Chapter 45: Guardian Angel 5th September 1941
She ran like she'd never ran before.
The Guildhall was soon well behind her the previous Friday night, a distant memory that she did not want to revisit but knew would never leave her. The worst few seconds of Clare Devlin's life were nowhere near as bad as they could have been, but she'd teetered on the edge of disaster. Her whole life, the whole essence of it, was thrown into jeopardy as young Colm leaned in towards her with his lips ready to meet hers. Clare Devlin did not like men, she had no attraction for men, but there was one trying to kiss her. She was terrified. Terrified for herself from both the action and the reaction of Colm when he realised she was not into it like he was. Of course she'd ran.
Running fast in heels was not ideal at all, falling over almost every one hundred metres. Her dress was torn by the time she returned home, making it look like she'd began attacked by the young lad who was only trying to be sweet. She had been in a way, but not viciously or aggressively. She'd been attacked by the norms of society that she sought to avoid but at the cost of her own standing within it. Facing disownment should the truth come out, along with whatever her father would have lined up for her as punishment, hiding the web of lies was becoming much harder. She felt sorry for Colm too, her big heart telling her that he was an innocent casualty of her dark deception. Collateral damage he was though. She had to upset him to remain sane herself.
Clare did not know that he'd gone on to enjoy the night with his best friend and hers. Colm's luck changed for the better after she ran away, whereas hers did not. Sean was still awake when his daughter returned home from the dancing, enquiring immediately as to the state of her. Placed on the spot with a cack attack to boot, she could not think of an answer straight away, blustering her way through a reason when he continued to press. There was an imaginary fight that took place at the Guildhall that night and she'd sadly been knocked over during it, her dress torn in the process. Raging, Sean was ready to march off to the find whoever had ripped up his daughter's clothes, but she urged him not. There would be no person responsible for it, only Clare herself through her lies. He went to bed eventually once she'd calmed him down, but Sean's ear remained firmly to the ground all week in case any new information came to light. Nobody hurt his little girl without getting away with it, especially if it was a fella as he suspected it might have been.
For once at work that week, it was Clare who was not pulling her weight. She'd blanked Michelle on Monday morning to set a horrendous tone to the weeks work. Her friend, to her credit, said nothing more about it, though Clare suspected that inside she would have been absolutely fuming with her. Thinking that she'd ruined Michelle's date with Dermot too, Clare could only think to apologise profusely to her dark-haired friend, but every time she thought about it, she bottled it. Facing Michelle felt like a mountain to climb, a mountain too far for her little legs to take her over. Distracted by the thoughts of what any of them might say to her, Clare became agitated by even the slightest movement. Erin dropped a button onto the desk between their workstations and she practically jumped off of her seat. Frayed nerves appeared to be her constant state.
Erin and Orla kept themselves to themselves, determined to stay well away from the argument between the other two. After church on Sunday, Clare made herself scarce quickly which gave Michelle the time to give her side of the story to the other two. The story was mainly centred around what she got up to with the lads but she'd touched on Clare's dramatic exit too. Michelle didn't understand why she'd ran, Colm insisting he'd done nothing over the top to make her run away in the manner that she did. He'd admitted to Michelle that he'd leant in to kiss Clare, but the poor lad assumed that was what she'd wanted him to do. He couldn't have been more wrong, although neither he nor Michelle were party to the secret of Clare Devlin. If he'd have known, he would have never have leant in… no man would have.
As Clare's input began to dwindle, subtle looks did begin to appear on the faces of Michelle and, to a lesser extent, Erin. The latter could not be too critical when she'd held them up for months, but the former was well within her rights to. Clare could not be letting whatever it was that was affecting her, impact upon her workplace performance. A similar rhetoric had applied to Erin and Michelle saw fit not to change it when the smaller of the two blondes was not pulling her weight. Management were not aware of it, like they had been with Erin, but the girls did not want to take a chance that they might cotton on.
Luckily for Clare, she held out for the end of the week without any major confrontation with the rest of them. Michelle appeared to have moved on anyway, dropping some hints to the rest of them that she would be meeting up with the lads again that night for another night of entertainment, Clare not invited along. As far as the young Mallon was concerned, her friend's loss was her gain as she'd thoroughly enjoyed her Saturday night after Clare left her with the lads. She'd not even had many nights that were better, she concluded.
"They seem like yer type…". Erin told her friend. "… at least yer havin' fun".
"I'd ask ye to join me Erin but… ye know". Michelle smiled her understanding.
It was far too soon for Erin to be drawn into any situations with other men, Michelle knew. She was still recovering from loving James, the powerful love that would not leave her no matter how hard she tried to purge herself of it. There would be a time, Michelle hoped, that she could help her friend find another man in her life, but that was not for some time yet. James' instructions were clear though, Erin did need to find herself someone to make her happy and where she failed to love and respect him in life, Michelle would respect his wishes in death.
"One day Erin… one day". She stroked her friend's arm gently.
"Aye".
A calm but painful smile was etched across Erin's face once she'd replied. As the months went by she was able to stop bursting out into tears at any thought of moving on from James, but under the surface her heart still ached at every mention of someone else other than him in her life. There would be no other James Maguire, a man like no other, and to an extent, she'd accepted that. James was her best chance at achieving the blissful zen of love and motherhood, the perfect man to create new life with as well as enjoying her own. The chance escaped her and the world was always reminding her of the future ripped from her grasp by the icy grip of death.
The streets were calm that Friday night, hardly anyone roaming them. The bombers were still yet to return, which made the walk back much more pleasant. The first nights walking back home after the Easter Tuesday bombing of Messines Park were terrifying. Always having their eyes peeled and ears pricked, the girls were all having cack attacks for the journeys back in the darkening skies. It didn't help that they were slower for a few weeks as Erin recovered from the injuries that she'd sustained following her chase of Napoleon. The sound of a window shutting was enough to send Clare into a frantic panic attack, setting her off running on more than one occasion, Orla having to chase after her to fetch her back. By September's dark evenings, they did not face such fear, having conquered it over time.
"I meant to tell ye girls, that old hag that lives two doors down was tellin' me Ma somethin' interestin' last night…". Michelle moved their conversation on.
