The Rabbit Girls(68)

‘That’s fine. I’m used to talking about it now, I suppose.’

‘You were mistaken though, I do not know what you went through, not at all.’

‘That’s okay, people deal with trauma differently. I should have been more sensitive.’

‘No, there’s nothing to be sensitive about,’ I pressed. ‘The reason I stopped you today was . . . well, is that job still on offer?’

‘Yes, of course, please call me Peter.’ He extended his hand out to me. And it was ‘Peter’ until his retirement. I was a pall-bearer at his funeral, two months before carrying Emilie’s casket up the same aisle. I worked at the school until my retirement and to all intents and purposes had a full and happy life.

That is, until I thought of Frieda.





MIRIAM

Christmas passes and she thinks of Eva, of freedom and of living a life; her life.

On the day her father is due to transfer to the hospice, Miriam takes four codeine tablets and heads straight for Mum’s room.

The smell of memories overwhelms her, but with some sense of purpose she starts by packing away the dresses. Taking each out she lays them on the bed, and sorts them to go to the charity shop – they are too good to be hidden in a wardrobe forever.

Once Mum’s wardrobe is completely empty and the shoeboxes arranged around her, she opens the drawer and finds a pair of silk gloves. The silk threads soothe her inflamed and volatile skin, so much so that, in her narcotic-induced state, she feels sure she will never take them off.

She also finds Mum’s apron, folded and pressed into a drawer. She unfolds it and places it over the kitchen door. Where it should be.

She takes two more tablets, emptying the pack, and goes to bed, only waking up to a knock at the door. The codeine has yet to wear off and the effect has given her the feeling of a heavy rug across her shoulders.

Like a hug, but better. A hug that doesn’t want to let go. She holds on to this feeling for as long as she can.

‘Hello, Hilda.’

‘I can come back another time. I just have a few things to collect.’

‘It’s okay. Come in,’ she says, although she is aware she is slurring her words a little.

Hilda moves and talks at quick-fire speed. ‘Seems to be responding; stable; physio in the hospital.’ Miriam watches as she deftly collects the deflated air mattress and other medical bits that have littered the room.

‘Dad shouldn’t be in hospital, especially after you know he was in a concentration camp.’

‘I know. Oh, Miriam I am so sorry, if there was anything I could do,’ she says and stops moving.

‘You could have backed me in that meeting. Said that Dad could stay here,’ she says and rubs at a fallen tear as it slides down her face.

‘You don’t look well,’ she says.

‘No. So that’s it, as far as your visits go?’ she asks, and as Hilda is about to walk into the hallway Miriam stops her, not wanting to be alone. ‘You called Axel.’

‘He called me. He said you two had patched things up after the meeting and I needed to get a message to you.’

‘He met me at the hospital.’ Choosing her words carefully, she says, ‘He assaulted me. I spoke to the police and . . .’

Hilda is looking at her cautiously.

‘They call it sexual assault,’ Miriam says, trying the words out and flushing scarlet.

‘I—’ Hilda begins, but Miriam doesn’t let her finish. Her voice slow and methodical, she continues.

‘I trust people, but everyone believes Axel. Not me. He hurt me. He continues to hurt me and no one cares. I am not crazy. I told the police everything. Dr Baum is wrong,’ Miriam says.

Hilda interrupts, ‘Problem is,’ she says, ‘you have a noted medical history of psychotic episodes, paranoia, self-harm.’ She looks pointedly at Miriam’s hands, which are covered in white silk gloves. ‘And your husband has been a registered carer for you,’ Hilda continues. ‘And you were filed as a missing person after you left him in Wolfsburg. It was all on your file. I should have looked.’

‘None of it is true, Hilda. You did the right thing. You helped me to care for my father. You helped me make up for some of the things I have done. I am not mad. I will prove it to whoever listens. I am sorry.’

‘Can I ask you, why do you think Axel is doing this? Because I would really like to believe you, but it doesn’t make sense. Why go to these lengths? What’s the purpose?’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Eva says I should divorce him, but I don’t really know, keep away, I suppose.’

‘Who is Eva?’ Hilda asks and Miriam realises that she has no idea.

‘A friend,’ she says.

‘Any further forward with the letter, in the dress?’ Hilda asks.

‘No. No. I don’t think so. I think . . .’ Miriam rubs the silk glove across her face and is greeted by the faintest smell of aloe vera from Mum’s Atrixo hand cream. ‘I think maybe I am lost. I don’t know anything anymore.’

‘Do you not think you may need some help? I’m not talking medications,’ she says. ‘Just someone you can trust, talk to even?’

‘I can’t go back to Axel. He is a very bad person to me, Hilda.’