Devil in Disguise (25 page)

Molly slept and slept, not
opening her eyes until late the next afternoon. It took her a moment or two to
remember the tumultuous events of the night before and her drive through the
night to Long Buckby. She had cried in her sleep so the pillow was damp and her
cheeks sore with salty tears. She blinked at the ceiling for a few moments
before, as if on cue, Lilia tapped on the door and entered, carrying a mahogany
tray loaded with a steaming mug of tea and a plate of digestive biscuits. She
was wearing a navy dress with a white blouse underneath. ‘Good afternoon,
Camille,’ she said. ‘It is the day after the night before.’

‘I’m
glad to wake up here,’ Molly croaked weakly.

Lilia
peered over her. ‘Oh dear. You are a little injured bird. Your wings are
broken. It will take time, but they will mend.’

‘There’s
no escape, even in sleep,” Molly whispered. ‘I’ve had awful dreams. I didn’t
know I could hurt so much.’

Lilia
patted her arm, then pulled the covers up and over Molly’s shoulders. ‘You’ve
had a double-whammy. Lover and best friend. Daniel and Simon. At it like dogs
in the street.’

Still
lying and staring at the ceiling, Molly closed her eyes but fresh tears forced
their way out and flowed down in tiny rivulets to bounce jaggedly on her
tangled hair.

‘Indeed!’
said Lilia,’ tenderly. ‘I did not mean to upset you, but we must squeeze a spot
to get all the poison out. Now, so many tears are very dehydrating. Sit up, my
dear, and try some tea.’

Molly
wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and wriggled upright. Lilia handed her
the tea and sat on the edge of the bed. She put her palm on Molly’s forehead as
if she was taking her temperature. ‘Feverish.’

Molly
sipped the tea. It was hot and sweet.

‘That’s
right, drink up. I shall get you some water presently. A jug. I think you will
need it. There will be more weeping where that came from. The pain will
intensify, and you will keep seeing them together until the sordid image is
tattooed on your consciousness for ever.’

‘Do you
have to keep reminding me?’ said Molly, her lower lip trembling.

‘Yes,
I’m afraid I do,’ said Lilia, nodding sagely. ‘It will fester inside you
otherwise. I will make sure, in the next few days or weeks, that it is flushed
out of your system for good.’

Through
her haze of misery and tears, Molly could hardly bring herself to imagine a
future of any kind, but deep inside, some instinct for survival stirred, and
she said,’ ‘Lilia, I won’t be a burden on you for that long, I promise. As soon
as I can, I’ll get myself together and leave you in peace.’

Lilia
blinked at her. ‘Don’t talk nonsense. Where can you go? You have walked out on
that life. You cannot go back. You have had a trauma and your mind and body
need some tender, loving care.’ She stood up to go. ‘You will survive, my
little bluebird. I shall see to that.’ She went to the door, opened it and
turned back.

‘Eat
the biscuits and drink the tea. But, most of all, you should sleep. It will
help you to heal.’

‘Thank
you,’ said Molly, managing a weak smile, although she had no appetite at all.
Lilia bowed to her patient and left the room.

As soon
as she was alone, wave after wave of sorrow washed over her and flattened her.
She felt anger, jealousy and despair. She curled herself up in a ball under the
sheets, weeping. What had she done to deserve this double betrayal? How could
she bear the pain of losing her boyfriend and her best friend in one terrible
moment?

Eventually
she cried herself into an exhausted sleep, but she was tormented by terrible
dreams that were vivid, stark and long. She was a little girl again, and she
was cold, lying helpless on a kitchen floor. She screamed and shouted, but no
one came to rescue her. She held her stomach with hunger. She wet herself. The
policewoman who carried her down the stairs smelt of peppermints — Molly
noticed this when the officer kissed the top of her head. ‘It’s all right. It’s
all over now,’ said the policewoman, with a quiver in her voice. Was she crying
too?

She
woke, sobbing, in the darkness. It was night. She was vaguely aware of Lilia
wiping her face with a wet flannel, and holding a cup of cool water to her
lips.

She
slept again. Now a doctor was examining four-year-old Molly, and someone else
was taking photographs of her bruised legs. She had become mute with distress.
She saw her mother wearing a coat and looking at her through a window. Her
mother was a dark-haired, waxy-skinned woman with sad, simple eyes. Her coat
was shapeless, beige, worn out and grubby. Then her mother was being dragged
away, calling Molly’s name, screaming as she went. The sound was clean and
bright and piercing.

In the morning, Molly woke
even more tired and weak than she had been the day before, wearied by her dark
dreams and the flashbacks to childhood traumas. Lilia came in as soon as she
woke and helped her to the bathroom, supporting her as she put one foot in
front of the other. Her limbs felt heavy and stiff, and as soon as she was done
she made her slow, painful way back to the comfort of the bed. ‘It’s a bit like
having the flu,’ she said. ‘I feel terrible.’

‘It’s
normal,” said Lilia, with a shrug. ‘Your body shuts down to protect itself.
Sleep — even if you have dreams as bad as yours —is a restorative thing. It
would be very unwise for you to walk about. You would fall and hurt yourself.
Just give in to it, my dear Molly. I will take care of you.’

