Chapter 17: Intrusions and Confusions 22nd September 1939
It was half past two on Friday afternoon and somehow, against the odds, the girls had finished all of the shirts that were needed that week. Exhausted was a word that became filed in the understatement's category, with the final push to finish on Friday being more of a drawn-out slog than an elegant tying up of tasks. Taking a breather, Erin put her head on the desk whilst Michelle and Clare stood up to stretch, yawning whilst they did so. Some of the others were still working, Mary and Sarah's section being one as they were behind after Sarah fell asleep during lunch break the day before and couldn't be woken for another three hours.
"My hands are fuckin' sore". Michelle moaned.
"Aye, mine are on fire so they are". Erin agreed. "I've never worked so hard in my life".
"Me neither". Clare spoke up from next to them.
"Ye need to perk up a bit Clare, yer goin' to need that energy tonight!"
Michelle's enthusiasm only annoyed her. At various points over the prior couple of days, the date played on her mind. There were one hundred or more other things that she would rather do, but Clare was trapped by her father. No excuse she could think of would get her out of going on the date, having exhausted her viable options to get out of it. Sean insisted that his daughter would go on the date that he'd gone to great lengths to set up, Geraldine agreeing with her husband that it was time for Clare to find herself a fella. There wasn't going to be a massive number of young men left to choose from, as a lot of them in the city were answering the call and signing up to fight voluntarily. He needed to make sure his Clare found someone. Even if she thought differently.
"I'm not you Michelle". She huffed. "I… I'm not sleepin' with him afterwards!"
"He might be a ride".
"Aye she has a fair point Clare…". Erin interceded. "… ye wouldn't pass up on the opportunity would ye?"
She most certainly would under any circumstances. Disgusted by the thought of making love to a man, she shrivelled inside, but having grown used to masking the truth, her exterior emotions remained unchanged.
"I'm just not confident like you's… sorry".
"Wise up Clare, if ye want to ride the fella, ye'll ride him! I don't know any fella that would stop a girl from ridin' him… not a chance".
"I don't want to ride any fella tonight Michelle!" An agitated Clare argued back.
"And ye don't have to if he's a fuckin' minger. I'm not saying ye have to ride him, am I… I'm just sayin' that if ye wanted to ride him then he won't fight ye".
"Plus!" Erin continued where her friend left off. "Ye might have a really nice time and find he's the fella ye've been lookin' for!"
The want to shout and scream that a fella wasn't what she wanted often became overbearing, and none more so than at that moment. She might not have had her eye set on any particular young woman, but her retinas certainly weren't fixed on another young man.
"Whatever girls… oh look, Meyler".
Erin and Michelle looked up from their desks to see the supervisor on his way over to them. Beginning to panic as she always did, Clare jumped to the conclusion that they were going to be reprimanded for not doing anything, despite being out of any work to do. Desperately trying to make herself look busy, the other two winced from the embarrassing scene, one which Meyler found highly amusing.
"Ye can stop that now Clare, I know you've got nothing to do".
"Mr Meyler, sir, we… we've finished, so we have".
"Clare…". He tried again.
"But ye know we would be happy t-".
"CLARE!"
He ended up shouting at her to stop her constant cacking. She almost went over the back of the chair in fright at it.
"Get yerself home girls".
"What!?" Michelle reared up in shock.
"Don't make me regret it Michelle". He warned. "The three of ye have worked hard this week, go home and enjoy the afternoon".
"Thanks Mr Meyler". Erin smiled warmly to him.
"No problem Erin. Is Orla well, by the way?"
"Ach, she's grand so she is".
"Good. Please pass on my regards. I'll see you's on Monday mornin'".
Saying their own individual thank you's, Erin then raced over to tell Mary that she would be leaving early, a jealous Mary grunting a reply at her. She would probably have to work late thanks to Sarah, who was receiving the silent treatment from her sister over the sleeping incident from the day before.
Michelle raced off ahead of the girls, muttering something which neither could hear but were not too bothered about discovering. She was probably off to find some fella, albeit Johnny Kells was out of the question since he'd followed James and David into the theatre of war.
Being the good friend that she believed herself to be, Erin walked back to Clare's house with her to help her prepare for the date that evening. Clare hadn't offered too many details since the original announcement of the date earlier in the week other than the lad would be coming to the house for half past six. She still claimed not to know who the fella was, which both of the other girls found odd, and that her Da wouldn't tell her who. Michelle had raised the very fair point the day before that surely she would want to know the fella's identity beforehand to assess how much of a ride he was, but it fell upon deaf ears.
"Yer lookin' well in that Clare".
Erin commented on the dress that Clare selected for the occasion, one she'd not seen her friend wear before. For someone who wasn't bothered about the date, she seemed to be making quite the effort in her opinion.
"T-Thanks I guess".
"Ach alright ye just ignore my compliment".
"It's not that Erin…". Clare tried to explain. "You know I didn't want this date!"
Suddenly she wasn't bothered again…
Having a hard time trying to understand her friend's emotional outlook on the date, Erin shook her head. The effort she was going to for Clare didn't appear to be worth it, a waste of her time really, although she wasn't ready to admit that to the diminutive blonde.
"I'm sorry". Clare apologised, putting a hand on Erin's shoulder.
"Alright Clare…". She sighed. "… but for the love of god, would ye make yer mind up whether ye want to go on this date or not".
"Erin, I HAVE to go on this date!"
"That wasn't what I asked ye".
Blushing profusely, Clare moved away to look out of the back window. The tension fell upon the room instantly, with the two friends both doing their best not to look at each other. Clare's emotions were all over the place, tears falling from eyes whilst her back was turned to Erin. They'd fought before, the one time at work in regard to James, jumping out at her immediately, but it was always usually over the drama in Erin's life. Her life didn't have the same drama as the young Quinn, mostly because she didn't overdramatically push it on everyone else and whenever there was a drama, she downplayed it. The date was quickly becoming the most horrendous moment in her life yet stuck with the obligations and expectations of her father and friends, she just had to do it. There was no place in the world for what she wanted; she was learning it the hard way.
"I wonder how James is".