"Really? What is it this time, has Adolf Hitler been sleeping in her vegetable patch?" Erin sarcastically chided.
"Good one Erin…". Her friend rolled her eyes. "No, she was tellin' me Ma somethin' about Charlene actually".
Growling, Erin no longer held the same affection for her fellow young woman, who at one time was almost her best friend. The door to Charlene's friendship slammed shut in her face after James' death, the rich woman cutting her off when there was no longer any reason for them to meet each other. It was another painful blow to Erin in the early stages of her grief, but over time she'd come to realise, for once, that she was the one putting all of the effort into their friendship. Although Charlene had brought information about James to her, she hadn't made much effort outside of it to interact with Erin. James was the only reason that the two of them even held anything near to a friendship, a union that Charlene did not recognise at all. Albeit, she was still intrigued by what Michelle might have to say about her.
"Apparently she's been snoopin' around at some of the church services this week". Michelle continued. "Now the old hag doesn't know much more but some of them are gettin' suspicious about her".
"That is a bit odd". Orla commented, her hand stroking her chin.
"Aye ain't it just. See I've always said that Charlene's a dick and she seems to be provin' it".
"Asking questions at church is a crime now is it!" Clare unexpectedly reared up against her. "Christ Michelle, she was probably just seein' how people were".
Taken aback by the outburst from the diminutive blonde, the rest of them stayed shellshocked for a couple of moments. Admittedly though, the outbursts were occurring more frequently. Conjoined with her questionable output and strange behaviour, the Clare Devlin that was walking the same earth as them that week was different to usual. Despite Michelle's description of what had happened on the previous Saturday night, Erin and Orla thought that there must have been more to it than her not wanting to kiss a lad. In truth there was, a complex answer to what should have been an easy question. Those were Clare's truths to know, and hers only, leaving the rest of them perplexed as to how they should deal with her.
"She's suspicious Clare, don't lie yer hole off!"
"I am not lyin' my hole off!" She reacted angrily again. "Yer always goin' round accusin' someone of somethin' Michelle! Just leave it!"
"Wise up Clare! She's Charlene feckin' Kavanagh, with all the fuckin' money in the world and she's creepin' around church like an old perv. How is that not suspicious!?".
Looking to Erin for words of wisdom, Clare found herself disappointed with the reply that was given. Erin did have something to say when it came to Charlene, but she was firmly on Michelle's side rather than Clare's.
"She's got a good point, Clare… it is weird".
Receiving a glare of death from Clare, Erin frowned. If any of them would have been expected to defend Charlene it would have been her and not Clare, with the defence a completely illogical one to her. Clare was hardly Charlene's best friend, the two barely ever interacting as far as any of the rest of them knew.
"It's not weird!" She shouted back.
"It is!" Michelle and Erin replied in unison, equally frustrated with her.
"Marie did a big poo this mornin'".
Orla Donnelly was a different breed. In the middle of an argument about Charlene Kavanagh's antics at the back of church, she changed the conversation to discuss her daughter's larger than usual bowel movement. The air around the girls appeared to clear, the opposite to the McCool house when greeted with what Marie left them that morning, Erin unable to stop herself from chuckling at the comment her cousin made. It was childish, she knew, but it was incredibly funny. Michelle was not so easily distracted, and neither was Clare, the two silently challenging each other to see who could push further. Showing far more determination and fire than she normally would, Clare was offering Michelle the kind of opponent that she would not normally have in an argument. A wise young woman would let her think that she was right, but the blonde was not letting her win so comfortably for once.
"Look, that's grand so it is Orla…". Michelle nodded, smiling wide before her expression changed back to a serious one. "… but if ye pardon the pun, we have more important shit to deal with here".
Confused, Orla said nothing more. She would let them get on with whatever it was that they were arguing about. She'd not paid much attention to the details of the argument, her mind firmly settling on the image of Marie in her mind. Days at work without her were both a blessing and a sacrifice. Allowed a rest from the constant attention that Marie required, she would miss her daughter throughout the long days of constant effort. She was the motivation that Orla required though, knowing that at the end of all of those days, she would go home to see her little girl again. Granda Joe did a brilliant job of looking after her in the day, like he had done with Anna and she'd never been more grateful for his presence than since her return to work. He'd earned his title as her favourite fella.
"It's only important because ye know I'm right!"
Clare continued to argue in a fashion that was most unlike her. Michelle's frustrations were beginning to boil over, requiring Erin to place a hand on her wrist to stop her from completely exploding. Clare was meant to be the Queen of cack attacks who would shy away at any sign of conflict, but that young woman seemed to be in the past. A new, more aggressive Clare Devlin was rising from the ashes of the girl that she thought she knew.
"Yer right? What the fuck are you on! When people like her starting acting like that, something's up Clare!"
"Ye well yer actin' up Michelle! Ye know maybe we all think yer a German Spy, goin' round accusin' all the time! Keeps yer cover does it!" She wildly accused her.
"Yer spendin' too much time with yer Da, so ye are". Erin chimed in with a laugh at Clare's expense. "Next ye'll be tellin us that God lives up Pump Street and Maureen Malarkey is the second coming of Jesus".
Snickering away to the diminutive blonde's left, Michele could have been brought to tears at Erin's comment. Tears of pure amusement, as the young Quinn was absolutely spot on. Clare was drivelling on with the sort of pointless shite that her father would spew about the world. A cultivator of all things bullshit, Sean Devlin was not the sort of man who could bring sense into a conversation, rather being the one to drain one of it. Even little Anna could outfox him, although she was on another level compared to all of them. The signs for them were worrying though, not wishing for their friend to end up following in her father's footsteps.
"Maureen Malarkey is a bitch to be fair". Michelle pointed out.
"Aye but that's not the point is it Michelle?". Erin snorted back in response.
"Too right".
The pair of them were laughing away, ignoring the foul looks that Clare was giving them. She'd done herself so proud by bottling her emotions about the previous Saturday night up, but she was letting it get to her as they walked home the following Friday evening. Her brain ached, having constantly been ticking over from the adrenaline and fear of having to explain to them all why she'd really ran. She could not, she knew, but all she wanted was to share her burden. To be able to find someone to pour her heart out to about what she really wanted. James would have been the best person for it, but James was dead and like the rest of them, she would have to do without him.
