet. It felt strange. Unfamiliar.

I took a deep breath and decided to unpack another three boxes, then shower and open the bottle of red wine that Dorothea had brought with her.

Two hours later I was sitting in my bathrobe and with damp hair in my almost-finished dining room. No tablecloth. I thought of Dorothea and smiled. But I did have a candle, a glass full of red wine, and a new CD that Georg had given me today,
Sunset Dance & Dreams
, free from any memories of Bernd.

The new lamp cast a warm glow as I looked around the room from the table. I liked the furniture and lamps that I’d bought. It was already shaping up to be a beautiful room; I felt almost content. I’d done it.

Today was April 16. Day one after the move.

In the recent days and weeks, I’d been conjuring up this date in my mind like a magic formula. April 16. I just had to keep going until then. After that things would get better. I’d managed all of my business appointments, but it was still demanding. I had stayed with Ines for the last two weeks.

My move wasn’t planned until April 15; the moving company couldn’t do it sooner. The apartment was available, but it was still empty because the furniture couldn’t be delivered until then. Ines arranged the delivery dates for me. By day I cleaned the new apartment and called insurance, utility, and phone companies. I spent hours sitting in the residents’ registration office. My back aching, I struggled around DIY shops, crossing items off of Ines’s shopping lists. In the evenings I went with my sister—and her tape measure—to furniture shops and back to the same DIY shops to exchange the things on the list I had bought wrongly. I rarely seemed to know what the correct parts were.

Dorothea had us over for dinner and, with the help of lots of wine and her enthusiasm for my apartment, managed to dissipate the dark clouds that were gathering in my mind. I had brunches with Georg, and he brought along the programs for Hamburg theatres and concert halls, marking all the events that he was free for. When I still looked sad, he tried to get tickets for the Hamburg Symphony Orchestra.

I listened to all the plans, wrote Georg’s free evenings in my calendar, let Ines explain the logistics of the DIY shops to me, laughed at Dorothea’s jokes, and thought constantly about April 16. I just had to keep going until then. Then this awful in-between period of homelessness and worry would be in the past.

Today was April 16. I sat in my almost-finished apartment and waited for the feeling that everything would be better from now on.

You’ll be waiting a long time. It doesn’t just come by itself, you know.

I heard the horrible voice in my head.

In a crisis, my sister wrote lists, while I would have a dialogue in my head between two women’s voices. One was out to cause trouble, and the other to calm me down. For years the two voices had made themselves heard whenever I felt helpless and was alone.

Our mother had gone to great efforts not to mollycoddle her three children. Which meant there was a certain gruffness in the way she had brought us up. On the other hand, she was always very optimistic and could sometimes be very tender. She had a hyphenated name, which had made a great impression on me as a child. Edith-Charlotte. So when I heard the voices for the first time, I named the mean one Edith and the gentle one Charlotte.

I pulled up a chair, put my feet up, and lit a cigarette. For the first time in weeks, the voices managed to find some space in my head.

You’ve never lived so well. A great apartment, chic furniture, right in the center of town. Life’s really starting to get exciting,
said Charlotte.

Exciting. Sure. You’re almost forty and starting all over again
, answered Edith.

I took my glass and sat down on the new sofa. Ligne Rosé. Delightful.

Even the sofa. You’ve wanted one like that for years. Bernd didn’t; he preferred leather because otherwise you’d see the cat hairs.

My cats. I felt a pang of longing. I hadn’t seen them since I left.

Leaving.

My mind went back to that day two weeks ago. Karola’s birthday.

I’d driven home in a daze. On the way, thoughts and images rushed into my head thick and fast. Antje, who would have had no way of knowing what my apartment was like. Bernd’s bad mood as I went off to the party. Antje, who hadn’t been in touch with me for weeks despite knowing the state I was in. Bernd saying, “It’s about me, not you.” Ines’s suspicion: “It sounds to me like there’s another woman.”

It was like I’d knocked over a domino. More and more situations occurred to me that had seemed odd but I had never thought any more of. The fact that Bernd had never been able to remember my mobile number, but phoned Antje from the car when we were running late. The fact that Antje, whom I used to speak to about my marital problems on our frequent trips to the sauna, had always pushed me to separate from him.

I couldn’t stop the thoughts from coming.

