I LOVE YOU

  BILLY LANGLEY

  Monika Jephcott-Thomas

  To my wonderful children and grand children

  May your lives be full of adventures, new beginnings with each part being better than the last.

  May you give each other strength.

  May your choices be good ones and if they prove not to may you have the courage to change them.

  I hope you will be happy and safe, surrounded by people who love you and treat you well.

  Please always know and remember how much I love you.

  Mum/Omama

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks again to the team for all they have done to get the book published.

  Many thanks again to Warren Fitzgerald whose support is invaluable.

  Marc Allington to you many thanks as well because without your ingenuity there would be no cover design.

  Finally to my husband Jeff for his steady love and encouragement.

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  COPYRIGHT

  1

  Netta Portner looked around her bedroom as if it were the last time she would ever see it. It wasn’t. Not just yet. But she felt the need to capture everything in her memory now, before the chaos of leaving ensued and clouded everything. As she scanned the room she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the dressing table. She turned to face her reflection, smoothed down her dress, adjusted her glasses, and raised her chin in the confident manner she prayed she could adopt when she stood in front of a class of comprehensive school students next week in the south of England.

  ‘Here!’ Her mother came hurrying into the room, dumping three suitcases of various sizes onto the bed.

  To Netta the hurrying and dumping seemed completely unnecessary and typically dramatic. For a split second Netta wondered if it was designed to mask a sadness at her imminent departure from the nest, but that notion was soon buried under her general irritation with her mother, which Netta had cultivated throughout her teenage years.

  ‘These served me well when I moved here from Kunzendorf,’ said her mother.

  ‘During the war? When you were pregnant with me?’ Netta asked, delighting in her albeit embryonic presence in the story her mother had regaled her with on many occasions – the story of an arduous journey all the way across a devastated Germany on its knees in the final months of the Second World War. Since then Netta had never been much farther from home than the north coast for family holidays.

  ‘Hm-mm!’ her mother sang her response as nonchalantly as she could. ‘So a little jaunt to England should present no issue for them.’

  ‘It’s hardly a little jaunt, Mama.’

  ‘Well it’s hardly a race across a vast nation being bombed mercilessly by the Allies either, is it?’ her mother said.

  Netta seethed as she flipped open the lid of each case.

  Her mother, hands on hips, looked around the room as if she had never seen it before. ‘At last I can give this room a damn good clean.’

  Netta looked daggers at her mother’s back as she ran her finger along the chest of drawers and grimaced at the dust she found there.

  ‘Oh please, mother! When was the last time you cleaned anything?’

  ‘Well, I’ll get Emilia to do it. Chuck out all this rubbish too.’

  ‘Hey! There’s no rubbish in here. And don’t you go telling Emilia to throw anything away. This is my stuff. My room.’

  ‘You’re moving to England. So how can this be your room anymore?’

  ‘I might be back… for the holidays.’

  ‘Oh, Anetta, either you’re going or you’re staying, do make up your mind!’

  ‘So you don’t want me to come for Christmas?’

  ‘What I want has nothing to do with it, clearly. You’ll do whatever you want, as usual.’

  ‘Whatever I want! That’s a laugh.’ Netta muttered the next words only half-wanting them to be heard. ‘I can’t wait to be free.’

  ‘What was that? Free, you say? You want to be free? And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?’

  There was a lifetime of gripes Netta could have listed to answer her mother, but instead she pouted, ‘Nothing.’ Then like the child her mother could always draw out of her just as her mother drew pus from her patients’ cysts, Netta whined, ‘Mama?’

  ‘Yes?’ her mother said in a tone which suggested she’d forgotten there was another woman in the room and only heard her baby in need.

  Netta stared into the open cases as if they were bottomless. ‘What does one pack for a whole new country?’

  Her mother tutted. ‘Well, that my dear, is for you to work out. I’m far too busy with the surgery to worry about things like that.’