"We need to go Erin!" Orla suddenly joined their talk again. "That's our turn comin' up".
Looking up to the corner of the road they were on, the girls came to the usual point where they would split up. Michelle and Clare would go to the left, whereas Erin and Orla headed up to the right. The latter two, specifically Erin, were glad to be rid of the other two, avoiding the argument about Charlene Kavanagh.
Saying brief goodbyes, Clare was softened for a moment as she waved her two friends, before being confronted with the reality that was being left alone with Michelle. In other circumstances, where the world was different and Michelle understood, being left alone with her would have been a dream but that was not the reality that she was in. Confirming her fears, as soon as Erin and Orla were out of sight, Michelle took a firm hold of her wrist and dragged her down the street. Suddenly finding herself back to normal, without the resolve she'd displayed throughout their argument about Charlene, Clare did not attempt to resist her friend. Pissed off beyond belief, and not for the first time, the dark-haired girl was ready to remind her who she was.
Reaching an alleyway, Michelle almost threw Clare into the wall of it as she brought her around to face her. Her eyes were wide and wild, fury flowing through her veins thanks to the display that the blonde was putting up that evening. There were one too many displays of that nature in recent weeks, Michelle had noted, finally ready to delve into why her friend was acting so differently to normal. The answer would elude her, but the want of trying to discover it, would not.
Everything took a turn for the worse for Clare though, in differing ways.
She was suddenly grabbed around the collar by Michelle, who picked her up to back her right into the wall. Checking to their sides, no one else was around to see them, much to the young Mallon's relief. The last thing that she wanted was anyone getting the wrong impression of what she was up to with her friend in the alleyway, should they notice.
Clare's issues were the same, although she would have loved to have been up to what Michelle did not want anyone thinking that they were. The feelings that she was constantly burying for her friend were being tested again as their heads came close together. She would have done anything to live in a world where she could place a kiss on the lips that were in front of her face, at the very least. A different time where Michelle would love her back, society accepting them as women who loved each other very much. Her best friend was not that way inclined though, Clare having to think of nasty thoughts such as being trapped in a room with Erin's uncle or pretending to be a solder being shot at in battle. She could not risk thinking about what Michelle would taste like should their lips have come together…
"I have fuckin' had it with you Clare!" Michelle growled menacingly through gritted teeth to keep her voice down. "I don't know what the hell is up with you, but it ends here!"
"Get off me!" She whispered, raging herself.
"Fine!"
Releasing her grasp on the blonde, Michelle stayed right up in her face, leaving Clare without an escape route to avoid the confrontation. Her friend was an expert at trapping her into a situation where she would be forced to bend the knee, yet again managing to do so. She could not afford to be truthful with her friend though.
"Some friend you are, pushin' me around like that!" Clare found her confidence again, lashing out verbally.
"I wouldn't have had to, if ye weren't makin' such a fuss about defendin' Charlene! What was that about! Ye hardly even know her!" Michelle seethed back.
"It's just you Michelle! Yer always makin' somethin' out of nothin' and it annoys me!"
If Erin and Orla were still with them, they would have at least agreed with Clare's sentiment. Like an investigate reporter, Michelle would probe for stories that simply were not there, creating dangerous falsehoods for those who took her seriously. Orla would often be one to do so, although the damage that she could cause was limited. Michelle's tongue could lure others in though, Clare knowing that one wrong move could spell disaster if her friend got hold of certain information.
"That's not all of it though, is it?" Michelle questioned, her eyebrow raised. "What about last Saturday? Just runnin' off like that!"
"I… I…". Clare stuttered as she tried to lie her way out of trouble.
"What? Cat got yer tongue?"
"I… I just wasn't ready, alright Michelle! I told ye before that I wasn't happy with goin' but ye know I still went and tried. Colm was a nice fella but I wasn't ready for what he wanted!"
"When will ye be Clare? Christ yer nearly twenty one and the closest you've come to shaggin' is when ye fell on me in that ditch last year!"
Glowing scarlet red at the memory, Clare was mortified about what happened that day. Her hands were right over Michelle's baps, her insides going all warm and fuzzy at the time. Those emotions were sparked back into life by the thought of that day, but she quickly gained control of them again, swiping them away to the back of her mind. Michelle was her friend. Nothing more.
She could not have anything more.
"Just not yet Michelle! Let me do things on my terms, not yers".
There was a pause for a few seconds, as Michelle took in her statement. Watching nervously, Clare could feel tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as her little world looked to be crumbling around her. If Michelle would not let her go then she would combust, the pressures of the life of lies finally doing what it threatened to do; crack her open. Fate would be her friend on occasion and once again, luck was on her side.
"Fine. But ye need to be careful, Clare. People will start thinkin' yer a dyke if ye don't find yerself a fella soon and then we're all in trouble! Now come on, I'm fuckin' starvin!"
Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Clare fell into line with her friend without saying another word. The people of Derry would not be wrong if they were to accuse her of having love for other women, specifically the one she was walking with. The worst part of truth was that even though it was correct, it could destroy lives when agents of lies and deception knew of it.
Clare could only pray, although if her Da's beliefs were correct, she would have no allies up above either. Instead of praying to God, she prayed to herself.
Prayers that spoke of hope and freedom.
Two desires in short supply in a world torn apart by another war.
Michelle and Clare argued most of the way home about one thing or another, but they were soon off of the streets by the time that darkness fell. Those who went out on them in the dark, did so at their own peril, but armed with torches, there were a brave few who tried. Some would be accosted should they be seen, told to stop being so foolish when the bombers could turn up at any moment. When there were dances on it was more acceptable, with the young people of the city well looked after at the events. But those in the quieter streets, and the back lanes, were not as wise. Should a bomb blow them to pieces, no one would know about it.
