‘And what were you doing there?’
‘The same work I’ll be doing here. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, and no parents.’ Tomas finishes the thought in German. ‘Just me.’
The air in the room appears to have thinned, become delicate, without a clear reason. Every conversation, she understands, is a kind of currency, or at least an expenditure, but this discussion, being so scattershot, is uncertain, and Rike isn’t sure what is being brokered. She breathes carefully unsure how she should proceed. It is his decision to exchange personal details or not. This happens, she tells herself. Everyone has history, and not everyone is comfortable sharing.
3.2
At the end of the hour, Rike writes down what she has asked, with the growing sense that Tomas is impatient for the lesson to end. He stands up and takes the paper when she offers it, then accompanies her to the door.
‘I have a meeting now,’ he explains, ‘I should go.’
He has, she thinks, an exceptionally disarming smile. They talk as he accompanies her to the door. ‘Cyprus must be a disappointment after London?’
‘London?’
‘Yesterday you told me that you lived in London.’
‘I worked for a charity for a short while, freelance to start with.’ She can’t help but make a face. ‘But that was for a very short time.’
‘You didn’t like the work, or you were unhappy?’
Rike is taken aback by the question. ‘It wasn’t home. And it didn’t feel like it would ever become home. Anyway, I’m here now.’ Rike reaches to her shoulder and realizes that she has left her bag. Tomas returns to the room to fetch it for her.
‘Thank you. I’m always doing that.’ Rike closes the bag and shucks it over her arm. ‘And you?’ she asks. ‘Why Cyprus?’
Tomas leans into the doorframe. ‘It’s a long story. It’s possible I’ll be reassigned to Cyprus. I came to see if I like it.’
‘And do you?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’ll let you know. Careful as you go down,’ he warns. ‘There might be pieces of glass.’ He pauses, clicks his finger to prompt himself, his hand attempts to shape a word. ‘This morning the Kozmatikos boy smashed his mother’s ornaments. Little figures. Figurines? He lined them up and dropped them over the steps.’
They both look at the landing. The floor, swept clean, shows no sign of the morning’s tantrum.
‘I think this is why he ran away.’
‘You saw this?’
‘I saw a little. It was deliberate. He put them on the steps and pushed them over, one at a time. He wanted to make her angry.’
‘And then he ran away?’
Tomas nods, and she notices the faint trace of a smile.
‘Is he back?’
‘Yes. Now she isn’t shouting.’ Tomas shrugs, and now they both smile.
No sign on the door, no sound, no bustle or trouble. Safe enough to assume that the boy is home.
‘It’s strange,’ she says, ‘how ordinary you take everything to be, but when you look there are a lot of unordinary things.’ Rike isn’t sure she’s making herself clear. ‘Like pets. You don’t see people with too many pets here. Not as many as in Germany. There aren’t many dogs, so much.’
Tomas folds his arms and says that there is a lot to be said for this.
‘You don’t like dogs?’
‘They don’t like me.’
* * *
Tomas has agreed to meet the rental agent immediately after the lesson. The man comes up to find Rike and Tomas on the landing. The three of them walk down the stairs to the courtyard. The agent is brash and short and Rike talks with him as they come down the stairs. The man seems misproportioned, with small fat hands, a thick neck, and plump body unbalanced by a broad head, and oddest of all, a puff of thinning grey hair with a purplish tinge. The man walks in a stiff side-to-side sway, a little out of breath; keys hang from a chain fastened to his belt. He wears a pair of sunglasses which give him a suspicious air. Rike takes the stairs one at a time and grips the rail.
The windows overlooking the playground are shuttered and as they walk the agent describes the basement. Most of the space is open, although there are some smaller rentable units. These units are good for storage and safe. No one ever goes down there. The agent speaks in a voice which sounds bored and exhausted. The main area is used by a designer.
Rike’s ears are suddenly itchy. A roll-down shutter protects the basement door. Before they open it, Rike makes her excuse. She has promised to meet her sister.
3.3
The sisters wait in the corridor on a flat-backed bench, school-like, or hospital-like, which is exactly where they are, in a hospital. Isa comments on their surroundings: the benches, long slats of lacquered wood, orange and sticky, run the length of the wall. The walls are painted marine blue to eye level (when seated) and run minty-green above. Isa can’t see the logic, except the blue being gloss is wipeable, easy to clean.
‘You think I don’t know.’
Distracted by the nurses Rike doesn’t hear her sister’s comment. Nurses hurry down the corridor.
‘It’s strange seeing everyone here.’
‘The nurses?’
‘No. People like him.’ Isa nods to the end of the corridor where the doors stand open to show two suited men; one leans forward as if to listen, the other, taller and bald, leans back with his arms folded. Rike can’t quite see but thinks that the bald man is Udo.
‘Ordinarily you wouldn’t see them talking.’
Rike asks why. They talk about anything except for the reason they are at the hospital. The reason why Isa requires so many check-ups.
‘He doesn’t approve. The one with his arms folded got rid of his wife about a year ago. After twenty years of marriage he sent her home. The rumour is that he was having an affair, but he hasn’t been seen with anyone. The other one, Udo, is Henning’s section boss, and they can’t stand each other. Henning is hoping he’ll leave, but they won’t offer him another post.’ Isa yawns and rubs her stomach. ‘He can’t stand him.’
Rike takes another look, but Udo is out of sight.
‘Back in Damascus you’d never see those two in the same room. Now you see them together the whole time. It’s just how it is. Crisis makes for strange bedfellows.’ Isa yawns harder, like the first yawn was a warm-up. This time she shows her teeth before she covers her mouth. ‘Creepy. Creeps.’
‘How long will this take?’
‘I don’t know. It could take ages. They’re going to weigh me. It’s insulting. They give me a paper gown, make me take off my clothes and have me stand on a scale. Then they’ll take blood, because they always take blood. They weigh, they measure, then they take blood.’
Isa’s eye follows the nurse as she returns; her dress zipping between her thighs, her soft shoes making no sound on the red tiled floor.
‘Do British women deliberately try to look like that?’
Rike follows her sister’s gaze, but can’t see the problem.
‘They don’t care about themselves. Look. There isn’t any dignity. Look at those shoulders. See how she walks. Like a cow heading to a barn. I hate these places. I know about the cats, by the way.’
Rike looks to her sister. Eye-to-eye.
‘Of course I know.’
‘The cats?’
‘The cats. The cats. I spoke with Henning this morning.’
‘He told you?’
‘I made him.’
The sisters look to each other for some kind of measurement or assurance.
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I didn’t want to upset you.’
‘I’m not upset. Honestly. This is the last thing to worry about. I’m not going to cry over a neighbour who’s taken a dislike to three cats.’