One Secret Summer Page 10

  Muffled in clothing that added another dimension to her body, she ignored the frost on the ground and almost ran all the way down the street. It was only early December but the trees were already stripped bare. She kicked her boots in the sludgy pile of frozen leaves that had settled between the edge of the pavement and the road, breathing in the icy air, tasting the scent of the first moment of freedom at the back of her throat. The bus trundled into view; she boarded it and smiled widely at the driver. He smiled back, momentarily confused. Her face felt strange – it had been weeks since she’d had a smile on her face.

  She stopped at the bakery at the entrance to the small shopping centre and bought herself a cream bun. She bit into its soft creamy centre hungrily … Fathia favoured the sticky, sickly-sweet baklava and dates that she bought in industrial quantities and which Niela hated. She stood in the cold until she’d finished it, licking the last dollops of cream off her fingers in pleasure.

  ‘You look as though you enjoyed that.’ Someone spoke to her. Niela jumped. She hadn’t even noticed the young man standing behind her in the line. She swallowed the last bite and quickly wiped her mouth. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He smiled down at her. His face was partially hidden by his woollen hat and the scarf tucked up around his chin. His eyes were blue, she noticed. He looked kind.

  ‘I … no, I was just …’ she stammered, not knowing quite what to say.

  ‘You’ve got a bit of cream … here …’ He pointed to the tip of his own nose.

  Niela immediately put up a hand to her face. ‘Here?’

  ‘No, just there … yes, that’s it.’

  ‘Er, thanks.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  They stood for a moment in slightly embarrassed silence. ‘Cold, isn’t it?’ he said finally.

  Niela nodded. ‘Yes, yes it is.’

  He looked down at her and smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you’re from round here, are you? Originally, I mean.’

  Niela hesitated. He was the first person she’d spoken to in Munich other than shopkeepers and checkout girls. She was starving for conversation with someone – anyone – but she was both shy and afraid. She looked around her quickly, as if half-expecting Fathia to appear suddenly from behind one of the shop façades. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not from here.’

  ‘So where are you from?’

  ‘From Somalia.’

  ‘Have you been here long? You speak such good German. My name’s Christian, by the way.’ He held out a hand.

  Niela hesitated again. Why was he so interested in where she was from or how well she spoke German? She risked a quick upwards glance. He was tall, with dark brown hair, and blue eyes that crinkled at the corners and the shadow of a beard that showed up beneath his skin. He looked to be a little older than she was … late twenties, perhaps even thirty. She looked back down at her feet. Why had he suddenly decided to talk to her? ‘I was in Vienna before I came here,’ she said finally.

  ‘Ah, Vienna. That’s the accent I hear. Nice city,’ he said conversationally. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Niela.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Niela. Do you work around here?’

  Niela shook her head. ‘Look, I … I’d better go. I have to buy some things,’ she said quickly, casting a quick, furtive glance around her again. ‘I … goodbye,’ she said abruptly, not knowing how else to end the conversation.

  He lifted a brow. ‘Oh, sure … well, goodbye. Nice to meet you, Niela. I work in the bank on the corner.’ He lifted a hand and pointed it out. ‘Maybe see you around one of these days?’

  Niela nodded, anxious to get away. She raised a hand awkwardly in farewell and, without waiting for anything else, almost ran across the square to the supermarket. Her face felt flushed – how long had it been since she’d seen or talked to anyone other than Hamid and his dreadful sister?

  ‘What took you so long?’ Fathia demanded as soon as she walked in the door. ‘I’ve been waiting for hours. What were you doing?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Niela said shortly. She unpacked the few groceries she’d bought – a bunch of bananas, some oranges and a string bag of sweet tangerines – and the medicine Fathia had asked for. She took it without a word and disappeared into her room. Just as there’d been no ‘please’, there would certainly be no ‘thank you’. Niela stowed away the fruit and picked up the broom. The floor needed sweeping and she wasn’t about to wait for a command.

