Life After Forty (10 page)

A
fat old woman raised her liquor glass to the camera. She gave a toothless, happy grin, while a speech bubble proclaimed, “You did it!”

I turned the card over. “Today is August 11. The half year is up. Best wishes, Marleen.”

What a sweetheart. She had remembered.

I laid the card on the pile of mail, shut the mailbox, and climbed up the stairs to my apartment. It was Friday at lunchtime; I was home early and had the whole weekend ahead of me. With my first customer this morning I’d written the date on the order form. August 11. That’s when I realized.

It was behind me now, the first six months that I’d feared so much back in February. I should really celebrate somehow. As I got into my apartment I put my bag in the office, emptied a box of business mail onto the desk, and laid the small pile from the mailbox next to it.

I stuck the card from Marleen onto the fridge. The fat old woman toasted me as I opened it. It was actually much too early, but the last half year had been something out of the ordinary. I took a small bottle of champagne out. I had bought it for a special occasion. And that was now.

As I sat on the balcony and toasted myself, I felt almost daring—and proud and relieved all at the same time.

Charlotte smiled at me.

Congratulations. You’re a wonderful woman.

I thought of Nina; she wouldn’t know this feeling. She’d only be relieved when she could introduce the new man in her life. We had continued to play squash, but we confined our get-togethers to that and a post-match beer. Her bitter search for a man depressed me, and I had declined her invite to accompany her to singles parties. When I laughed after she’d described the “Fish seeks bicycle” party to me, she’d seemed put out.

As long as I managed to keep her away from the subject of men, I liked her.

Edith had a go.

You’re both alone on the weekends.

I didn’t want to listen to her. Perhaps I should invite Luise to dinner. She still had this first half year ahead of her. Three weeks ago she had stood in front of my door, even slimmer than usual, with eyes swollen from crying. “I didn’t know where to go. Can I come in?” We sat in the kitchen late into the night drinking red wine.

Luise had tried for weeks to figure out her feelings for Dirk, whom she lived with, and Alex, whom she longed for. She had booked a weekend away at Hidden Lake and surprised Dirk with it.

“We used to go there all the time when we were first together, deeply in love, and always flat broke. It was always amazing. I wanted to do everything I could to be sure that I still wanted to live with Dirk. I thought I could get that old magic back.”

They didn’t find the old magic. Instead, they spent the weekend pretty much in silence.

Luise smoked one cigarette after the other. “I tried desperately to find things we had in common, but all we had are common habits. We had a few forced conversations about people we knew, exchanged banal tidbits of conversation. We had time for each other and no idea what to do with it. Can you imagine that?”

I could, and I poured her some more wine.

Luise drank and kept talking. “In the evenings we couldn’t even bring ourselves to have sex. I wouldn’t have been able to anyway. And then, suddenly, we started talking. Dirk accused me of having changed. He said he couldn’t understand me anymore. He asked whether I still loved him, and I suddenly realized that I didn’t. He looked at me and knew it was over. And then he cried.”

The tears were running down Luise’s face now.

“I felt so guilty about Alex, and I was sad because Dirk was so sad. We drove back this morning. He was the first one to mention the word ‘separation.’ As soon as it was out, I felt both distraught and relieved.”

I pushed a new pack of tissues towards her. “What has Alex said about it?”

She looked at me, her eyes red. “I haven’t told him yet. We haven’t seen each other for four weeks, and I didn’t want to just tell him on the phone. I want to get my own place first and then see what happens.”

She slept on my sofa while I lay awake in my bed, uncomfortably reminded of the night I’d spent at Ines’s. Starting all over again from the beginning, I thought, and then I pushed the thought away. It wasn’t my story this time; I was further on.

I’d recently met up with Maren and her husband Rüdiger, the lawyer. We went out to dinner; the evening was relaxed and long. We talked about books, films, travel, and eventually, about my marriage. I described the last few years and tried to leave out my feelings. A few days later I had an appointment at Rüdiger’s office. I brought with me the documents from Hans-Hermann, which Rüdiger scanned through, frowning.