  Netta looked up from the cases when she heard her mother’s voice tremble, but she couldn’t see her face as she was already stomping out of the room.

  Two of the suitcases were now full; the smallest would be packed with the things she still needed in the last couple of days before she left for England, such as the makeup she now applied to her cheeks and the perfume she dabbed on her wrists and neck as she got ready to go out with her friends on what she was both excited and sad to hear them call a farewell drink.

  She bounded down the two flights of stairs in the large house her parents had built in Mengede – big enough to accommodate the doctor’s surgery they ran together as well as both sets of Netta’s grandparents without them getting under each other’s feet; something which her mother’s parents had always been particularly keen on since they reluctantly came to live here nearly a decade ago. However, at mealtimes in the dining room this was not always possible. Hence Netta was more than happy to have an excuse not to join the family for dinner this evening, but she could not avoid the dining room altogether because her grandfather Karl was in there and he had something she needed.

  ‘Good evening everyone,’ she said as she came in, relaxing a little when she realised her other grandfather Gerhard was not present. ‘Hello, Opa,’ she said kissing Karl on the top of his white hair.

  ‘Want to borrow the car by any chance?’ Karl smiled up at her, then winked at Frieda, Gerhard’s wife, who didn’t seem to find it in the least bit amusing as she carried on slurping up her soup.

  ‘Oh, yes please,’ Netta said with pantomime surprise at the idea.

  Karl fished the keys from his pocket and dangled them over his plate.

  ‘Now we know the real reason for that kiss,’ Martha said with a warm laugh.

  ‘No, Oma!’ Netta said to her other grandmother, theatrically putting her hands on her hips. ‘You know that’s not true.’

  ‘Go! And have a great time!’ Karl said handing her the keys.

  ‘Thanks, Opa,’ Netta beamed and turned to leave when her Omi Frieda piped up, ‘Where are you going?’

  Netta froze. Cursed inwardly. Hung a smile over her annoyance and turned back, leaning in the doorway as casually as she could. ‘Just out with my friends.’

  ‘Looking like that?’

  ‘Like what?’ Netta glanced down at herself, at her light summer dress and pointed shoes with mid-heels.

  ‘Like a prostitute,’ her Omi said, pulling her own cardigan around her with her free hand as if to make sure she was not in danger of looking the same.

  ‘Oh, Frieda,’ Martha protested.

  ‘Yes,’ Netta said unfazed. ‘Oh, Omi! When exactly was the last time you saw a prostitute?’

  ‘About five seconds ago it seems. You’re supposed to be a teacher. What would your students say if they saw you looking like that?’

  Netta tutted loudly. ‘So teaching is a respectable profession now, is it, Omi?’ Frieda frowned at Netta, a little baffled, so Netta elucidated. ‘The way you used to go on about Opa and Oma being just teachers you would have thought they were whores.’

  ‘Now, Netta,’ Karl warned his granddaughter, though he flashed a wounded look at Frieda.

  Frieda opened her withered lips in an to attempt to excuse what everyone knew was true, but was stopped by her husband’s voice as he strode into the room grabbing Netta by the arms and moving her out of his way.

  ‘Don’t speak to your Omi like that!’ he growled at Netta, then sat down and unpacked his satchel of its considerable number of important looking files.

  ‘But she—’ Netta had no idea what she was going to say in her defence since she knew her Opi and Omi shared the same views on just about everything, so she was relieved to be interrupted.

  ‘Who is she? She is the cat’s mother,’ Gerhard said looking only at his files. ‘Your Omi deserves a little more respect, young lady.’

  ‘Do you need to do that here?’ Martha pleaded with Gerhard as he spread his papers about the large teak table which could seat twelve.

  ‘There’s plenty of room. It’s just the four of us,’ he said. ‘Or would you rather keep us locked out of sight in our pokey room upstairs?’