  The memory of the brief conversation stayed with her all day, a small ray of pleasure, despite her awkwardness and the momentary panic his attention had induced. Christian. She tried to picture his face, muffled as it had been by his thick woollen scarf and the hat he wore pulled down low over his forehead. Blue eyes, she remembered. Deep blue with a smattering of something else … green? Brown? She couldn’t quite remember. Thick, dark brows, a long, straight nose and a mouth that opened to reveal a line of teeth marred slightly by one that overlapped the other. She felt a sudden, unexpected rush of tenderness. Korfa too had had such a tooth that defied all attempts by the orthodontist to correct it. Like Niela, who’d suffered the indignity of braces for two long, uncomfortable years, he’d hated the dentist. Thinking about Korfa produced a painful ache that was now in some unidentifiable way bound up with her five-minute encounter with a young German bank clerk called Christian. A small sound of irritation escaped her lips. The realisation that she was still capable of feeling something other than mute resignation was an unwelcome surprise. She didn’t want to think, to feel, to miss anything about the person she’d once been. She didn’t want to think about Korfa or the reasons why a total stranger would express an interest in where she was from or who she might be.

  18

  Was it him? Niela averted her eyes, casting them downwards as the young man behind the counter looked up. No, it wasn’t. Yes, it was. Recognition dawned on his face as she inched forward in the line.

  ‘Hello.’ He smiled at her as she approached. ‘It’s Niela, isn’t it?’

  She nodded, almost too afraid to speak. ‘I … I’ve come to see about opening an account,’ she said, hoping her voice was steady. ‘A savings account.’

  He nodded, still grinning at her. ‘You’ll have to see that lady in the corner over there … she’ll set it up. But then you can come back here, to me … I’ll take the deposit from you and get you started.’

  ‘Th … thank you.’ Niela turned away. There was a lump in her throat. It had taken her almost a fortnight to summon up the courage to slip away from the house. She’d waited until Fathia was in the shower, then she’d scribbled a hasty note – Forgot something at the supermarket. Back in half an hour. She’d put it on the dining table, grabbed her coat and the keys that were lying on the console in the hallway and slipped out, her heart beating wildly inside her chest. She ran all the way down Lindenallee. She was in luck; a few seconds later, the bus swung into view. Within ten minutes they were pulling up outside the shops. There it was. On the corner. Sparkasse. The bank. She put her hand in her pocket and fingered the notes nervously. Four hundred Deutschmarks – a last-minute gift from her mother. She glanced at her watch. She’d been gone for fifteen minutes. Fathia would have come out of the shower by now and would probably have seen her note. She had reason to be nervous. Of the two of them, Fathia was by far the greater threat. There was something about Niela that set Fathia’s teeth on edge – was it Niela’s faint, barely there insolence when addressed? Or her ability to withdraw into herself so that Fathia’s rants slipped off her like rainfall? Or the fact that Niela was married to her brother … not that you’d call it a marriage, Niela thought to herself bitterly. There was nothing marriage-like about their situation. Hamid spent more time with his sister than he did with his bride – which suited her perfectly. The only time she was forced to be with him was in bed, and fortunately that happened seldom and was over almost as soon as it started. One unforeseen advantage of marrying someone so much older. The only advantage. Hamid was nowhere near old enough
to drop dead any time soon, more was the pity.

  The lady Christian had pointed out looked up as she approached. Niela cleared her throat and explained what she’d come for. At most, she had another thirty minutes to accomplish her task. But what was her task? What had she really come for? The money could just as easily sit in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, as it had done for the past month. She had to be honest with herself. She’d come because she was lonely. Achingly lonely. So lonely that at times she talked to herself just for the pleasure of hearing another voice that wasn’t Fathia’s shrill, nasal squeak or Hamid’s low, irritated bass. Christian was the first and only person to have spoken to her in six weeks, and that was the reason she was here. Not the four hundred Deutschmarks. Or a savings account. She took the papers the woman had given her, quickly filled them out and then walked back to Christian’s counter and handed them over. She waited patiently as he typed in her details, looking up at her every few seconds with a smile.