“So, Christine, if I understood you right, you don’t want the house, your husband wants to take over all the loans, you want out of everything so that you’re not tied to any of it, and apart from the settlement of fifteen thousand euros that he’s paid you, you don’t have any more demands?”

I nodded. “I just want out. And I don’t want to pay anything for him anymore; I’ve been doing that for years. The house is encumbered with the mortgage, so if he pays it off alone, that’s fine by me.”

Rüdiger shook his head slightly.

“Other couples fight over every last eggcup, so this’ll be an easy divorce. And you’re sure that fifteen thousand euros is enough for the things you’ve left there?”

I took a deep breath. “It’s enough. Hans-Hermann calculated it. But Bernd hasn’t paid me yet. I thought that was only due when the divorce goes through.”

Rüdiger looked up, confused. “Why hasn’t he paid yet? It’s an indemnity payment, just like you would pay a previous tenant. You should have received it immediately after moving out. Then the divorce will cost less too. That was what was arranged.”

I thought about my last conversation with Bernd. And I heard Marleen saying, “Bernd clearly overextended himself.”

I felt overwhelmed.

Rüdiger seemed to notice. “You told us at dinner that you don’t want to argue about money, and I can accept that. But you shouldn’t be just giving things away either. I’ll write him a letter and take care of it—you don’t need to worry.”

He talked me through the divorce process. I felt sure that this is how I wanted things to happen. Everything was taking its course; I had a lawyer who knew his stuff, he was taking charge of the situation, and I felt relieved.

As I poured the rest of the champagne, I thought about Luise again. I was meeting her this evening. She’d asked me to go along with her to view an apartment. I drank my glass empty and looked at the time. In four hours she would be arriving to pick me up, but first I wanted to go through my mail. In my champagne-fuelled mood I wasn’t particularly excited about the prospect, but I made a start anyway.

An hour later all my orders were ready, and the pile of mail was, apart from three slim envelopes, all gone. I hadn’t changed my bank details yet, so I still received all my account statements in the mail. I stared at the last line of my private account statement in disbelief: 16,125.20 euros in credit. I’d never had a balance like that on any of my statements.

Rüdiger had sent me a copy of his letter to Bernd. He’d simply given Bernd my account number and asked him to transfer the agreed sum to the account. Apprehensively, I’d waited for Bernd’s inevitable phone call, but it never came. Bernd’s tendency to put off unpleasant tasks had annoyed me during our marriage too. He seemed to ignore bills, never took them seriously. We could have paid for a spa weekend with all the late fees I’d had to pay on his behalf over the years. And yet now he’d transferred the money.

Edith’s voice was scornful.

It’s dirty money.

Charlotte was pleased.

So what? Now you can pay Georg back, and you’ll still have ten thousand euros left over. You’ll be able to have some savings—finally!

I’d had a bad conscience for years that I never saved enough money. Bernd and I had taken on too much through his studies and buying the house, so we were just happy when we weren’t heavily overdrawn, which had been a rare occurrence. And now this.

16,125.20 euros.

I was dizzy with happiness.

Charlotte was still thinking.

Of course, you could spend some of it as well. You’ve never been shopping without being cautious about the prices. Just one shop, perhaps the small jeweler in the Lange Reihe.

I had stood in front of the window a lot recently with the gnawing desire to buy myself a ring. After ten years of wearing a wedding ring, my hand looked lonely somehow, abandoned. The ring that I liked was on display in the window. There was no price on it.

Edith was incensed.

A ring. For that kind of money you could buy something sensible. You haven’t even got a proper lamp in the bedroom yet, or a proper desk chair, but you’d buy a ring. Ridiculous.

My cell phone ringing interrupted my thoughts.

“Hello, Christine, it’s Luise. I was just wondering, would you be able to make it a little earlier? The real estate agent just phoned, and she’s already in the apartment, so we could look at it right now.”

“Sure. I’m at home and I’m free. Where is it exactly?”

“I’m ten minutes from you, so I’ll pick you up. Great! I’ll see you soon.”