The church graveyard was not one of the popular haunts of a Friday night around nine o'clock. There was a church service usually at half past seven, but Father Peter would never let it go on beyond eight. Sean Devlin and his friends did not attend on a Friday night, and the rest of the church community could not care less that he completely missed parts of mass, just to get it over with. It left the whole church deserted most of the time as Father Peter would often go out on a Friday. Anyone who wanted to visit, of which there were very few who would even stop to consider it, would find it to be peaceful. That peace was why it attracted certain people though, as it gave them time with their deceased loves ones, no matter how long ago they'd passed away. That Friday night was no different, though there was only one resident of Derry present.
Friday night was a regular night that saw Erin disappear. She would announce that she was going out for a walk after dinner every Friday but would never let anyone accompany her. There were often offers, Mary, Gerry and Anna all expressing a wish to join her on one of the journeys. She would not allow it though, to disguise where she was going. Erin was not stupid; if they knew where she was going, they would have tried to stop her. They would have been within their rights to as well, because she was supposed to be moving on. Visiting the graveyard every Friday without fail was not moving forwards at all, her recovery from the heartbreak of losing everything that she wanted in the world, stagnating. Her parents were well aware of what she was doing though, but despite Mary's insistence, Gerry would not let her mention it to their daughter. A man too kind for a world that was not, he was willing to let her take all the time that she needed to realise in her own mind that her efforts at the graveyard were futile. His heart went out to her on a daily basis, knowing how much the English fella had meant to her even nearly a year since his death. Their Erin fought as hard as she could against her broken heart and he admired her for it.
Approaching James' grave slowly, the usual routine began for Erin. She would first spend a moment thinking of David, buried next to his best friend. The two of them were almost inseparable in life, and they were the same in death. Erin did not cry over David, but she would always become a little teared up thinking about him. Long before James, and even John-Paul arrived in her conscience, David was her wee crush. There were days long ago at school when she would stare at David across the room, enamoured with him. He was a good friend to her in life, supporting her when James could not come home with him during their time in service together. Those days were her most difficult at the time, but they were nothing compared to knowing that her beloved would not return at all. David was not there to help her through them a second time around, in a better place where he would be loved, she knew.
Once her moments with David were over, her full attention went to James' grave. After months, it remained unchanged, a headstone which only ever saw new flowers in front of it. Every single Friday she would bring fresh flowers to place in front of the grave, honouring the love of her life after his passing. A regular passer-by would not even notice the difference, as without fail, she always brought roses. He was, after all, her English rose amongst thorns, the flower representing him the best. He was a trampled rose, but the flowers that she supplied were strong and sturdy as he was before the night over the skies of Taranto that changed her future. The worst night that she'd never seen but felt the consequences of, Erin still cursed its memory.
No one else being around also made it easier for her, as she would not have to stop to explain to anyone about why she was talking to a headstone. That was what she would do though, converse with her long dead beloved. There was one week when a man did walk by, but he did not attempt to find out the reasons for her strange behaviour. He simply walked on, leaving Erin alone in the graveyard to say whatever she wanted to her James.
"Hello James, it's me… Erin!" She almost shouted, delighted to be saying his name.
Before continuing to converse with the headstone, she would always rearrange the flowers first. Taking away the prior Friday's roses, she slipped them into her string bag at the same time as retrieving the new ones. Placing the fresh roses in front of the headstone, she bent down to take a sniff of them. Although he was not actually that fond of roses himself, the smell always reminded her of James in a way. It was one of the final straws that she could clench to, the number of them decreasing as time went on. Before she rose to her feet, she would always place a kiss onto the cold marble of the stone, finding a spot on top where the birds hadn't relieved themselves on, something which aggravated her immensely. James' legacy should not have been a headstone covered in pigeon shit.
"I can't believe it's been a week already! I have so much to tell ye!"
Settling into her monologuing, Erin was comfortable alone in the graveyard at night. To many, it was a terrifying prospect, but she did not fear it. She was with James after all, and he'd always said he would protect her. His ghost would scare off the others.
"I've been workin' really hard ye know… I know ye'd be proud of me! We've not had that much to do like, but ye know me, I like to get it all done quicker! The quicker we're done, the quicker we get home on a Friday and the quicker I get to come and see ye!"
A distant sound made her stop for a second. It was a creaking sound, as if a gate were being opened. Turning around to the front gate of the church, she shined the torch that Gerry leant her at the entrance but found no one there. There was no one present at all in the church graveyard except from her, and after a moment that she took to confirm it, Erin returned to monologuing to James about her week at work.
"Even Michelle's been working hard ye know. She can do it but sometimes she just gets very distracted, ye know. Friday's are the worst because she's always thinkin' about which lad she's going to be with that night. Christ it's bad so it is…".
"… but I won't bore ye with another rant about Michelle and fellas. Although I tell ye, somethin's up with her and Clare. Michelle was tellin' me about it, so she was and I'm not sure what to make of it. I know you'd have somethin' to say but well… ye know".
On her walk over to the church graveyard, Erin had contemplated the week of events between her two friends. Clare's behaviour was the most out of the ordinary, though given what Michelle told them about the Saturday night before, it was expected. She was yet to realise why Clare was so against going on a date with a fella, as like everyone else she assumed it was due to her generally nervous disposition. Erin didn't equate it to the fact that Clare was not attracted in men at all, thinking it absurd that any smart young woman would have such desires. Molly O'Keefe was not a smart young woman in holding hers and none of them had seen her since. Erin did not even consider that Clare would be equally as stupid.
"Clare didn't enjoy her date with this fella last weekend, so she didn't and from what Michelle was sayin', she ran away when he tried to kiss her… why would she do that? I know you'd have an answer but I can't find one, so I can't. It doesn't make sense to me because it was her chance to actually ye know… become an adult and she threw it away. I don't understand it".
Erin would never be able to understand it, as Clare would never let her. They might have been friends for years, but some friends were not allowed access to certain areas of her heart. Clare's web of lies would stay tangled away from Erin, who she believed had enough on her plate with dealing with her heartbreak over James. That theory would have been confirmed if she happened to pass the graveyard that evening, watching Erin talk to a headstone that she pretended was actually the man that she loved in the flesh. It would be a source of amusement for people with a lesser heart, but it would only upset the diminutive blonde. Uninterrupted, Erin could continue with her speech to the stone.