Trying a proven tactic when dealing with Erin, Clare decided to make the conversation about her. In truth, she'd pondered about the Englishman herself in the couple of weeks that had passed since he'd left. She might not have held a romantic interest in a fella, but James was a dear friend in her eyes, one who understood her when many did not. She'd nearly told him about her preferences once, believing that he above anyone would be understanding of her choices. James wasn't a lad who came with an overly judgemental focus. He was honest and open with everyone, with more than an ounce of common decency on him too. Unlike Erin, if she were to open up, he would not try to bring himself into her story but would instead listen and support her. Whether being seen with her affected his social standing or not wouldn't matter; she was sure Erin and Michelle would not be so kind.
"I… I…".
Words couldn't really describe how Erin felt though. Thinking too much about her English Prince upset her greatly, even if every time she did, she reminded herself of his handsomeness. The bare truth was that she missed him ever so dearly. Wanting him back, just for a day, would be the only tonic to cure the ache that developed within her chest.
"I'm sure he'll be doing his best". Finally, the words came out.
Hearing the discomfort in Erin's voice, Clare couldn't help but turn around. It may have been a tactic to deflect off of her own issues, but Erin's upset in being without him didn't help her at all. The love they shared was a love she could only dream of ever having with anyone, a love that even Michelle in all of her exploits was yet to find. The same sort of love Orla and David shared, the blossoming of which she found herself having had front seat tickets for.
"He's ever so brave".
"Aye I know Clare…". Erin sighed. "… too brave for his own good".
They laughed together at her comment, which was said in jest. Amusing herself was the only way in which Erin could stop herself from crying in front of her friend. Laughing at him being too brave and imagining being wrapped up in his arms…
"I can't imagine what flying must be like…". Clare pondered. "… up in the skies… I'd be terrified".
"To be fair Clare, yer terrified on the ground". Erin snorted.
"Fair point". She giggled in return.
"I know when I first went up into the sky with James, I was petrified so I was…". Erin explained to her. "… screamed the whole way up, so I did. But when ye get up there, with nothing else other than the sound of the engine… it is so cracker… so incredibly cracker".
Her mind briefly went to the days they'd spent together in his biplane. When they would fly over the whole country, seeing the sights and discovering new ones along the way. Back in the days of peace, days that were only a short while in the past.
"I suppose it's not the same if yer bein' shot at".
"Clare…". A slightly dismayed Erin commented.
"Sorry… sorry".
"He'll be fine though. My James is an excellent pilot ye know, those German fellas have no idea what they're in for!".
"Aye and David too!" Clare added with a chuckle.
They continued their merriment for another couple of minutes, Erin again finding it useful to keep her emotions in check. Laughing was the greatest problem solver she could lay her hands on.
"I… I am worried for David though". Clare vocalised her thoughts softly.
"Me too". Erin admitted honestly. "In another life, I might have been where Orla is now. If ye'd have said to me a few years ago that I'd be talkin' about David openly then I'd have thought ye were mad…".
"That was just a wee crush though, Erin".
"At the time it wasn't… but since James came here, in hindsight it was actually a very wee one ye know".
"Too right, ye were dead embarrassin' to be around when ye fancied him!" A highly amused Clare grinned. "But anyway, I just don't know how Orla can be so calm about things…".
Whether or not they should have been startled by Orla's generally positive outlook confused them every day over the weeks that passed. There were a few quieter moments where the mask fell, ones such as the morning of the declaration of war, but they were few and far between. Although not going to work might have frustrated her privately, it wasn't shown to her cousin or her friends whenever they visited. She still made her highly entertaining remarks on life alongside the bizarre, colourful questions that came to define her.
"Ye know what Orla's like, she never let's anythin' bother her". Erin replied.
"David fightin' should!" Clare protested in return.
"I'm sure she has a wee cry now and again".
She very much did so, Erin knowing her cousin too well. Well disguised it might have been, but Orla could always shed a few tears for her husband that she missed just as much as Erin missed James.
"She's quite a hero really".
Trying to find a positive, Clare beamed a smile at Erin.
"She's a stronger woman than me, I know that…". Erin admitted. "… she'll be a good Mammy as well".
"I can't wait for her to have the baby, to be able to have a cuddle with her wain".
"I'll do anything for that wain ye know".
Clare paused as the words fell from Erin's mouth. The tone which she'd presented them in was one which she'd never heard from her friend before, a side to Erin which she did not recognise at all. She might have been unpredictable at times in a reactionary sense, but in a scenario where a reaction was not required, it was most unusual to find her that way.
"That was… very motherly of you, Erin".
Burning up to what felt like one thousand degrees, Erin looked away from her. The motherly feelings were ones she'd started to accept as having taken hold only a few days before herself; Clare being aware of them was most alarming. She put it down to being around a heavily pregnant Orla when no other explanation could be found. The parental emotions that radiated off her cousin must have started to shine back onto her. That was her assumption anyway.
"Ye… well ye know, ye… ye have to practice those instincts don't ye?"
"Why?" Clare's eyebrow twitched up inquisitively.
"I… I might ye know".
"But not yet…".
"No… not yet".
Realising it was the time to change the topic again, Erin this time took it upon herself to do so rather than Clare. Talking any further about her blatantly obvious motherly instincts wasn't something she wanted to do either.
"You ready then?"
"I suppose". Clare mumbled. "I wish I had some nice perfume or somethin'. If I have to do this then I at least want to smell nice…".
"Michelle's got some!" The idea sparked into Erin's head. "I'm sure she'd let ye use a bit".
"We'd have to go now…".
"Don't panic Clare, ye've got time so ye have".
Looking at the wee clock in the corner of her room, she came to notice that Erin was correct. There was plenty of time for her to get to Michelle's and back with some nice perfume. The longer she was out, then the less time Clare would have to spend on her own worrying about the night ahead. Sharing her worries with her parents was not an option…
"I'll… I'll just go to the loo then…".
"Ach I better go after ye as well. Last time I went to Michelle's she'd boked in the loo and it was disgustin'… proper, proper disgustin'!"
"Sounds about right though with what she can drink".
"Spot on there Clare, spot on".
A few minutes later, the two girls, one being very overdressed compared to the other, headed towards the Mallon house, hoping that Michelle would be in after her rushed comment as they left work earlier that day.