Her voice sounded good.

As she drove into the parking space, I was standing by the front door with the account statement in my coat pocket.

The apartment was closer to mine than I’d thought. We only drove for ten minutes before turning off into a small side street. Luise wrinkled her forehead as she looked at the cars parked to the left and right.

“It’s number fifteen, so if we get a space directly in front of the house, that’ll be good luck.”

As we found the house, a white delivery van put its lights on. Luise let it drive out, and then she pulled into the space. Laughing, she looked at me.

“Christine, it’s a sign. God, please let the apartment be nice.”

“And please let Luise get it.” I climbed out and waited until she’d locked the car. She turned to me.

“No, that won’t be a problem. I’ll be able to get it. The owner is one of my mother’s old customers, and I’ve known her for a while. So the apartment just needs to be nice.”

Together, we walked up to the entrance. It was a white Art Nouveau villa, very well kept, with stucco molding and a small balcony.

Luise rang the doorbell, waited to be buzzed in, and looked at me.

“If it’s as beautiful inside as out, then I hope it all works out. I don’t want to keep looking; this is the fourteenth viewing already.”

The buzzer unlocked the door, and I pushed it open.

“Well, fourteen brings good luck—that’s old Tasmanian folklore.”

“What?” Luise followed me, confused.

“It’s good luck. Every fourteenth apartment brings good luck. Just believe it.”

The stairwell was old and restored, with blue-green tiles, wooden banisters, and beautiful doors with brass handles. On the third floor, an apartment door opened. A blonde woman stepped out into the hall, with a fake smile, lots of makeup and hairspray, white trousers, pink jacket, and positively dripping with gold jewelry.

She shook Luise’s hand, and her voice immediately went an octave higher. If you were playing some game to guess people’s professions and the contestants were blindfolded, they would still be able to tell that this strange creature was a real estate agent. Her voice was horrendous.

“Wonderful, and this must be the girlfriend who’s coming along for safety reasons. So delightful to meet you.”

Her bracelets jangled. I was certain that she drove a BMW cabriolet.

Edith said
, What a stupid old mare.

I smiled, gave her my hand, and felt slightly annoyed that I was yet again wearing the black blazer and that my jeans weren’t completely clean. She would have noticed that right away, I was sure.

Charlotte reminded me
, You’ve got 16,125.20 euros to your name.

I grasped the agent’s hand tightly and gave a smile even wider than hers. She winced a little and quickly let my hand fall.

“Shall we?”

The apartment was made for Luise. Three large rooms, lots of daylight, and completely renovated. The real estate agent, who had introduced herself as Jeanette, could hardly contain her excitement about the faucets, the arrangement of the wall sockets, and the double-glazed windows, her voice becoming ever more shrill.

Luise walked through the rooms with her usual long stride, gave Jeanette a long look, and then interrupted her with a soft but firm voice.

“It’s good. Thank you. I’ll take it.”

Jeanette closed her mouth.

“Oh, okay, that’s great, wonderful, but shouldn’t I explain the kitchen appliances to you first? They’re so wonderful…”

“No.” Our voices came in unison.

A little hurt, she promised Luise that she would send her the rental contract in the next few days and clarified the dates. The apartment would be ready beginning next week, and she could move in then. She let us go ahead and then made an elaborate show of locking the front door. As we walked through the lobby, she pointed out the blue-green tiles and wooden banisters to us. I looked at the door signs to the other apartments while Luise looked at Jeanette politely. As we arrived downstairs, her voice was just as shrill as it had been upstairs. She threw her small pink jacket on the back seat of a red BMW cabriolet, climbed in, waved at us cheerfully, and roared off.

Luise looked at me, I looked at her, and then we started to laugh. For minutes on end. About Jeanette, about the wonderful faucets, about BMW cabriolets, about shrill voices, and because Luise had a great apartment.

We wiped away our tears of laughter. “So, let’s go and drink some champagne to toast my new home.”

I looked in my bag for the crumpled bank statement. “Luise, it’s my treat. Look at the figure right at the bottom.”