  ‘How many times have we heard this!’ Karl sighed. ‘It’s hardly pokey, Gerhard, come on.’

  ‘But it’s not quite the suite that you are treated to above the surgery, is it now,’ Gerhard shrugged, ‘even though this is my daughter’s house.’

  ‘Well, it’s our son’s house too, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Martha said, ‘And I think both Erika and Max have been very generous to us all over the years, making a home for us like this.’

  ‘This is not my home,’ Gerhard said sifting through his papers. ‘This is hardly a dignified set up for a high ranking military officer and entrepreneur. My home is a stately villa nestled among majestically rolling hills, thank you very much.’

  ‘Then why aren’t you living in your stately villa and nestling among your majestically rolling hills now?’ Netta said spitefully.

  ‘Because,’ Gerhard said stabbing with his finger at one of the documents, ‘as you well know, the bloody Russians took everything we had, that’s why. And someone’s going to pay when I finally get my day in court.’

  ‘Well, it seems to be us that are paying for it now, Opi,’ Netta smiled.

  ‘Such a rude girl!’ Gerhard barked.

  ‘She’s just a teenager,’ Martha said in her defence. ‘Gerhard, please tidy up those papers.’

  ‘Is this your house?’

  ‘Well, you said it wasn’t yours.’

  ‘I’m not a teenager, Oma.’

  ‘Teenager! There were no teenagers in my day,’ Frieda said. ‘You were a child or an adult. Teenager! That’s just an excuse to be irresponsible.’

  ‘I’m twenty. So how can I be a teenager? Maths not your strong point, Omi? You should have paid more attention to your teachers.’

  ‘Still not too old to go over my knee, rude girl,’ Gerhard shouted.

  ‘Not surprising given her pedigree,’ Frieda muttered, crumbs of bread flying from her wet lips.

  ‘And what pedigree is that, Omi? My father is a doctor and his parents…’ Netta said moving away from the door, coming back into the room and putting a protective arm on the shoulder of both Karl and Martha, ‘…were both highly respected teachers. You two were destitute after the war and the only people kind enough to offer you a roof over your heads and food in your bellies were these “commoners” and their son.’

  ‘And my daughter,’ Gerhard said petulantly.

  ‘OK, that’s enough,’ Karl said gently. ‘Let’s all just eat, shall we?’

  ‘Letting her go gallivanting in the car again, Karl?’ Gerhard said.

  ‘I said, enough, Gerhard please.’

  ‘What’s wrong with trains and buses, girl? If I have to use them, I can’t see why you can’t,’ Gerhard said looking longingly at the car keys in Netta’s hand.

  ‘Where’s Mama and Papa?’ Netta said softly to one grandfather while glaring at the other.

  ‘Your mother’s out on home visits. Your father is finishing up in the surgery.’

  ‘Papa should know about the way they speak to you.’

  ‘And you should keep your opinions to yourself, young lady,’ Gerhard said. ‘It doesn’t become… you.’

  Netta read his hesitation and translated, ‘You mean it doesn’t become a woman?’ She tutted again. ‘Poor Omi! The only opinion you’ve ever been allowed is his, isn’t it?’

  Frieda looked like she might bring her soup back up and Gerhard stood, so Netta hurried out, knowing she had gone too far this time.

  On her way out of the house, she decided, unusually, to go via the surgery. All the patients had gone for the day and her father, Max, was busy writing up notes.

  ‘Hello, Papa!’ She gave him a kiss on the head, just as she had given Karl. She wasn’t usually so demonstrative with her father, but she felt especially protective of him right now after everything her Omi and Opi had said.

  ‘Oh, what was that for?’ he looked up with smiling eyes magnified through his round spectacles.

  ‘I don’t need a reason to kiss my papa, do I?’

  Max shook his head and examined Netta with all the intensity of one who would not get to see his daughter for many months to come. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. Just Opi and Omi being crabby and ungrateful. Again.’