They really should have known better…
Soldiers.
There must have been at least a thousand of them marching down the road outside Doctor Van Der Heijden's offices. More soldiers that were destined to join the fight on the Polish front, a thousand final nails for the tragic coffin that Poland had become. He might have been a doctor who specialised in treatment that could not be offered to help people, but he was still familiar with seeing soldiers. After all, every meeting he went to was guarded by them and at some of those meetings the soldiers themselves would be discussed. His standing with the Führer assured his presence at tactical meetings, sometimes being called upon in an advisory role. Jealousy ran amok through the military commanders who the Führer paid little attention to, instead wishing for a Doctor's opinion on tactics since the war began. It was perhaps the methodical brain that he sought, rather than the militaristic minds that would pummel him with information on troop concentrations. A more calming voice than most.
For once, his schedule for the day was clean. That afternoon he planned to conduct further research into his project in the laboratory on the ground floor, research that would be undertaken alone. The specifications had changed at their last meeting, to his surprise though not to his disgust. The Führer was going to grant him more time to conduct the research too, which was a great help instead of the task being time critical. It allowed for a morning of relaxation after two days that were full of research and meetings. The past two nights he'd arrived back at his office and fell asleep without as much as a word to Lyla, who he hated to neglect. However, she was understanding, and the two spent the morning together at the offices. He was flitting between the window, in order to watch the soldiers, or the desk where she worked in order to embrace her.
"Es war schon ein ruhiger Vormittag." She spoke the thoughts aloud to him.
("It has been a quiet morning".)
"Das war es schon, meine liebe Lyla. Einer, den ich begrüße."
("It has my dear Lyla. One that I welcome".)
Walking back over to her, he took in the sight of her beauty, dazzling before him. After years of being a libertine, the sheer beauty of Lyla Walsh continued to amaze him. There were plenty of women before her that were good-looking, stunning in fact, but none could truly match the perfection that was her. There were also her smarts too, proving herself to be quite the card player whenever they sat down to play. She was the one person he would not gamble with when playing cards, telling her that he wouldn't enjoy it as much with money being an element between the two of them. Her being so good that he knew he'd end up penniless went unmentioned.
"Ich habe alle Ihre Unterlagen fertig gemacht."
("I have finished all of your paperwork".)
"Danke, Lyla". He put his hand over hers. "Ich bin froh, dass du dabei bist, mir damit zu helfen. Ich bin leider ganz schrecklich daran."
("Thank you, Lyla. I am glad that I have you to help me with it, I am most terrible at it I am afraid".)
He didn't need to say that again. His handwriting being abysmal did not help either, the standard of his paperwork and record keeping being very poor. Lyla always made sure he knew it…
"Ja, das habe ich gemerkt." She snorted.
("Yes… I noticed".)
"Neckst du mich?" He tilted his head, a smile across his face.
("Are you teasing me?")
"Nein…"
("No…".)
He picked her up out of the chair, despite her protests, spinning his Lyla around before returning her to her feet so that they could kiss. Her acting skills were required at a split-second's notice, mostly to stop her from spewing her guts up all over him at the affection she did not truly want in her heart. Some days the random acts of affection were more difficult to put up with than the sex, which would at least be over after a short while.
Unfortunately for Lyla, he wasn't allowing her to go too quickly. The kissing became more passionate on his part, forcing her to match it without the true urge to do so. As long as he remained unable to tell that she was putting on an act then it would sadly have to do. Mercy did eventually come however, in the shape of the object that was sat at the very edge of the desk that she'd been working at.
"Kurt...das Telefon."
("Kurt… the phone".)
Grunting, he begrudgingly moved away from her lips, planting a final kiss on her cheek. Internally, relief flowed around her body from the ringing of the phone, despite the irritating noise that it made.
"DIe Pflicht ruft.". He told her.
("Duty calls".)
Silently praising whoever it was that called, she moved away from the desk to give him some space. Whenever he was present in the office, he would take the calls himself instead of deferring to her in an effort to take charge. It allowed her to participate in the same activity that he'd been doing a few minutes earlier, watching the endless rows of marching soldiers. There was a crowd out to witness the marching as well that morning, with some loud cheering coming from a few sections. Parents were out to cheer their sons off to war, a stark contrast to the emotions of parents on the other side. Some still cried because they knew the chances of seeing their loved ones alive again were not overly high, but on the whole, it was a rather jolly and raucous display. The propaganda ministry wouldn't have to spin any yarns to make the occasion momentous; the people were doing that for them.
Her attention could not fully be drawn to them though, for she could still hear what Kurt was saying on the phone. And it concerned her. The nature of his responses were quiet and most unlike him, his confidence almost evaporating with every word that escaped from his lips. A few thoughts rushed into her head, but she chose to ignore them until she could discover the truth behind the call.
"Ja. Ja, ich erzähle ihm. Danke, Herr Oberst."
("Yes. Yes, I will tell him. Thank you, Colonel".)
Placing the phone down, he didn't look at her at all, slumping down onto the seat where she'd been sat all morning. Sighing loudly, the exhale went on for quite a while. The alarm bells were ringing rapidly in her head, a panic beginning to show signs of rising to the fore at the Doctor's sudden change in demeanour.
"Was is los, Kurt?" She asked.
("What is the matter, Kurt?")
Sighing again, he finally took a look up at her, Lyla finding a face of dread awaiting her as he did so. It was not a face she wished to see ever again…
"Kannst du uns erstmal Tee kochen?"
("Can you make us some tea first?")
If he was going to open up to her, then it was going to have to be on his terms. Understanding the intricacies of his behaviour was a skill she'd grown incredibly proficient in, reading his emotions and conscience perfectly most of the time. When it came to anything that caused him genuine upset, it was all about playing the waiting game.
"Natürlich."
("Of course I can".)
A minute later she was in their kitchen, making the tea. Every couple of seconds she glanced out to where he was sat, finding him unchanged from how she'd left him. He stared straight ahead, his face being an open book where she could read the movements of the cogs in his head that worked away. Whatever the phone call was about, it was certainly challenging him to think hard about what he was going to say. She doubted it was about any family or friends… so her logic dictated that it must be something else entirely. The next thought in Lyla's mind was his relationship with the Führer. Could it have worsened? Was he to be executed?