I drove along like I was on autopilot and only became aware of my surroundings again as I parked in the driveway. I turned the engine off and just sat there. Bernd’s car was there, so he must be too. Of course, Antje would have phoned him right away, so he would have had time to make up some new stories for me.

I started the car again, put it in reverse, turned around, and drove to Marleen’s. When I parked in front of her house, she saw me through the window and was standing at the door by the time I had crossed the yard. She called out, “Perfect timing. I’ve just put some coffee on.”

She looked at my face.

“What’s happened?”

“I’ve just come from Karola’s birthday party.”

“Oh. And? How was it?”

“What do you know?”

“Why don’t you come in first.”

A little later, we were sitting in the kitchen. Marleen talked, and I listened, feeling colder and colder.

Marleen had seen Bernd and Antje in a pub together the week after our separation. They’d only had eyes for each other and hadn’t noticed her. Marleen thought it was strange, so she drove to her ex-husband’s and grilled him for information. Adrian stayed silent at first and didn’t want to say anything; after all, Bernd was his best friend. Eventually though, he gave in to Marleen’s persistent questioning.

Their affair had started as long as four years ago when we bought the house and started to renovate it.

At the time, I was touched by and thankful for Antje’s enthusiasm to help. I had a very busy schedule with work, and she sacrificed her three-week vacation to lend a hand. At the time I just thought that was what you did when you’d been friends for twenty-five years. Each day I had gone to the bookstores while Antje and Bernd renovated and Adrian, who was there every day too, looked on.

After two weeks he took Bernd aside and had a word. Bernd seemed to show some discretion and put the whole thing on ice.

“Antje and I had a strange fight back then, come to think of it. She accused me of not having offered her anything for her help. I really didn’t understand at the time.”

“There’s no way you could have understood. What she wanted was your husband.”

Marleen took a cigarette, even though she didn’t smoke.

“In any case, it didn’t stay on ice for long. It seems that things kept happening between them, and last summer she went in for the kill.”

“I didn’t notice anything.”

“Then in December she started to put pressure on him. Apparently she really flipped out when you both went to your parents’ place over Christmas and then stayed there for New Year’s too.”

“How did Adrian know that?”

“Bernd told him everything almost as soon as it happened. She was in a foul mood all through January and threatened Bernd that if he didn’t tell you about the affair, she would. Then you went to your neighbor’s birthday party, and it all came to a head. You went to stay with Ines on Monday morning. Antje came to see Bernd that evening and wanted to know how you’d taken the news. That was, it seems, the deadline. That’s why he phoned you.”

I felt both hot and cold at the same time. I searched for words. Marleen looked at me sadly.

“I’ve known for six weeks. I kept going back and forth and thought that it would tear the whole world out from under your feet if you found out now. I wanted to wait until you were settled in your new apartment and wouldn’t have to see either of them anymore.”

“She wanted to help me with the move. Just imagine, the old Jezebel wanted to help me with the move, and…” My tears started to fall.

“She probably wanted to make sure that you didn’t take everything.” Marleen shook her head. “The next day, when you were back with Ines, I drove to see Bernd. I had such a go at him that he was as white as a sheet. I told him that if that backstabbing woman so much as set foot on the property before the fifteenth, I’d see to it that the whole house was completely emptied. After all, you paid for everything.”

“I just can’t believe it. It’s like a bad movie. I look after her children, and she’s out fucking my husband. Shit, twenty-five years of friendship—what kind of person is she? I could kill her, the little rat.”

“Just make sure you don’t leave too many things for them.”

“I don’t want any of it. It’s all just false memories.”

Marleen pressed my hand.

“I understand, but don’t leave everything. Take what you want to take.”

We were both exhausted and fell silent for a while.

“Marleen, I feel awful. I’m going to go and pack everything now and put yellow labels on the furniture that I want to take. Would you be able to go over on the fifteenth and make sure that everything gets brought along?”

“Of course. Shall I come and give you a hand now?”

“No, I have to do it myself. I’ll write a list of which pieces of furniture and how many boxes and so on.”

We finished smoking our cigarettes in silence and drank the rest of the coffee, and then I stood up. Marleen took me in her arms and pulled me close.

“In half a year’s time we’ll be laughing about it. Keep your head high.”

Just as I was about to open the front door, it was flung open from the inside. Bernd stood in the hallway with a sheepish grin. I went silently past him. I couldn’t look him in the face.

“So, how did it go with the kids?” he asked.