  ‘Have you been arguing with them?’

  ‘No. An argument would suggest there were two opposing sides of a debate both with equal weight. There was nothing right about what they said. So I was just putting them straight,’ she grinned.

  ‘Netta,’ Max smiled, ‘give them a break. They’ve not had it easy.’

  ‘Nor have you.’

  ‘Gerhard was held in Siberia for eleven years.’

  ‘And so were you.’

  ‘For four years, yes.’

  ‘Four years is a long time,’ Netta said, burning to add that it felt like an eternity to her as a little girl without a father.

  ‘Anyway, they’re your mother’s parents. We have to look after them as we do mine.’

  Netta shrugged and played with the bulb on the blood pressure monitor which dangled from the desk.

  ‘Going out?’ Max asked.

  ‘Yes. Out with the gang for a farewell drink.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ Max sat back in his chair. ‘I’m so glad you have such good friends. You know, there was a little gang of five of us too, when we were at university. Your mother and I, Edgar, Kurt and… Horst.’

  Netta knew his difficulty saying his oldest friend’s name was due to the grief he still felt over losing Horst in the labour camp where they were both held after being captured by the Russians in the last days of the war, so she moved the conversation along quickly to try and spare him the pain.

  ‘It’s funny, you were all medical students. We’re all teachers.’

  ‘Yes.’ Max took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘But there are three girls in our gang. I can’t believe Mama was the only woman in yours.’

  ‘She was the only woman in the entire department, virtually. It wasn’t the done thing for women to be doctors in those days.’

  ‘Wow, that must have been… hard.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. In university and after when we came here to set up the surgery. Plenty of prejudice. But she’s a strong and single-minded woman, your mother,’ he said in a tone which seemed at once admiring and critical. ‘A bit like her daughter,’ he grinned.

  2

  She loved driving her grandfather’s Lloyd. Despite its snazzy curves and two-tone paintwork it was known as the Cardboard Box because the bodywork was made of papier-mâché. Nevertheless, it was surprisingly strong and Netta, being the only one of her group of friends who had access to a car, felt a sense of pride to see the joy the others got from being whizzed about the place in it, though their arms and heads often poked out through the windows and sunroof of the little car. They all lived in Dortmund, the city to which Mengede was a suburb, and since the trains stopped running to and from Dortmund by 9 pm every night Netta would have been isolated without the use of the car. With it she enjoyed great sway over the gang’s social plans and she had a preferred routine when it came to picking them all up, based not solely on geography. She picked up Anton first because he was always so cheerful, nothing it seemed could spoil his mood, so Netta always felt raring to party once Anton was in the car whatever her own mood was before. Next she would pick up Sophie. Sophie was the quietest of them all, but now Anton was in the car there would be no awkward silences for Netta to worry about. Next she would pick up Felix. She would have picked him up last if it hadn’t been for Anna, but second to last would still ruffle him enough so they could all enjoy the look on his face – one of a boy left out of the game.

  ‘Everything all right, Felix?’ Anton said, sliding open the back seat window and grinning at his friend, who stood on the pavement smoking as casually as he could.

  ‘Yes, why wouldn’t it be?’ Felix said opening the passenger door, lifting the front seat and squeezing himself in the back.

  Netta looked over her shoulder and winked at Anton and Sophie, who stifled giggles like children at the back of their classes would, and then sped off to Anna’s house.

  Much as Netta would have loved to have left Felix until last, if she had, then they would all be waiting for Anna even longer than usual. If she was due at Felix’s house at 7.15 pm, then that would mean she could be at Anna’s by 7.30 pm. However, she would tell Anna on the phone earlier that day that she would be at her house at 7 pm and since Anna was always at least half an hour late for everything, they would hopefully only have to wait outside her house for five minutes before she swanned down the pathway as if she was Brigitte Bardot. Even for Netta’s farewell drink, they all knew Anna would somehow make the evening all about her.

 

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