Molly
did as she was told. Lilia brought her some toast with a poached egg, and
coaxed her into eating some. Hot tea and cool water revived her a little, but
she still felt drowsy. Her thoughts were fuzzy and she couldn’t remember
anything much from the day before. Is this what a nervous breakdown feels like?
she wondered. She really couldn’t have moved just then, even if a fire had
broken out.

When
Lilia returned to collect the tray, she felt Molly’s forehead and nodded.
‘Another day of rest for you, my girl. Its only development will be me drawing
the curtains. There. You can look out at the grey sky. Maybe the starling will
hop on to the windowsill and peer at you. I will put a few crumbs there to
encourage him.’

‘Thank
you, Lilia,’ said Molly. Yes, it was a very grey, dark day, the clouds heavy
with rain. ‘How long am I going to feel like this?’

‘When
you see a sky like that, you wonder if the sun will ever shine again. But it
will.’

‘I
suppose you’re right. At some point, I need to sort my life out. I have nowhere
to live, no job, no boyfriend …‘ Molly’s voice trailed away.

‘I will
help you,’ said Lilia. ‘But there is no rush. Today you cannot even raise your
head off the pillow. You must give yourself time.’

‘How
come you are so kind to me?’ asked Molly.

Lilia
sat down on the bed and gazed out of the window. At last she spoke. ‘I see some
of myself in you. I’ve known sadness and loss like yours. I, too, lost my
parents. When they took my father away I was eight years old. My mother must
have understood what was happening, but I did not and she tried to protect me
from the terrible truth.’

‘Who
took your. father away?’ asked Molly.

‘The
Nazis,’ of course,’ said Lilia, rolling her eyes. ‘You really aren’t with it,
are you?’

‘Of
course,’ Molly said hastily. ‘I should have guessed.’

But
Lilia was staring out of the window again, lost in her recollections. ‘They
knocked on the door early one morning when Papa was still asleep after a
late-night show. We lived in a big modern flat on the corner of Jerusalemer
Strasse and Schützenstrasse. It had big windows that let in lots of pearly
white light when the sun was shining. My parents were very fashionable, but
also disdainful of anything frivolous. We had simple cotton curtains and a
glass table that was always kept spotless and gleaming, surrounded by metal
chairs. There was a single shelf between the windows on which lived eight cacti
in individual grey pots. My father’s pride and joy. There were two small
leather cup chairs but mainly I remember the table. I ran into it once and cut
my head. Look, I have the scar.’ Lilia pulled back her hair and showed a jagged
line on her temple, its contours incorporated into the wrinkles her long life
had earned her. ‘I cannot remember any fuss when they took him,’ she continued.
‘There was no shouting. No guns.’ She stared into the distance.

‘How
dreadful for you,’ Lilia,’ said Molly. What was the misery of losing a
boyfriend compared to something like that?

‘Yes.
All the more dreadful, really, because there was no drama. My mother and I were
already up that morning, sitting at the glass table eating some rye bread for
our breakfast. My mother had been working, too, of course, singing at the
Palais der Friedrichstadt,’ but she always got up to make me my breakfast,’
dressed in her favourite silk kimono.’ Lilia looked at Molly and raised her
eyebrows expectantly.

‘Not
the same one you’re wearing?’ asked Molly, incredulously.

Lilia
smiled. ‘Correct. It was the only thing I managed to take with me … when the
time came. This is the very kimono my mother was wearing on that dreadful
morning — a little threadbare, but the genuine article. The knock — I can hear
it still — was a rather gentle one, two, three. Nothing threatening. My mother
was humming one of her tunes as she opened the door. There were only three of
them. I can still hear their conversation, as clearly as if it happened this
morning.

“‘Good
morning. Is this the residence of Otto Falckenberg?” said one.

“‘It
is,” said my mother stiffly.

“‘May
we come in?” continued the man in uniform. He was polite and handsome. Quite
young. He took his hat off, I remember. My mother backed away from the door,
then turned to me. I could see the utter terror on her face.

“‘My
husband is asleep,” she said. “What do you want him for?”

“‘Just
some questions,” said the young Nazi. “For a few days.” His voice was very
reasonable, I remember that. He said something to his two comrades and they
moved swiftly towards the bedroom. My mother stood behind my chair now and
rested her hands on my shoulders. She said,’ “Now is not a good time to be a
political satirist,”’ and the Nazi replied, “Among other things.”

‘There
was no noise from the bedroom either. But eventually the door opened and my
father, his hair sticking up on end and still half asleep,’ emerged
incongruously wearing a suit. He stopped in the doorway and looked helplessly
at my mother. “These gentlemen will not allow me to kiss either of you
goodbye.” And then he went out of the door, with them at either side. They
didn’t close it behind them, just left it open, and we listened to the
footsteps going along the corridor and down the steps. Fading away. He never
came back, of course.

Molly
was speechless. The horror was too much. She reached out and gave the old lady
a hug. Lilia slumped forward on to Molly’s shoulder, breathing hurriedly, as if
to stop a sob rising in her chest. Then, clearly with some effort, she pushed
herself upright again, recovering herself. ‘At this point, I would cry if I
could, but I can’t. I have dry eye. My tear ducts no longer function.’ She
sighed.