If it were the latter, Smithers would need to know immediately…
When she was back at his side, the tea was placed down onto the table ready for him to consume. Before she could ask a question, he took a sip, relaxing back down into the chair once the cup was placed back on the saucer. Although the relaxation did not last long. Seconds later he'd leant forward with a hand coming to rest under his chin.
"Kurt, bitte erzähl mir was dich bekümmert."
("Kurt, now please, tell me what is troubling you?")
Still he would not, or perhaps could not, answer. There were two further loud sighs from him, causing her brows to furrow from the continued course of his actions. It was going to take more patience than usual.
"Es….es handelt sich nicht um mich. Der Bruder von Hans ist im Krieg gefallen."
("It… It is not me. Hans' brother has been killed in battle".)
Hans. Young Hans…
The shellshock suddenly became very much understandable to her. Receiving the news of Hans' brother's death in combat would have been equally hard for her too, if she'd have taken the call. Especially after the conversation she'd held with the young man about his family. His parents devoted all of their energy to his brother, energy which would now be sapped from them from the grief of his death. A grief that would be shared by Lieutenant Hartmann too.
"Nein!" She expressed her own upset to him. "Oh, armer Hans…".
("No! Oh poor Hans…".)
"Ich Weiss". Kurt sighed, reaching out to take her by the hand. "Er spricht nicht so viel mit mir über seinen Brüder, aber ich weiss, dass er vor ihm Respekt hatte."
("I know. He does not speak to me about his brother too much, but I know he respected him".)
She knew for certain he respected Karl. That Hans loved his brother like a true brother did. The bad blood in the Hartmann family existed between the second son and his parents, not between him and his brother.
"Er hat mit mir ein Bisschen über seine Familie gesprochen. Er hatte seinen Bruder lieb. Wie ist er gestorben?"
("He spoke to me about his family a little. He loved his brother. How did he die?")
"Sein Verband hat einen Gegenangriff durch einen Verband der polnischen Infanterie. Er wurde erschossen und erstochen."
("His unit was counter-attacked by a unit of Polish Infantry. He was shot and stabbed".)
The fighting along the Bzura river quickly became bitter and bloody. With the net closing in on them even more, the Poles made their stand, counter-attacking attacking across the Bzura to catch an over-extended German division off guard. That division was Karl's. Being caught spread out with such a wide but thin line, the Poles quickly routed them, inflicting terrible losses upon their invaders. The German units were pushed back mile after mile by the vicious tenacity of the Poles, who were prepared to fight to the death. There would be no quick capitulation like the German High Command expected or perhaps anticipated. However, the might of the German war machine found its feet and ever since the opening attack, it was the Poles who found themselves on the backfoot. But none of that mattered for the Hartmann family. Their Karl was killed in the initial surge and was never returning to Potsdam where he belonged.
"Das ist furchtbar."
("That is awful".)
The only words that Lyla could think of came out. She would not revel in his passing, even if she were fighting on the opposite side to him, the worries over the effect on Hans superseding any trivial victory.
Kurt was ready to offer a more practical view.
"Das ist halt der Krieg, Lyla. Das ist warum ich Arzt und kein Soldat bin, mein Liebling. Ich könnte es nicht vertragen, einem anderen Mann in die Augen zu schauen während ich ihn umbringe."
("That is war Lyla. That is why I am a doctor and not a soldier, my love. I couldn't stomach looking another man in the eye whilst I killed him".)
She couldn't fault him on his opinion. He was right after all, that was war. Men died during war, good men who were often far greater men than the ones that gave the orders leading to their demise. The British Army were notoriously brave but poorly led, the history of the world showing countless occasions of it. The German Army could be too, even Kurt questioned the suitability of some of the commanders to their roles. He at least knew his place within the war. But she couldn't stand his attitude when it came to death. His whole project, the one which she was not to investigate according to her orders from London, looked set to change the destiny of millions of innocent lives. He could hide behind his creation, not having to be present to see the effects of it on real human subjects everyday should he wish. Pure cowardice stopped him from being a soldier… that was her thought at his words. Cowardice. A real man would be able to perform the duty expected of him, whilst treating his enemy with the same respect in death as he would be wished to be treated with, should the tables have been turned.
"Hilfst du mir, Hans Bescheid zu geben?" Kurt spoke again, enquiring with her.
("Would you help me tell Hans?")
"Das würde ich gerne machen. Er braucht unsere Unterstützung.". She replied.
("I would like to. He needs our support".)
"Ja klar." Kurt agreed. "Seine Eltern wurden auch informiert und ich möchte, dass er zu denen zu Besuch geht, nachdem wir mit ihm geredet haben."
("He does. His parents have been informed too and I would like him to go to see them after we have spoken to him".)
His parents, or at least his father, that didn't fully approve of him compared to his brother. The parents that he did not want to speak to. Given the same set of circumstances, she would have gone to her parents to comfort them immediately, but Hans was headstrong when it came to them. Getting him to change his mind would be difficult.
"Hat er keine Pflichten, denen er hier nachkommen muss?"
("Does he not have his duties to attend to here?")
"Ich werde ihm frei geben. Ich würde mit ihm mitgehen, aber…"
("I will excuse him. I would go with him but…".)
"Vielleicht sollte ich mit ihm mitgehen?"
("Perhaps I should go with him?")
Her suggestion came out before it was meant to. The tone of voice in which she presented it could so easily have betrayed her if Kurt was more vigilant to it. It was heartful and caring, a tone which she reserved only for those that she cared for more deeply. A certain someone she had left back home…
""Du...würdest?" The shocked Kurt had to be sure he'd understood her correctly.
("You… would?".)
"Ich halte Hans für einen Freund. Seitdem ich hier angekommen bin ist er mir ganz gut gewesen. Es ist das Mindeste, was ich tun kann als Dank."
("I consider Hans my friend. He has been very good to me since I have arrived, it is the least that I can do in return".)