"She's been makin' a lot of mistakes this week, so she has and I'm not sure if I should say anythin'. I mean, she was good to me when I wasn't doing so well, so she was but its really not helpin' us at work. It's not like what I went through. She's got nothin' wrong in her life other than the cack attacks… I think she needs to grow up a bit ye know".
It sounded rich, coming from her, she knew, to criticise one of the girls for their performance at work. For so long she'd been the one to make their working lives hell from her poor submissions, the days where she would shake because she could not think about anything other than James. Clare hadn't lost the love of her life the previous Saturday, rather blocking than chance of finding love at all. Erin was entitled to an opinion though, one which could be given in confidence without the presence of any other mortal beings around her.
"I hope the two of them sort it out ye know, because I think even Orla's startin' to get annoyed with it. Some days I wish I could lock her and Michelle in a room and let them sort it out. But Michelle in a locked room is asking for trouble so it is…".
"Anyway, I… I don't know how the war's goin' really but I think it might be goin' alright. Obviously it would be goin' a lot better with you still in it but that's life isn't it. The rationing's gettin' pretty bad again though. Granda reckoned that some of the convoys might have been sank, which is shockin' so it is. The poor fellas are only bringing food to the country, they shouldn't have to die because of the Germans".
Erin did not have extensive knowledge of the Atlantic convoys but she did not need to be a genius to work out the lack of food at times was due to them being sank. Granda Joe paid attention to everything in the newspapers it seemed, as he would always have an answer if any of them pondered anything about the war. Joe was well versed on the subject of war though, she knew. His word could be taken as gospel if he told them about any aspect of the war, the family respecting that he'd served in the Great War and therefore understood the logistics of warfare. Sometimes the papers would report the stories in full too, where they could not be missed, prayers spoken for the poor men who found themselves at the bottom of the ocean thanks to the scourge of the U-Boats.
"I'm thinkin' about goin' to a football match, so I am. I thought you'd like that ye know. I don't really know what they do in it, but Daddy said it would be cracker and he would go with me. Apparently some of the lads have been killed in the fightin' tho, that Lafferty fella who used to play in goal… I think ye know the one. Aye well, he got killed in Africa, so he did. Michelle said he got flattened by a camel but I'm not sure I believe that somehow…".
The latest addition to Michelle Mallon's novel of ridiculous tales, the fate of the star goalie Lafferty was something else. Although she could not completely unpick it without revealing certain aspects of her life that she did not wish to revisit, Erin knew it was complete rubbish. Charlene's Da could only get information thanks to his seniority within command, and even then it was not always completely up to date. Michelle knew about the cause of the young man's death before his family did, it seemed and suspiciously, she was the only one who knew it. She was lucky that her theory was not aired to the general public until well after his family knew, but to those unfortunate enough to hear it, they could have easily labelled her as a spy. She wasn't, of course, but how she'd come across such knowledge could have been scrutinised. That knowledge did not exist, a fabricated story of her making instead created the legend of the goalkeeper crushed by a collapsing camel.
"She does talk some rubbish does our Michelle but… but ye already know that".
"Anna's doin' really well at school still. Mammy was saying that she's the best writer that the teachers have ever seen, so clearly they must have forgot about me! How could they! I don't want to brag but I'm the best poet they've ever had walk through those doors, so I am. Anna's not bad but she's just a wee girl… I'm the real deal but they've overlooked me!"
"What about you James? What do ye think about my poetry now because yer about the only one who's ever nice to me about it!"
"James…"
"James…oh… yeah…".
Remembering that he would not respond to her, that he was not there for her, broke Erin again. She'd done so well to not burst into tears any sooner, but it was all a wee bit too much for her when the memories caught up. James could not answer her question about her poetry, because James was dead. He'd been dead for nearly a year… she would never see him again. All that Erin could do was cry for the one man that was meant to be the perfect one for her, the one she would spend the rest of her life with. None of that life was left because he was gone. She'd held those thoughts throughout the time since his passing was confirmed, continuing to hold them as she was stood sobbing in the dark on a Friday night.
Alone.
Yet not as alone as she first thought.
The creaking gate of the churchyard was not her imagination playing tricks on her. The church had a heavy gate, but it was not the one at the front entrance. In the haze of her thoughts, Erin failed to identify that it was in fact the gate at the rear of the church that made the noise. In the dark of the night, the jacketed figure that passed through it made their way unchallenged through the graveyard, their eyes firmly fixed on the figure of the blonde in the distance. They'd been stood watching her for a couple of minutes before she began to weep for her English fella, witnessing the depths of her despair as she broke down with nobody to stop her. Battling her emotions alone at first, they made sure that she did not forever.
"You can't keep crying for the rest of yer life, Erin".
Sister Michael was who the voice belonged to. She'd been the one who'd crept into the graveyard as Erin conversed with the headstone. A woman who the young Quinn once feared became even more fearsome in the dark of the graveyard at night. There had always been a begrudging respect for Derry's leading educational Sister, with many parents appreciating the way in which she handled the children during their time at school. No child could ever look back on the time and say that the punishments were unfair or the expectations too high. Sister Michael was, at heart, a very reasonable woman underneath the layers of armour that she wore. Those layers were still up in the graveyard that night, but under a different guise.
"Sister, I… I just can't…".
Moving forward slowly, the nun tried to be as cautious as possible, knowing the volatility that Erin could possess under the right circumstances. The circumstances that the young blonde faced up to on a daily basis were certainly the correct ones for a meltdown, leaving Sister Michael to judge her approach carefully. The last thing that she would want was for the young woman to become even more upset by her presence.
"Ye can Erin… ye need to believe in yerself more". The Sister told her.
"But I can't Sister… I just… I just want James b-back… b-b… but I can't have him!" Erin wailed in return.
"We all have things in our lives which we cannot have, Erin…". Sister Michael continued, taking another step towards her. "… I, for one, would like a peaceful life without having to take responsibility for everyone's children. But then I remember that I get a free house so it is what it is".
