The Rabbit Girls(71)

When I awoke, I was in a tiny room alone. The first time I had been alone in months. I was bleeding, my skin had opened like an envelope on my left thigh, I hurt in every way.

I was cold. My soul frozen, my limbs blue and in shock.

I found my uniform and pulled it over my broken body. I could stand, I checked myself at every step, I was still okay. I could move. The room was four steps by six steps. I could lie down.

A woman in the cell next to me saved me some food, we talked. I cannot remember what we talked of. I slept and I walked and I dreamt.

Miriam exhales, having not consciously done so for the length of the letter. She sits stunned for a long time before spending the rest of the day writing the letters on plain paper in her own hand, merging them with the last of the French letters.

Later in the day the phone rings, reconnected for the call she is waiting for.

‘It’s Sue here from Ruhwald Hospice, Miriam. Your father has joined us this morning, the transfer went well. He is asleep now and resting, but if you wanted to stop by this evening, I think he’d like that. Would you like me to tell him you will visit?’

‘Yes, please.’

The hospice smells of lavender, fresh-cut flowers and gravy. The Christmas decorations hang brightly and the Christmas tree is real and twinkles in the entrance. Everything is either sunflower yellow or deep blue, which contrasts so radically with the red decorations and green tree, the entrance feels like a colour wheel.

She is shown to his room, which has a view overlooking Ruhwald Park. No one asks her to leave. She is given a mug of tea, and biscuits, she even gets an evening meal: a deeply rich leek-and-potato soup and fresh, crusty bread.

The chair is a fabric living-room chair. Miriam raises her knees and reads the letters aloud. She doesn’t know if he can hear her, he makes no movement and looks pale today.

Miriam takes time to turn him and offer him water, although he is hooked to many different pumps and monitors. By the end of the day she has read the bundle of letters she brought with her and he seems at peace.

‘I won’t stay tonight,’ she says to Sue, ‘but I’ll be back in the morning, is that okay? I’ll be back tomorrow, Dad,’ Miriam says and squeezes his hand, which is warm. And to her surprise he squeezes back. Firmly. And doesn’t let go. She perches on the side of the bed so as not to break the contact between them.

She feels more positive on the way home. Recalling the letters, she feels an urgency to get home and get some more of them written up to take to her father, and to read what happens next. She was right not to destroy them, her father needs to know. She walks past the closed solicitor firm and pushes the thick envelope through the lower letter box, it lands on the mat on the other side of the door.

No turning back now.

One way.

Miriam breathes freely and walks home, enjoying the night air, hoping Eva will be there, so she can tell her that she is going to fight back.

No messages and no Eva. She continues reading the last of the letters Eva brought with her at Christmas.

Dearest Henryk,

Losing you without losing you is so terrible I cannot bring myself to believe you are gone. That we are apart. I didn’t get to say goodbye, although I am not sure I ever could. For us there is no end, no goodbye.

Miriam looks up, this letter is scrawled over a triangle of paper. There is no end, there is no goodbye. She cannot imagine having to say goodbye to her father. Yet she supposes that this is exactly what she has been doing for the past few weeks. She has been gradually showing her goodbye, her love, her care.

Miriam cannot stop thinking about Eva: why did she choose to stop helping, and what did she mean by ‘again’? She feels selfish and stupid for behaving so recklessly. She knows nothing about Eva and yet Eva has been reading these letters too.

Feeling sick at her own selfishness Miriam reads on.

I need you, Henryk. I need to look into your eyes just to prove to myself that we are true. That you do exist, because right now I am floating, drifting through a dead sea with only one outcome awaiting me.

I am doing this all alone. I have lost you, not that I ever had you. You chose Emilie every single day, and for the way you love her, I admire you. It reminds me of all that is right in the world. The feeling of pure joy of your love. Imparted to others as well as myself. I reflected light that made me shine, the moon to your sun.

I am forever in shadow.

Just like Louisa. She was bigger and better and brighter than me. I was always in her shadow. I idolised her, my parents adored her. I came second.

There was one thing that I wasn’t second in though, one thing I could always do. Every winter we would go to the frozen lake and I could skate. I loved the scratch of ice under my feet and the wind blowing my hair. I was free, and most importantly at that time, I was first. Louisa didn’t like the lake much, and I was cruel, pushing her, taunting her. I am not proud of myself.

Louisa was worried one day about the ice being too thin. The day was as bright and as cold as snow. I wrapped my blue scarf around my neck, it was long and it floated behind me like a ribbon as I took off. I left her behind, sitting on the bank, pulling on her skates.

‘Frey, wait.’ She must have called me many times. I was floating, beautiful. I was free from being in the shadow of Louisa. But when I turned back she was gone.

She fell through the ice. She died. And from then on I never left her shadow.

Henryk, you made me feel like I was first, even though I wasn’t. You saw me, but you always chose Emilie. I have never been enough for anyone, but Henryk, I always chose you.