  ‘There you go … that’s it. Here’s your savings book. You bring it every time you want to make a deposit or a withdrawal, along with your ID card.’ Christian pushed a little booklet back across the counter. ‘All done.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Niela picked it up and slid it into her bag. There was a moment’s pause. ‘Well, goodbye, then.’

  ‘Can you hang on for a few minutes?’ he asked suddenly, lowering his voice. ‘I’m finished here in about ten minutes. We could have a coffee … if you’re not too busy, of course?’ His eyes were smiling.

  Niela hesitated. She shook her head. ‘I … I’m expected back at … at work,’ she lied quickly. ‘I’m sorry. I …’

  ‘Well, how about tomorrow?’

  She shook her head again. The chances of getting away two days in a row were slim. Already she was dreading having to face Fathia when she got home. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated miserably. She shouldn’t have come. There was no way to explain to him why she couldn’t go for a coffee. ‘But … maybe but I could meet you on Friday?’ she said, brightening suddenly. On Friday both Fathia and Hamid went to mosque. ‘If you like,’ she added quickly.

  He pulled a quick face. ‘That’s almost a week away! No, it’s fine. I finish early on Fridays … would two o’clock suit you?’

  Niela nodded. She clutched her bag tightly. It was nearly three o’clock. She’d been gone almost an hour. ‘I’d better go,’ she said nervously. ‘I … I’m late.’

  ‘See you Friday.’ There was a smile on Christian’s face that almost made her cry. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had smiled at her. Half blinded with tears, she hurried to the door.

  She was right. There was hell to pay. Fathia’s shrill, angry voice followed her all the way down the corridor and into her room. Where had she been? How dare she go out on her own without telling anyone. Didn’t she understand Hamid’s instructions? She wasn’t to go anywhere on her own. Munich was a dangerous city … It went on and on. Niela remained absolutely mute. Saying anything would only prolong the outrage. Eventually, just as she’d predicted, Fathia ran out of steam. She couldn’t prove anything – Niela had gone to the shops. Luckily she’d had the foresight to actually buy something … two pints of milk. They’d run out the night before. She threw Niela one last filthy look before slamming the bedroom door and flouncing off down the corridor.

  The room was quiet after she’d gone. Niela lay down on the bed, savouring the sudden silence. There was a warmth in the pit of her stomach that Fathia’s voice had failed to extinguish. She’d spoken to him for all of fifteen minutes but she now had a friend. She felt as though she’d known him all her life … which, considering this new life was all she had, wasn’t quite as crazy as it sounded. Friday. It was Monday. Four more days. For the first time since arriving in Munich, she had something to look forward to.

  She met him at two o’clock, exactly as planned. It was easy. Fathia left for the mosque around one thirty; with any luck, she and Hamid wouldn’t be back until well after six. It struck Niela, as she walked down Lindenallee bundled up against the cold and the light dusting of snow that had begun falling that morning, that the weekly visit to the mosque and the Somali community centre next door was Fathia’s only outing, other than going to the shops or the post office. She couldn’t remember how long her mother had said Hamid and his sister had lived in Munich … two years? Three? She’d heard Fathia’s stilted German … it couldn’t be more than that, surely? After all that time, she’d made almost no friends, had no job, nowhere to go … no wonder she’d wound up such an embittered, lonely old prune. But she didn’t feel sorry for her. Not in the slightest. Fathia got what she deserved. If she’d tried being just a little bit kinder to those around her, some of it might have rubbed off. Maybe. On second thoughts, probably not. Niela actually smiled to herself as the bus pulled up next to the bank. She was still smiling when she walked into the coffee shop and saw Christian sitting there, two large cream doughnuts arranged on a plate in front of him. He looked up as she approached and grinned. ‘I took the liberty,’ he said, pointing to the doughnuts. ‘Cream, with jam.’

  Everything after that was easy. She ate her cream doughnut and half of his; drank two cups of coffee and chatted away as if the whole afternoon were perfectly normal. As if she were just meeting a friend. As if she hadn’t had to wait until her husband and her sister-in-law had gone to the mosque. As if she hadn’t sat in the bus on the way over, her stomach heaving with fear, and above all, as if she were free to meet Christian again. ‘Where d’you work?’ he’d asked her.