Amazingly, Sister Michael's pained sighs about the woes of her own life managed to bring a smile to Erin's face as she wailed about hers. There was always an incredible strain to the nun's voice, that relayed just how taxing having to be around children everyday was for her. She would have to hear their shouting and screaming from Monday to Friday, break up the playground fights and the after-school shoving matches. Her life was far from perfect too, something which she was attempting to stress to the tearful former pupil stood before her.
"I don't know how to go on without him Sister…". Erin spoke in a calmer tone, wiping away her tears. "… I… I've tried, so I have, I really have but… but I just miss him so much!"
Fearing that she was about to cry again and wanting to avoid the loud sobs filling her ears in the dark of the graveyard, Sister Michael did something completely unexpected. Checking around to see if there was anyone else who'd dared to arrive during their brief time talking to each other, she stepped forward with her arms open. Erin didn't know what her brain was doing, but it appeared to have sent instructions to the rest of her body to fall forward into the outstretched arms, that were soon wrapped around her. The rest of the girls would have gone mental if they found out that she was accepting a hug from Sister Michael, but in her upset, Erin did not care at all. She was upset and required comforting; in their absence, the Sister was just as good.
"Yer alright, so ye are… that's enough with the tears now though".
For a few moments, Erin did not move out of the Sister's grasp nor was she forced to. Her Mammy would usually be the first person for her to go to for such a hug, but Mary would have only told her to move on. She knew how simple it sounded in her own head, trying to tell herself to forget James as he was never going to return. There was no hope of a remarkable return thanks to the Italians, who'd killed him that night over the skies of Taranto. They'd almost killed her too, with the amount of grief that came with his death. Her brain would then tell her that, with the negative thoughts always overriding the positive ones. She could never be found wanting for effort when it came to trying to forget the fella that she'd loved… her poor heart just could not let go.
"I… I'm sorry…". She apologised as she lifted her head from the Sister's arms. "… I… I…".
"Ye have nothin' to apologise for Erin. But this…". Sister Michael pointed to the gravestone. "… this has to stop…".
Taking a look back at the stone, Erin sighed through her tears. Sister Michael's words were painful when the gesture was added, but the woman could not be faulted for her logic. Her Friday night visits to the graveyard could not continue because she was never going to let go if she still clung to him through the visits. Talking to her fella as if he was there with her sounded like a pleasant idea but it was fighting against the overall aim of her moving on with her life. After all, James wanted her to move on if he was killed. If anything, she was failing to adhere to his final wishes, a failure that would only hurt her more in time. She'd crossed the bridge of forgetting him many times, but in front of the woman who used to watch over her school days, there was no turning back like there had been before.
The line had to be drawn. There could be no turning back.
Friday nights would have to become trips resigned to her memory, painful memories that would hopefully dissolve as the years went by.
"I know…". Erin admitted quietly. "… did my Ma send ye?"
Asking a question that was stupid when she heard herself in the moments after, Erin almost regretted making the assumption that Sister Michael must have been acting under her mother's instructions. She'd forgotten the golden rule about the nun who ruled her former school with an iron fist; nobody told Sister Michael what to do. If the Sister wanted to do something, she would do it without anyone being able to stop her. That Friday night was no different.
"Do ye think I was born yesterday Miss Quinn?" She huffed. "No, of course yer Ma didn't send me. Ye walk past my house every Friday night in that direction… I happen to notice these things".
"A… Aye…".
If there was one thing that she knew from her school days, it was that nothing got past Sister Michael. She would notice everything. It hadn't occurred to Erin that she passed the house every time that she went to church, but when she thought about it, she realised that she was indeed doing so every Friday night. Heightening the Sister's curiosity, Erin's welfare suddenly became her priority again. Where everyone else failed, it would be up to her to finally break the spell of grief that consumed Erin.
"We've all lost someone in our lives, Erin. Every single of us, whether it's me, yer Ma or yer Granda, have lost someone that we loved. Do ye see me cryin' everyday?"
"N… No". She replied nervously.
"Precisely. Ye don't. Ye can't keep goin' round cryin' for what ye did have. Every day is a new chance to do something different with yer life, Erin, so tomorrow make it yers. There is a whole new life that ye can dedicate yerself too where ye'll be happy… don't get left behind in this one".
Wise words were spoken by a wise woman, who genuinely cared for the young woman who she used to teach many years before. Erin risked being stuck in a loop that she would never dig herself out of if she stayed in her routine of going to the graveyard every Friday, trying to hold onto a life that she could no longer have. A sterner touch than even a mother's love was needed, the exact kind that she possessed. The difference maker to the children of Derry, she was out of her jurisdiction age wise with Erin, but when it came to easing pain, age was just a number.
"Talk to yer family. Yer Da might be a Southerner but he's not that bad for one. Tell them that yer ready to move on and that they can't let ye go out on a Friday unless it's with yer friends. I can't believe I'm sayin' I'd endorse ye enjoyin' an evening with Michelle Mallon of all people, but ye need to. It's time to let go, Erin".
Sister Michael vocalised the tune that Erin's conscience played. The song of a new life beckoned on the imminent horizon, lyrics that did not speak of James Maguire or the love they'd shared. There was nothing for her in that life, finally realising from the Sister that her efforts in turning up to the graveyard every Friday, achieved nothing. Where her family were too kind to say anything to her, the woman who once oversaw her schooling was not afraid to speak her mind. The girls did not realise how much of an ally they had in Sister Michael, who'd always thought of the four of them differently. They might have been four incredible eejits at their worst, but they were also four incredible young women in their own right. They were all memorable somehow, more memorable than any other pupils she'd taught.
Far too many young women were caught in the exact same trap as Erin, mourning brave men who were too brave for their own good. Not many had mourned for as long as she had, but they still all had to process their heartache in their own way.
No others could count on the support of someone like Sister Michael though.
"Thank ye Sister…". She plucked up the courage to smile as she spoke. "… I… I should be gettin' home now".
"Ye should. Say hello to yer Uncle Colm for me when ye next see him".
The request would have been bizarre on any other night, but Erin was far too thankful to question why Sister Michael of all people would want to pass on her regards to Colm. That was an enquiry for another day though, her focus on returning home happier that night, the weight of the broken world off of her shoulders.