The justification came quickly, in order to shut down his growing shock. The acting skills that she so desperately relied on were called into battle once again to aid her. She was yet to truly come to terms with the feelings she felt she needed to hide, confused by the direction that they were taking her. There was something with the young Lieutenant, but to quantify what she felt for him would be a puzzle that even the greatest of minds would falter on. At least that's what she told herself…
Deep down… she knew.
"Du bist ein Engel, Lyla."
("You are an angel, Lyla".)
A description that flattered her. But also aggravated her. She didn't want to be an angel in his eyes, that would float down to create a divine heaven for him to live in. Her activities in serving the crown could be seen as angelic from a British point of view, she supposed, but she could not stand to be seen that way from a German perspective. She was the enemy that they did not know about, tucked nicely into the fold with a link to the very office of power within the country. An Irish woman with a perceived hatred of all things British, who could quite easily prize details of Hitler's every intention from the Doctor she had wrapped around her little finger.
Yet there she was like a young girl again when it came to the soldier assigned to assist Doctor Van Der Heijden. The same young man who would soon be returning from his errands that his mentor sent him on over breakfast that morning.
Returning to receive the harrowing news…
"Do ye think she'll mind us just… ye know, intruding like this?"
Clare's question wasn't the first that she'd put across to Erin on the walk to the Mallon house. In fact, the whole way to the house there were various questions about a random variety of topics, the smaller blonde even asking after her Uncle Colm.
"She's played this one on us a lot, it's about time the boot was on the other foot". Erin remarked.
"Ye, but she's Michelle, Erin. We aren't Michelle, in case you've forgotten".
Refraining from stating the obvious straight back to her, Erin settled for a shake of the head, hoping that Clare would move on. However, the nerves that were bubbling within her friend continued to force further unnecessary conversation… or at least what she assumed was going to be unnecessary when the small blonde opened her mouth again.
"I… I haven't been totally honest with ye Erin".
Her interest piqued, Erin glanced over with a confused look on her face, eying Clare who'd began to shake. Another cack attack was very clearly in progress.
"I… I do know who I'm goin' on this date with". She admitted.
"Oh?" Erin replied, surprised by the admission.
"Yeah…".
For another second or two there was nothing said whilst Clare gathered the right words together. She'd been lying since the very moment the date was mentioned at work a couple of days before, never during that time the element of surprise over who it was being a factor. It was quite the achievement, in her eyes at least, that she'd been able to hold out for so long without revealing the true picture. Suddenly with only Erin to talk to though, it dawned on her that something needed to be said. If her friend knew anything about the fella then she might be able to think of a good enough reason not to go.
"Ye… Ye know that tall fella whose dad is the butcher".
"Micky McConnell!?" Erin shouted in shock. "Yer goin' on a date with Micky McConnell?"
"Keep yer voice down!" Clare hissed.
"Christ Clare yer punchin' well above so ye are".
She wasn't even in the categories in her own head, but if she were to think like Erin or Michelle would then she would have to agree. He could probably be considered as quite good looking if her mind was set up like the other girls, doing nothing for her with how she felt. Her da used to work at the butchers many years before whilst he was between other jobs, arranging the date no doubt due to being friends with Micky's da who owned the place. He was a giant of a young man, well over six foot if not seven, towering over all of their group quite easily. Tall enough to almost be the size of two Clare's put together, a cack attack nightmare that could never be allowed to come to fruition should there be a scientific breakthrough in cloning.
"Micky McConnell… Christ!". Erin continued on her joyful surprise.
"Please, don't tell Michelle….".
"Don't tell Michelle? Catch yourself on!"
"No just don't tell her until I do…". Clare expanded her statement. "I don't want her goin' on sayin' that I have to ride him because he's a handsome fella or making some awful joke about meat…".
Appreciating that Michelle's lack of sensibility would not help the situation, Erin nodded to agree with her friend's demands. She was still in shock from the revelation that Micky would be Clare's date for the night. Micky was a very good-looking fella; strong, tall and athletic. A lot of girls held a soft spot for him, Jenny being another with a well-known liking for him, but being unable to act upon it due to her imprisonment with her father. Granted, Micky was hardly James, but he was not the worst substitute to stare at in his absence, without having the ability to make her heart start to beat faster. James was the only one who could do that.
"Here we are then…". Erin announced as they walked up the path to the Mallon house, immediately noticing something. "… hmph… front door is wide open".
"That is very strange…". Clare agreed with the oddity.
They stopped together on the path, exchanging similar looks of concern and curiosity. Martin and Deirdre would both probably be at work still, the two only expecting to find Michelle home on her own. Trying to cast their minds back to the comment she'd made as they were leaving work, neither could quite remember exactly what she'd said. Erin knew that she would have to be the one to lead the way into the house, Clare being too terrified of what they might find inside.
It soon became very apparent that all was well. At least for Michelle anyway…
"Erm Clare, ye might want to look at this…".
Taking a step inside the house behind her braver friend, Clare's eyes fell upon the trail of clothes that led upstairs towards what she immediately presumed would be Michelle's bedroom. The rushed comment was of all a sudden making a lot of sense, as well as the open front door. She wouldn't have been thinking about closing the door behind her if she was bringing a fella home, the lust of sexual conquest being the only thoughts in her head. Sensible ones would always be relegated when her passion took over. One particular item of clothing stood out from the rest in the scattered line that ascended the Mallon staircase. An item that did not belong to anyone who lived at the house or any of their friends, but it did belong to someone who they knew.
A butcher's apron.
Nearly anyone in the world could predict what was going on above them in Michelle's room. Listening out they could hear the bedsprings groaning in tune with the occupants who adorned it with their presence. A golden chance presented itself to Clare and she would be grabbing it with both hands, her brain working quickly to devise a plan to make the most of it. She wasn't going to be able to go on a date with a lad who was sleeping around just an hour or so before it. She would make sure to thank god for creating Michelle and bringing her into her life at church the following Sunday. From the jaws of defeat, victory was snatched.
"That bastard…". The act began, Clare feigning anger at Micky.
"Now Clare, let's not jump to any conclusions…". Erin whispered.
"Jump to any… wise up Erin! We both know what they're doin' up there!" Clare's returning whisper was in anger.
"They might just be jumpin' on the bed".