  The lie slipped out easily enough. ‘I’m a translator at the Somali community centre,’ she said. ‘In Sendling.’ It was the only place she knew in Munich other than the house and the shopping centre where they sat.

  ‘That’s miles away. D’you take the bus?’

  ‘No, my hu … a friend picks me up every morning,’ she stammered. ‘How long have you worked in the bank?’ She quickly changed the subject.

  ‘Too long. I’m saving up. I want to go travelling. Africa. Asia. The Far East. I want to see the world, don’t you?’

  It was on the tip of Niela’s tongue to say that she too wanted to see the world. She too wanted to go travelling. For Niela and her friends back in Mogadishu, the routes were different. People here wanted to go to places like Africa and South America, the further off the beaten track the better. Niela longed to visit New York. London. Paris. Berlin. Well, here she was. In Munich. But she wasn’t here as a tourist, taking in the sights. She was married, a prisoner in her husband’s house. And what was worse, one Friday afternoon whilst her husband had left the house to pray, she’d slipped out and come to a small bakery to meet a man she barely knew. It didn’t sound good, even to her own ears. She prayed he would never find out.

  19

  The first slap caught her off guard. She staggered backwards, stunned by the force with which he’d hit her. The second sent her tumbling to the ground. She caught her shoulder against the chest of drawers as she fell; the pain shot through her, cutting off her speech. ‘Whore!’ For the second time that year, the word reverberated around the room. He bent down, panting, and grabbed her by the hair. A third slap, and a fourth. She tried to push him away but it only seemed to enrage him further. ‘Is this what I brought you here to do?’ he screamed, yanking her head backwards so hard she was afraid her neck would snap. ‘Sneaking around like some common whore! We should have known it! I knew there was something wrong with you!’

  ‘I …’ Niela opened her mouth to protest, but the slap he administered split open her lip. She could feel the blood on her tongue. He’d lifted his hand to deliver yet another blow to the side of her head when the door opened.

  ‘Hamid … that’s enough.’ Fathia stood in the doorway. ‘Stop it. She’s bleeding.’

  ‘Do you think I care?’ Hamid’s fury was nowhere near spent. ‘Whore!’ He whacked Niela across the face once more, his own features contorted with ugly rage. Niela felt her whole body go slack.
There was a faint singing in her ears … she’d almost passed out, she realised, as she tried to get up from the carpet.

  ‘Hamid … stop.’ Fathia was not about to be put off. She stepped in between the prostrate, bleeding Niela and her brother, who was incandescent with rage. ‘Enough. I’ll deal with this.’

  Hamid stood above her, still panting, his chest rising and falling, spittle showing at the side of his mouth. Niela kept her eyes firmly on the carpet. She didn’t dare lift them. There was a bubbling sensation in her stomach, as though she were about to vomit. She heard Fathia usher her brother out of the room, heard his angry tirade as she led him down the corridor and into the living room. The drinks cabinet opened; she could hear its telltale squeak. The pounding in her head was almost as unbearable as the pain shooting up and down her arms, her face, her shoulder … everywhere. She brought a hand up to her lip. It was sticky to the touch. The scent and taste of blood was still in her mouth. She swallowed painfully. What the hell had happened? She’d come back from her weekly trip to the café – the house was empty, as usual. She’d eaten alone in the kitchen, turned on the television and watched the news and then gone to bed around 9 p.m. It wasn’t unusual for Hamid and Fathia to return from the mosque at that time, sometimes even later. She’d been standing by the chest of drawers, folding away the day’s laundry, when she heard his car pull up. Instead of going to the kitchen as he usually did, she’d heard him walk down the corridor to the bedroom. It hadn’t occurred to her until the door flew open that there might be anything wrong. She’d turned, seen him in the doorway, his entire body quivering with anger … and she knew. She’d been caught. She tried to turn away but he’d blocked her path. He raised his hand and dealt her the first stinging blow.