Left alone in the dark graveyard, Sister Michael could only shake her head.
"Feckin' kids… they never learn".
Meanwhile in Berlin
The Saturday morning sun was refreshing on the skin of Lyla Walsh. Stood in her nightdress, she'd woken from a pleasant night of deep sleep to find that the sun was out already. Her short hair danced around above her shoulders, soft skin enjoying the nutritional nature of the sun shining on it. Berlin would often have pleasant mornings such as that, where she would be able to stand around in the window of her bedroom without worrying about getting fully dressed. There was no one out and about in the rear courtyard of the offices anyway at that time, the bedroom not overlooked by any other buildings at the rear.
The weeks went by quickly in Germany, especially with the new arrival in her life. Hans and Elsa were blessed with a beautiful child towards the start of the summer, which changed the dynamic of the household for the better. The young couple were ever so in love, furthered by Hans proposing to her towards the end of the pregnancy. They would be married in December, months on from the birth of their child who made all of their lives better. Lyla found herself acting as almost a grandmother, the wisdom of more than forty years of life and love experience, twenty or so more than the couple who'd created the child. The three of them were a unit around the baby, seamlessly looking after the child whilst still enjoying amusing conversations. Falling into a routine, they made for quite the team.
However, as much as it changed her outlook on life, Lyla's job still remained in the background. She was, after all, a spy, who was there to report back to the British Crown with any information of relevance. Her own line of information with Hitler was still open, though she'd only seen him once during the months that went by, and it was not a time for conversation. They'd passed in the corridor at the Reich Chancellery, a chance meeting when she was there to see one of Kurt's acquaintances who she painfully called her own. Some of them were decent enough people, but the majority were just as evil as he was. Their belief in their own vision of Germany was quite harrowing, one which she could not find herself agreeing with in the slightest. Her other role of managing the spy network that Britain maintained within the city was another matter entirely.
It so very nearly went wrong.
A young man by the name of Gerhard was one of their agents in the city. A native of Berlin, his sympathies lay with Britain, vehemently despising the Nazi regime that controlled his country. Passion could only get him so far though, and his blunders nearly blew their whole operation wide open. The Gestapo were suspicious, something which she'd noted herself as she spied on the Gestapo spying on a couple of her fellow agents meeting. Intervening at the correct time, she realised they'd managed to locate the headquarters where she would very occasionally visit thanks to one of the acquaintances of Kurt, who couldn't keep his mouth shut about it. Taking control of the situation that was developing, she was able to warn her fellow agents to find somewhere new to meet and fast. She observed the Gestapo's raid on the location the following day, watching on from afar as they came out empty handed. Disaster was averted, but it was a close call that only her access to those higher in command could prevent.
The agents quickly established a new base of operations within the city, one which she was yet to visit. The Gestapo were on the lookout for Gerhard, watching him around the clock. He was discreetly told to back off because he was endangering them all. The man was far from pleased, she'd heard, but when it came to losing one agent or the whole network, it was an easy choice. He could be replaced in time too as there was no shortage of Germans who wished for an end to the course that their country was on. There was only so much of Adolf Hitler and Nazism that some could take, wanting out but being unable to openly admit to it without making themselves a target for the Gestapo.
Minutes went by as she basked in the early morning sunlight, although Lyla knew that she could not stay there forever. She would have to get started with the day ahead of her, another one spent with the little family that she'd established. The bounds of her assignment were long breached with even her friendship with Hans, let alone with Elsa before watching over them as a guardian angel as their child was brought into the world. It did not matter to her though. They were in a war, when so much was being taken every single day on every front. She could give them a little bit back, a gesture that meant a lot to anyone who would receive it, none more so than young parents who needed as much guidance as possible in raising their child.
When she did eventually move away from the window, Lyla found herself in the kitchen. Hans and Elsa were yet to rise from their room, though she could hear the cries of their child as well as the movement of one of them. Judging by the footsteps, it was probably Hans, so she proceeded to make him a cup of tea that he could start his morning with. He would be following his normal schedule, reporting to his Regiment's Commander after breakfast, spending much of the morning with the rest of his officers before returning home in the afternoon. He was almost classed as inactive by his superiors, only keeping his commission thanks to being assigned to Kurt as well as his willingness to report in every day. The moment his assignment to Kurt ended, he would not be afforded such luxuries.
"Guten Morgen".
("Good morning".)
The Lieutenant was the one she'd heard, confirming it himself as he walked into the kitchen. She greeted him as he walked through, the bags under his eyes indicating that he'd had another night disturbed. Lyla herself always managed to sleep through the night without being disturbed by the baby, although she was a bedroom and a deep sleep away at all times. The only thing that would be waking her up was a bombing raid and the RAF had been surprisingly lenient with their raids over the weeks prior. The sirens did not sound that often, which allowed her to enjoy long nights of sleep undisturbed. People in London could not say the same, though she almost could not care when she could sleep so peacefully. The spirit of the Londoners saw them through anyway, destroying any hint of tiredness through positivity.
"Guten Morgen, Lyla. Hast du gut geschlafen?" Hans asked her.
("Good morning Lyla. Did you sleep well?")
"Ja schon. Danke, Hans. Aber du nicht, so entnehme ich deinem Blick?" She commented on the features she'd already noticed.
("I did thank you Hans. Your eyes tell me that you did not?")
Elsa kann es immer durchschlafen. Ich weiss nicht, wie sie es schafft.
("Elsa can always sleep through it. I do not know how she does it".)
Over the weeks and months that went by, Elsa was proving herself to be a more remarkable woman than Lyla had first realised. She'd long ruled out that she was a spy sent to monitor her, the young woman having the wrong heart for espionage. The line of work that Lyla was in required callousness at times, something which Elsa did not possess at all. Her pregnancy went by without a hitch despite her initial concerns, although a lot of them were founded from a fear that Hans would abandon her, which was a fear that did not need to be held. Supporting his soon to be wife throughout the pregnancy, Hans made her as comfortable as possible, but a lot of the work was done by Elsa. She continued on as if she was not pregnant at all, working away in the shop that she worked in until the day before she gave birth. She'd not returned to the job since, but her dedication to her commitments endeared her more to Lyla. Elsa almost reminded her of a younger version of herself, though she had a better man than even she did. Hans might not have been able to understand it, but she did perfectly. Elsa could sleep through the cries of the sleeping child because she was so strong.