The fake naivety that Erin was leading with, genuinely annoyed Clare, with the former sounding more like her cousin to the latter. The comment would have been completely acceptable had it come from Orla and her left-field brain, but from the supposedly more centred Erin it was a bit ridiculous. Childish even.
Clare's next move caught Erin completely off guard. The queen of cack attacks, the most nervous girl to have ever stalked the lands of planet earth, went ahead and acted with a previously unseen confidence. Erin might have liked to think that she was the smart one of their group who made the decisions and concocted the best plans. Not without her craftiness though, Clare startlingly proved that she was far superior, especially as the plan was all thought up on the spot.
"MICHELLE!"
The groaning of the bedsprings stopped. For the second time that year they found themselves downstairs at the Mallon house whilst Michelle and a fella panicked in her bedroom. This time Deirdre wasn't the one charging up the stairs; Clare was. And at such a pace, Erin was unable to keep up with the seemingly enraged young Devlin.
"MICHELLE!"
She bellowed her friend's name again, this time prompting a response from her dark-haired friend, whose afternoon of pleasure was ruined.
"CLARE!?"
As surprised as Erin was, Michelle's surprise only heightened when her door was nearly taken off its hinges when the little blonde stormed in. Making a beeline straight for the helpless Micky, her eyes were full of fury, fury that did not truly exist within her heart but was easy enough to create in her head. He'd been able to get his pants back on in the short time since Clare's first shout, but that was all. In the absence of a wooden spoon to strike the tall lad with, she opted to use her hands, clenching her right fist into a ball and launching it towards his face.
Clare Devlin had never punched anyone in her life.
Within the handful of seconds that proceeded the first punch, she'd achieved another two. The first landed right onto Micky's nose, a satisfying crack being heard from beneath it. The second and third both hit him on the jaw as his head turned away, reeling from the impact of the first only to be met by two more. Quite possibly the tallest lad in Derry was floored by one of the shortest girls in the city, with only Erin's forceful hold on her preventing any further punches being thrown. Her acting skills were holding up almost as well as a certain woman in Berlin's were, a fabricated feral rage that was convincing her two close friends. Neither of them could believe what was happening.
"What the…". Micky started.
"YOU BASTARD, MICKY MCCONNELL!" Clare roared. "WHAT ABOUT OUR DATE!?"
"Ach… erm… yeah…". He squirmed, picking himself up from the floor, nose gushing with blood. "… about that".
"Well ye can forget it! Feck off!"
"B..". He tried a tame protest.
"I SAID FECK OFF!"
The anger went unchallenged by both Erin and Michelle, the latter of whom was motionless with the covers of her bed pulled up over her. She'd done even worse than Micky in trying to cover herself, completely nude beneath the protection of the duvet. Her face told of the same question that plagued Erin's mind… what the fuck was going on?
Micky may not have been scared of the girl who'd just assaulted him, but he knew where his place was and it certainly wasn't in that room. He'd had some fun with Michelle at least but lacked the final thrill of their activity, denied by the vicious Clare Devlin. The vicious Clare Devlin that kicked him as he left the room, clothes in his hand in much the same way Johnny Kells had done during his aerial departure of the house. It was another five minutes before anyone dared to speak, the girls treated to the masterpiece of Clare pretending to simmer down when she did not even feel rageous at all. Michelle really was the greatest of friends…
"What. The. Fuck!"
The livid young Mallon was always going to be the one to open proceedings at the inquisition into her friend's actions.
"He was her date Michelle…". Erin stated.
"Aye I gathered that from when she was shoutin' thanks Erin". A sarcastic response came from her. "But why the fuck did ye come in here like that and start fuckin' hittin' him".
Clare's smile freaked the two of them out. They wouldn't get to know the true story of just how happy she'd become upon finding Michelle with the fella she was supposed to be going on a date with. They would get the version that masked the truth of her delight though.
"I had to make it convincin'".
"What!?" Her friends replied in unison.
"How many times have I said I didn't want to go on this date…". She reminded them, finding them nodding after a couple of seconds to acknowledge the fair point. "… well, Michelle buckin' the fella means I don't have to".
Logic dawned upon the other two eventually, Clare studying them intensely to recognise the moment where their brains clicked into gear. Erin was taken aback by her cunning, though Michelle remained absolutely raging about her interrupting the business that was at hand.
"Ye didn't need to break his feckin' nose did ye!?" Michelle snarled.
"I don't know if I broke it. Besides, my da will believe me now because he'll tell his da that I hit him and if they ask why then he'll have to spill".
"You hit him for that!?"
"I did Erin, and I would again. I've told you's, I don't want to go on any dates and I'll be avoidin' fellas for a bit now ye know…".
"Yer always fuckin' avoidin' fellas, ye feckin' craic killer".
Michelle's grumble was justified and correct. From the moment the realisation hit her many moons ago, she'd constantly avoided any fellas easily from a lack of attraction to them. If the label of craic killer came after the successful avoidance of having to go on a date with a man, then she would accept the title wholeheartedly.
"Did he not mention the date then?" Erin enquired with her dark-haired friend.
"No!" Michelle shouted a reply. "He probably would have just stood Clare up… anyway what the fuck are you's here for".
"Well, we had come for some perfume for Clare…".
"But ye've seen to it that we don't need to". Clare interrupted Erin. "Thank ye Michelle".
She would have given her a hug but owing to Michelle's state of nudity and them being in her bedroom where she'd just been riding a fella, she chose not to. Erin was left shaking her head in the corner, cursing the fact James was not there to make a sensible comment on the situation. He would have known what to say… or Orla, who could have at least distracted them with her ridiculousness.
The atmosphere might have been awkward but for Clare it was a job well done.
Mission accomplished.
For now…
The wait for Hans' return was not a long one, as Lyla predicted in her head earlier. The minutes that passed whilst they waited for him were ones spent discussing how they would break the news of Karl's passing. Kurt decided that he would take the responsibility of revealing it to his young charge, with Lyla there to offer support and comfort should he require it. He would not shy away from the difficult conversation, and the presence of Lyla could only help so far. Kurt too was upset by the tragic news; he might not have known Karl, but knowing Hans, he could tell that the older Hartmann brother would have been an honourable man. He was in death too, dying as a hero to the ever-growing Reich that was ready to take control of the modern world.