I swallowed, pressing my fingernails into the palms of my hand.

“I’m sure you’ve already been on the phone with her. I left three hours ago. What do you think?”

“Christine, you’ve got it all wrong. It all started after we separated; I was so lonely.”

I looked at him. Until now I’d had no idea how much it could hurt to look into the face of someone you had lived with for years.

“I can’t believe that you’re this pathetic.”

I went upstairs and started packing. It took until five the next morning. By then I’d packed up my whole life, marked the few bits of furniture that I wanted to take with yellow labels, filled up my car, and written the list for Marleen. Once I was done, I sat in the kitchen, had a cup of coffee, and smoked the last cigarette I would ever smoke in this house. My cat jumped up onto my lap, and the tears came.

You will not run out of here crying! Pull yourself together!

Thanks, Edith. At that moment Bernd came into the kitchen.

“So, all packed?”

“Marleen will come by on the fifteenth when the moving men come. I’ve made a list of the things that I’m taking. Most of it I’m leaving here, so don’t even try to argue.”

“Christine, I’m sorry.”

“Save it. It makes me feel sick just thinking about it.”

I pushed past him and left that house and that life.

For the first time ever, I slammed the door. Hard.

My new CD had finished. I stood up and set it to play again.

But today is April 16. You’ve got a new apartment, a new life, and it’s all behind you now.

Thanks, Charlotte.

I looked at the new clock—12:05 a.m. Day two.

I drank the last of my glass of wine, took it through to the kitchen, and put it in my new dishwasher.

Everything will get better from here. The only way is up. You’re past the worst,
said Charlotte.

It won’t be easy; there’s a long and hard way to go yet,
countered Edith.

I turned the music and the light off, went into my bedroom, and lay down on my freshly made bed. Lying there, I felt the tears begin to prick behind my eyes. I turned my thoughts to Marleen, Dorothea, and Ines and hoped for good dreams.

W
hen I woke up the next morning, my neck and head hurt.

It was seven o’clock, and my first thought was,
We’ve overslept; Bernd has to leave at seven.

The second followed swiftly behind:
I’m alone.

I felt miserable, but I couldn’t lie there anymore. My back aching, I crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom. My reflection looked just like I felt. Spotty skin, greasy hair, unplucked eyebrows, dark rings and bags under my eyes.

It’s no wonder Bernd didn’t want to be with you anymore. Just look at yourself.

I hated Edith’s voice, but I leaned in closer to the mirror anyway. It wasn’t just that my eyes were red and gunky; now they were swimming with tears. I glanced at the clock on the sink. Seven fifteen. Still so early. I was cold, and it hurt to swallow. As I bent over to pull on my tights, I started to feel dizzy. I sat down on the bathtub for a moment, and the dizziness gradually began to pass.

If you pass out now, you’ll be lying here the whole day, alone.

The fit of tears came on as suddenly as the dizzy spell had. I’d never cope, I didn’t have the strength for all the new beginnings, everything familiar was gone, and the next few days loomed in front of me as heavy as lead. Where would I start?

It was only when I felt my ice-cold feet that I sat up straight. I made myself breathe steadily, slowly pulled on my dressing gown and thick socks, and blew my nose.

And now go to the kitchen, make yourself a cup of coffee with your new machine, sit yourself down, and plan out your day in peace.

I made plans every morning. But every movement was labored and lethargic. I was settling in at a snail’s pace, but because I had to, not because I wanted to. Whenever Ines or Dorothea came by, I pulled myself together; it was easier then.

I had to pull myself together again when Dorothea went to Finland for three weeks on a painting holiday just three days after I moved in, and when Ines said her goodbyes just one day later to go sailing for two weeks. My sister had done enough for me recently; she’d earned the vacation. But even so, I felt like I’d been thrown into the deep end. Before she left she told me to give my friends and colleagues in Hamburg a call. Hardly anyone knew that I was living there yet.

I said I would, but I didn’t phone anyone. I didn’t have the energy yet to talk to anyone about Bernd.

Since they’d both been away, the minutes and hours were crawling by. I got a bad cold and blamed it for the way I was feeling. Everything I did took effort. Thinking of Ines and her lists, I wrote a plan for the week.

Monday: Set up a mailbox.

Tuesday: Go to the supermarket.

Wednesday: Buy curtains for my office.

Thursday: Go to the hairdresser.

Friday: Buy flowers and window boxes.

