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‘No…it’s real. She’s really here – safe and well.’
Minki turned to her friend. ‘I simply don’t have the words to thank you, Leila. But…thank you.’ Tears streamed down her face.
‘You don’t need to thank me,’ replied Leila, hugging her. ‘I’m just so relieved she made it.’
Eventually Leila pulled away. ‘Minki, I really should go. You and Clara must both be exhausted, and you need some private time together.’
She kissed her friend on the cheek and went out into the hall to get her coat.
Minki followed her. ‘Please, Leila…don’t go yet. I’m frightened…what if I don’t know how to be a mother to her? We’ve been apart for so long.’
‘Do you remember when she was born?’ asked Leila.
Minki nodded. ‘I was frightened then too, wasn’t I?’
‘You were, but you went to that hospital and you took care of her. Now, you have to do it again. One day at a time…all right?’
Minki nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘And if you need anything, leave a message for me at army headquarters.’ She took a business card out of her jacket pocket and laid it on the hall table. ‘I’ll do anything to help.’
Over the following weeks, Leila continued her journey around the country, researching for her magazine. She gathered an initial picture of the horrors of war and the difficulties of life in post-war Germany.
There was bomb damage, of course, and poverty. But what distressed her more than anything were the thousands of children living on the streets, who had been forced into a life of petty crime. They formed themselves into gangs, and were forced to steal just to survive.
In December, she relocated to Munich to begin work on the magazine. Her offices were in Beethovenplatz. Once a government building, it had now been taken over by the Americans and rebranded as the Amerikahaus. Here, the citizens of Munich were encouraged to visit the library, where they could read all about America in books and magazines.
She was billeted in a fine old house in the centre of the city. Her housemates were seven other journalists embedded with the American army. Leila’s bedroom was the original sitting room of the house. With its high ceilings and marble fireplace, it reminded her of the sitting room at the apartment she had once shared with Viktor.
As Christmas approached, she found herself thinking wistfully of their life together. One evening after work, she couldn’t resist the temptation to go and look at their old apartment. In the fading light, she walked along the riverbank until she found herself standing outside the building that had once been her home.
The lights were just coming on all over the city, and as she looked up at the first floor she noticed the apartment was in darkness. For a moment, Leila wondered if it might be uninhabited. Perhaps, she thought, she could track down the landlord and take over the lease? But suddenly the lights went on in the sitting room, and a young woman appeared at the window and slowly closed the curtains. The sense of disappointment took Leila by surprise, and she burst into tears. It seemed so unjust that someone else was sleeping in her and Viktor’s bedroom, eating in their kitchen, closing their curtains.
She had been forced to leave many of her possessions behind when Viktor was imprisoned, and now she wondered if these interlopers were using her china, sitting on her sofa, or writing at Viktor’s desk. She walked up the steps to the main front door and considered ringing the bell, demanding admittance. Perhaps the new inhabitants would take pity on her, and let her in; perhaps they might even allow her to take some of her things away. But then she thought better of it. What was the point? It was not the apartment she missed but her husband. Without him, the apartment was just a collection of inanimate objects.
She turned away and began to walk back along the river, towards her lodgings. It came to her then that all that really mattered in life were the people she loved: Sofia, Axel and her parents – all now safely in England. She tried to imagine what each would be doing now. Sofia had started at university a few weeks before Leila had left for Germany. She had since written, excitedly telling her mother that she had bought a bike and was now cycling everywhere. Perhaps she would now be in a pub with friends, or studying at her little desk in her attic room. Axel was still living at home with her parents in the cottage on the Heath, studying for his school certificate. Leila could imagine her mother cajoling him to do his homework at the kitchen table. Perhaps her father would be in the shed at the bottom of the garden, making something. He had set up a workbench soon after he arrived in England, and had settled to a sort of routine, mending people’s jewellery.
Arriving back at her lodgings, she found a letter from Peter Fischer.
Dearest Leila,
I hope you’re well. With Christmas approaching I wondered if I might invite myself to spend it with you? I’ll find a hotel to stay in but I’d love to take you out for a swanky meal or two. If you agree, I’ll aim to arrive on Christmas Eve. Do you think there’s a chance we might visit Minki while I’m with you?
That evening, Leila wrote back saying she’d be delighted to spend Christmas with him, and then rang Minki from the communal phone in the hall.
‘How are you getting on?’ she asked. ‘How’s Clara?’
‘Oh, pretty well – Clara is still very quiet. She’s in shock, I suppose. But the doctor is pleased with her. Incredibly, it turns out she was never sterilised – so there’s no physical damage. But mentally and emotionally…’ Her voice trailed off.
‘It’ll take time, but I’m so relieved that physically she’s still…intact. How are the boys?’
‘I think they’re in shock too. They keep wanting to hold her hand. It’s sweet. But eventually, I suppose, they’ll get used to having her at home. Of course, she’s missed so much education and normal life – but I have to hope she’ll get there.’
‘With you as her mother, I’m sure she will… Look, changing the subject completely, Peter Fischer has been in touch. He’s coming down to spend Christmas with me in Munich, and we wondered if we could come and see you?’
‘Of course. I’d love to see both of you. Look, I’ve got an idea – why don’t you come and spend Christmas with us? We’ve got plenty of room, and it would be wonderful for us all to be together.’
‘Are you really sure? That would be lovely – my digs are not exactly festive.’