A traditionally polite knock on the door signalled Hans' arrival at the offices, Kurt getting up to answer the door, leaving Lyla sat on their sofa.
"Hans, komm rein."
("Hans, come in".)
He forced a smile to be pleasant to the young Lieutenant, but inside, Kurt was fighting battles with his conscience over the extent of how pleasant he could be given the information he needed to pass on.
"Guten Morgen, Kurt...Frau Walsh."
("Good morning Kurt… Miss Walsh".)
Pleasant as always, she curved her lips slightly at his greeting, though like Kurt, fought an internal battle with her feelings. The pleasant, handsome young Lieutenant was about to have his world ripped apart and she couldn't bear to see it. But she needed to be strong for him… like she would be if he were in this situation.
"Setzt dich bitte hin, Hans."
("Sit down Hans".)
Kurt gave the instruction as he walked back past him, pointing to the spot next to Lyla that he'd vacated moments earlier. Taking up position on a chair in front of the sofa, the Doctor took a couple of deep breaths in order to calm himself. If he were a regular doctor, used to having to deal with relatives of people who'd passed, he theorised it would have been far easier. Far from being a regular doctor though, the natural suppression of emotions was nowhere near as straightforward.
"Gibt es ein Problem?"
("Is there a problem?")
Lieutenant Hartman was not stupid. He could sense there was something wrong that morning from the very moment he walked in, mostly owing to how he was guided to a seat, and the fact Lyla could barely look him in the eye.
The next sentence from his mentor changed a lot for him.
"Hans...". Kurt paused to cough, a prickly pain having to be vanquished from his throat. "Karl ist vor ein paar Tagen im Kampf gefallen.".
("Hans… Karl was killed in action a few days ago".)
Kurt and Lyla witnessed first-hand the reaction. A stinging upset that they despised witnessing. Hans went very pale at first as the words pinballed around his head, his conscience trying to fully take in what he'd been told by them. After the change in colour, his head went into his hands and quickly the pained sobbing followed on. She placed an arm around the young man immediately to Kurt's approval, the doctor himself moving forward to bring him into an embrace. An outsider with no knowledge of them could have easily believed they were a family in the offices that morning, parents coming to hug their crying teenager.
"Es ist ok, Hansi, ich weiss."
("It is alright Hansi, I know".)
Speaking more softly than she'd ever heard him speak before, Lyla didn't have to act in order to flash him a brief smile. Their concerns aligned for once, and there were no allegiances to Crown or Reich in that room at that moment in time. The only allegiance was their allegiance to the young man sobbing in between them, drying his eyes on his mentor's sleeve after a silent permission was received to do so.
"Ich hatte ihn lieb…" Hans finally said something, a choke between sobs.
("I loved him…".)
"Wir wissen das, Hans. Das hat er auch gewusst."
("We know you did Hans. He knew that too".)
Offering her own support, Lyla suddenly felt him squeezing her hand. She couldn't help but blush, remaining undetected by Kurt as he luckily turned away whilst she did so. It shouldn't have caused such an effect but with the state of tension and grief in the room, it couldn't be helped.
"Deine Eltern wurden in Kenntnis gesetzt. Du solltest sie besuchen."
("Your parents have been informed. You should see them".)
The sore spot needed to be brought up and Kurt was wasting no time in doing it. Hans was not prepared for it however, making his feelings known very quickly.
"Nein! Sie werden mich einfach beschuldigen!"
("No! They will only blame me!")
"Warum würden sie dich beschuldigen, Hans?" Lyla enquired. "Du hättest doch nichts machen können, um zu verhindern, was Karl passiert ist."
("Why would they blame you Hans? There is nothing that you could have done to prevent what happened to Karl".)
"Sie würden mich doch beschuldigen, Frau Walsh". He argued back. "SIe werden mir vorwerfen, ihn töten zu lassen um mich bei ihnen anzubiedern."
("They would Miss Walsh. They will accuse me of getting him killed deliberately in order to seek their favour!")
"Hans, mach dich doch nicht lächerlich." Kurt chastised him as lightly as he could.
("Hans, don't be ridiculous".)
The chastisement didn't make him snap, but it stopped the sobbing. Apologies were ready on the tip of Kurt's tongue if they were to be needed. His intention was not to further the upset within the Lieutenant, it was to make him realise that in the blinding light of grief, he was making comments that were not true. His parents would not blame him for his brother's death… there was absolutely nothing he could do about it at all.
"Ich mache mich doch nicht lächerlich. Ich werde sie nicht besuchen."
("I am not being ridiculous, Kurt. I will not see them".)
The angered snarl fell from his lips in the direction of his mentor, who was saved by the ringing of the office phone. The despicable noise, despicable to Lyla anyway, was a god send, as it helped to ease the tensions in the room. She left Hans to himself for a couple of moments, going into the kitchen to get him a glass of water whilst Kurt dealt with the call. Once again, she listened as covertly as she could and immediately recognised that whatever was going on, Kurt wasn't going to be at the offices for much longer. A meeting was mentioned and it sounded like one which was required with vital urgency. Meetings of that nature were becoming more frequent for the highly regarded Doctor Van Der Heijden.
"Es tut mir leid, ich muss sofort für ein Treffen mit dem Führer verlassen.".
("I am sorry, I have to leave for a meeting with the Führer immediately".)
Remaining in the kitchen, Lyla heard Kurt explain the situation to Hans after the phone went down. The response came through as a grunt from the Lieutenant, but the slapping of backs a second later told her that they'd embraced warmly. Any falling out between them would not occur, a blessing in her eyes.
She was joined in the kitchen by Kurt shortly after, who'd put his jacket on over his military uniform that he'd been wearing that morning. The afternoon conducting research looked to be on the rocks, however, as was the case that morning when the phone rang, duty called.
"Bleibst du eine Weile mit Hans, mein Liebling?" He asked of her.
("Would you stay with Hans for a while my dear?")
"Ja gerne." She replied pleasantly.
("I will".)
"Danke dir, bis heute Abend". He leant down to kiss her on the head. "Wir essen Fisch?"
("Thank you. I shall see you tonight. We have fish?")