I didn’t achieve a single one of them. Everything was too much effort. I had to force myself just to shower and wash my hair each day. I hadn’t put makeup on in days. At six o’clock I put the television on and drank red wine, drank until the bottle was empty and I fell asleep in the chair. Somehow I still managed to brush my teeth and stumble to bed. Then I had a dream about Antje and Bernd and woke up at seven the next morning with my eyes puffy and red from crying.

This was how the first few weeks of my new life went—gray, miserable, and immeasurable.

On Friday evening Marleen phoned again. She was the first person I’d spoken to that day, and my voice was throaty and hoarse from smoking. I was also tipsy. The conversation lasted ten minutes and ended with her telling me she’d be getting on the twelve thirty train to see me the next day. Suddenly sobering up, I looked around my new apartment. I hadn’t done anything for days, there were clothes lying everywhere, unpacked boxes were still all over the hallway, and neither the bathroom nor the kitchen were clean.

I made myself a cup of coffee and got down to work.

I was on the platform before the train arrived. I’d showered, epilated my legs, plucked my eyebrows, blow-dried my hair, and put makeup on. Pulling on my best pair of jeans, I’d realized that they were at least a size too big for me. I thought of Antje’s constant diets and felt Charlotte smile. I saw Marleen right away. She was hauling three big bags filled with plants and a travel bag. Once she stood in front of me, she looked me up and down sternly.

“You’re all thin and you look like crap. I can see we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Then she gave me a big hug.

“First I want to see the finished apartment and dump these plants. They’re all offshoots; I bet you haven’t planted the balcony or the terrace yet. After that we’ll go shopping. Judging by how you look, I can well imagine what you don’t have in your fridge at the moment. Besides that I want to go clothes shopping, and only the best places, mind; I’ve got money burning a hole in my pocket.”

Once we got to my apartment she was enthusiastic, not commenting on the fridge or the empty bottles stacked in the box under the kitchen counter.

An hour later we drove into the parking lot in front of the supermarket. I had tried to go shopping here just once. My cart had already been half full when I got to the pet food aisle. I froze and thought,
You’ll never buy cat food again.
I looked at the contents of my cart. There was too much; I’d been buying for two people out of habit. As the tears came, I left the cart there and fled to my car.

After that I just went to the gas station around the corner from time to time.

There was a bottle bank in front of the supermarket. Marleen opened the trunk of the car and unloaded the box with my empty spoils.

“Come on, I won’t say a word, but you can at least help me get rid of them.”

There was a shocking number of bottles. An older couple looked over at us. I felt caught in the act and looked at Marleen guiltily. Unmoved, she threw one bottle after the other in the bank and looked over at me.

“It must have been one great party, hey?”

I couldn’t help but smile.

In the afternoon we went into town. Marleen wanted to buy lingerie, and her craving for retail therapy was infectious.

“So, Christine, now you pick out something stunning for yourself. For the future. I’d like to treat you to something.”

I didn’t argue.

Laden down with bags and packages, we stopped for a coffee break in Café Wien, a disused longboat on the Alster Lake. We looked out over the water, drank Prosecco, and smoked. For the first time in weeks, I felt alive again.

Marleen looked at me. “You’ve taken your time out and you’ve suffered. Okay. You needed to do it, and it was exactly the same for me after my separation from Adrian. But there has to be a point when it stops. You can’t let that asshole and old cow get the better of you. I won’t let you. You’ll show them, you’ll see.”

“It’s so hard though.”

“Yes, it is. But you’ve already got past the worst of it. It’s May now. Your birthday’s in November, still half a year away. By then, we’ll be laughing about it.”

On Sunday evening I dropped Marleen off at the station. My balcony had flowerpots full of flowers. Her cuttings hadn’t been enough, and she’d almost fallen over with laughter when she saw that the flowers I’d picked out at the nursery were called “Man’s Loyalty.”

I had curtains in my office, and my fridge and storage cupboards were full.

The evening before we had treated ourselves to a special meal in a restaurant on the harbor, topped off by four “Sex on the Beach” cocktails in a nearby bar. Afterwards, we sat up in my kitchen until the early hours, reading our horoscopes aloud from magazines she’d bought at the station. For the first time in a long while my tears were of laughter, not sadness.

I stayed on the escalator until the train disappeared from sight. Then I turned around and went back to my car.

I felt like I was going home.