"Ja. Es ist für dich fertig wenn du zurückkommst."
("Yes. It will be ready for when you return".)
"Wunderbar."
("Wonderful".)
Departing once a car arrived around two minutes later, Kurt left Lyla to deal with the grieving young Lieutenant on her own. Months ago when they'd first met it would have been a far less daunting prospect to try to help counsel him alone, offering support at a distance. But of course, they'd grown closer in that time, the feelings towards each other differing vastly to when he was just there to ferry her between her small home and Kurt's offices. Looking at him, his eyes were like those of a sad puppy whose mother did not want him, glancing up to her to see if she would be his rescuer and take him in.
Lyla Walsh might have been a spy, an agent of espionage, but she was a human being too. She would seek to do so…
"Ich kann nicht glauben, dass er verstorben ist."
("I cannot believe he is gone".)
He started speaking the moment she'd placed the glass into his shaking hands, perching on the spot next to him, her hand finding its way onto his back.
"I erinnere mich daran, als ich meinen Sohn verloren habe. Es ist schwierig, wegzulassen."
("I remember when I lost my son. It is hard to let go".)
"Dein Sohn ist gestorben?" The Lieutenant's red, blurry eyes widened.
("Your son died?")
"Ich möchte nicht darüber reden….wir müssen uns stattdessen auf dich konzentrieren."
("I do not wish to talk about it… we must focus on you instead".)
The art of deflection was called into action to paint over the lie she'd told him. The whole story that was her story to them was bereft with lies, necessary ones but ones which would break his heart, should he ever find out about them. It worked; Hans said nothing for another ten minutes, opting to just cry his heart out for the brother he'd lost. Every few seconds she'd rub his back in a gesture of kindness, every time having to ignore the signals her own body was giving her when it came to Hans. She understood her body, but that was not her anymore… that could not be her anymore…
"Kurt hat Recht, du solltest deine Eltern sehen."
("Kurt is right, you should see your parents".)
She spoke not to help him, but to help herself… to distract her where deafening silence did not aid her.
"Nein, Lyla, Ich mache das nicht. Wenn sie sich genug um mich kümmern, werden sie zu mir kommen." He expressed himself ardently, unmoved on his view.
("No Lyla, I will not. If they care enough, they will come to me".)
"Sie werden traurig sein…". She tried to reason.
("They will be upset…".)
"Und ich? Ich bin traurig aber das ist ihnen egal!"
("What about me? I am upset, but they will not care!")
He broke out into a shriek upon finishing what he needed to say to her, violently crying into the shoulder of the sofa. She went to place a hand on him once more, but he snapped his head around towards her quickly, preventing her from doing so without knowing he'd done so.
"Warum?! Warum hat Karl sterben müssen?!" He began to shout and wail. "Warum hätten diese Polen einfach nicht kapitulieren können? Das Gesindel hätte sich nicht zurückkämpfen sollen."
("Why!? Why did Karl have to die!? Why couldn't those Poles have just surrendered? The vermin were not supposed to fight back!")
"Hans, bitte, beruhige dich!" She tried to ease his distress, feeling uncomfortable from his comments on the Poles.
("Hans, please, calm down".)
"Die ganze Welt sollte uns als Rettern unterwerfen. Wir machen sie zu einer besseren Welt!"
("The world should bow down to us as saviours! We are making it a better place!")
"Die Leute werden immer dafür kämpfen, woran sie glauben. Wenn eine Ideal wert ist, dafür zu sterben, dann opfern sich Männer und Frauen immer dafür."
("People will always fight for what they believe in Hans. If an ideal is worth dying for, then men and women will always give their lives for it".)
Like he hadn't with Kurt telling him he was being ridiculous earlier on, he did not appreciate her not saying what he wanted to hear. The Polish were scum in his eyes, scum that needed to be wiped from the face of the earth like how the Führer wanted.
"Ihre unterlegene Rasse ist das nicht wert!" He roared. "Und jetzt ist mein Bruder tot..."
("Their inferior race is not worth that! And now my brother is dead…".)
"Sie betrachten es nicht so, Hans." Lyla delivered her words gently, trying to be diplomatic.
("They do not see it that way Hans".)
"SIE SOLLTEN ABER!"
("THEY SHOULD!")
She couldn't abide by his comments about the inferiority of races or whether they should bow to the war machine of Das Reich. She should have been disgusted, anyone else would have been… but then there were the circumstances. He'd spent his impressionable teenage years indoctrinated by Adolf Hitler's chilling cruelty and mistruths that stuck in the minds of young German men like Hans. Combining that with the tragic passing of his brother and she could almost sympathise, as he was not in the right state to form coherent opinions. Then there was what her own body was telling her… though she did not dare add it into the equation… it could not be added…
"Dir und allen in diesem Land wird Karl immer ein Held sein. Er ist dafür gestorben, woran er geglaubt hat...würdest du dir es nicht wünschen, auf die gleiche Weise zu sterben?"
("Karl will always be a hero to you and to everyone in this country. He died for what he believed in… would you not wish to die in the same way?")
Expecting him to say something in return, their eyes decided to lock onto each other. That was the moment that the boundaries that had kept the two of them locked in place, decided to come down. They dived into the kiss with ferocious passion, hearts previously supressed by more powerful minds coming alive to the rhythm of love that beat between them. But just as soon as they came together, they came to their senses individually, the young man berating himself for giving in to what he wanted. At his lowest, the temptation became too much… too much for him and for her.
"Ich sollte losgehen…"
("I should go…".)
As quickly as he'd uttered the words, he was rushing towards the door, not stopping to look back to the woman he'd secretly craved for some time. The woman who'd secretly craved him once she'd come to terms with the messages her body sent her. She did not want him to go…
"Hans...nein…". She almost whimpered. "…warte...Hans!"
("Hans no…wait… Hans!")
He did not wait.
He was gone and Lyla wanted to cry.
Her orders from Smithers were to keep an eye on Doctor Van Der Heijden, not fall for the young Lieutenant assigned to him. But she'd be damned if she was supposed to ignore her heart and put aside her feelings for Hans Hartmann.
She was already playing a wicked game and acting so well in it.
One more insane rule being added would do no harm…