"Frauen sind zu mächtig für euch schwäche Männer" Lyla joked.
("Women are too powerful for you weak men".)
"Das würde ich Herrn Himmler oder seinen Männern nicht sagen." He countered, chuckling.
("I would not say that to Himmler or his men".)
"Mach dir keine Sorgen. Ich habe das nicht vor."
("Don't worry. I am not planning to do so".)
Their jokes were interrupted as another cry sounded from the bedroom that Hans shared with Elsa and their son. Little Leopold Hartmann was a boy born into a world at war. His country was the aggressor in it, not that he knew it or would be told so by his father when old enough to understand the conflict. He was a healthy baby, who was born without a single complication, arriving on the day that his mother thought he would. A summer baby, the first nights of sleeping in the same room as him at the offices were very tough on his parents. Hot nights were made all the more frustrating by his cries interrupting their desperately needed sleep. He was a wriggler too, constantly moving around as he slept, restless to a world that he would have a lifetime to discover.
"Leo hat mindestens ein gesundes Paar Lungen". She commented to Hans. "Das ist gut für ein Kind".
("Leo has a healthy pair of lungs at least. That is good for a child".)
"Ich freue mich, aber nicht wenn ich versuchen, einzuschlafen."
("I am pleased, but not when I am trying to sleep".)
"Das ist das Vaterglück, Hans. Schlaflose Nächte sind Teil davon."
("That is the joy of fatherhood, Hans. Sleepless nights are a part of the process".)
"Wir sind im Krieg, Lyla. Ich kann mir nicht leisten, in schlechter Lage auf der Kaserne anzukommen. Sie dürfte mich vor Gericht stellen.". Hans noted solemnly.
("We are at war, Lyla. I cannot afford to turn up to the barracks in poor condition every day. They may put me on trial".)
"Das wäre extrem."
("That would be extreme".)
"Wir wohnen in einem Land der Extreme"
("We live in a country of extremes…".)
Hans' face dropped when he realised what he'd said. For the first time in the couple of years that she'd known him, he allowed his frustrations to boil over in her presence. A young man that was brainwashed into believing everything that the German High Command told the people of the country, he would never speak out of tone when it came to his leaders. In describing the country as one of extremes, a statement that was completely true, he'd defied his own outlook. The men of the Gestapo that he'd mentioned earlier certainly wouldn't have taken to him speaking like that if they'd heard them but luckily for Hans, he was talking to a British spy. Not that he knew that she was.
"Was ich meinte, war..." He immediately tried to atone for his error.
("What I meant was…".)
"Du hast jedes Recht auf eine Meinung, Hans." She told him, smiling as she did. "Auch wenn sie nicht zum Inhalt der Reden des Führers passt.".
("You have every right to an opinion, Hans. Even if it does not fit in line with what the Führer says in his speeches".)
Lyla deliberately dipped her voice, to a tone that could be described as slightly mischievous. One of the other agents had once said to her that she should always speak in whispers, the Gestapo having ears everywhere. Hans was not an agent of the Gestapo, but she adjusted her oration of what she wanted to say so that he did not react badly to it. Openly, and strongly criticising Adolf Hitler in front of him would have started an argument that could have ended disastrously.
"Du irrst dich, Lyla.". He started to argue back. "Die Extreme, in denen wir leben, sind für das Beste."
("You are mistaken, Lyla. The extremes we live in are for the best".)
"Aber sie frustrieren dich, oder?"
("But they frustrate you?")
"Nein, machen sie nicht."
("No. They do not")
She stared at him for a moment, an attempt to sway him mentally. The first piece of tangible process in the enlightenment that both herself and Elsa were trying to conduct with him, it was a chance to push further when she did not know if the opportunity would come again. Remaining loyal to his convictions, Hans could not be convinced.
"Bist du dir sicher, Hans?"
("Are you sure, Hans?")
"Ja. Ich würde niemals gegen meinen Führer stoßen."
("Yes. I would never go against my Führer".)
"Hans! Ich brauche dich!"
("Hans! I need you!")
Elsa's call stopped Lyla's inquisition from progressing any further. It was an annoying stoppage, but one that could not be avoided if the young mother required the help of the baby's father. Leo's cries were continuing, and his mother's touch appeared to be having little to no effect on calming him down. Reasoning that his father would be required for him to settle, Elsa called out for the man that she would soon get to address as her husband. Rising from where he was sat in the kitchen, the young Lieutenant would not keep her waiting.
"Die Pflicht ruft..." He laughed. "…mein kleiner Junge ist sehr anspruchsvoll."
("Duty calls. My little boy is very demanding".)
"Er ist ein Baby, Hans. Das warst du ehemals auch." She wisely reminded him.
("He is a baby Hans. You were one once too".)
"Vielleicht ist das der Grund, warum meine Eltern mich gehasst haben."
("Maybe that is why my parents hated me".)
Ending the conversation on an abrupt and melancholic note, Hans left Lyla to think about what he'd said as he went to Elsa and Leo. She was left with the thoughts for a couple of hours. Hans departed after a while, to report to his Regiment as planned. Leo was back under control by then, indeed requiring his father's touch as Elsa predicted. He was almost asleep immediately in Hans' arms, rocked further into slumber by his father before being handed back to his mother. The two shared some more time with their boy before Hans had to go, whilst Lyla stayed out of the way. Young parents deserved to spend uninterrupted time with their child, the Irishwoman not wishing to be the distraction that stopped them. Elsa surfaced from the bedroom after he'd left, speaking to Lyla as she finally sat down to enjoy her breakfast, long after Lyla and Hans enjoyed theirs.
Later in the morning, Lyla was sat on the sofa in the living room at the front, reading a newspaper that spoke of great triumphs against the Red Army. The Soviet Union's supposedly legendary army was nowhere near as effective as the Nazi war machine thrown at it. The great armies of Nazi Germany destroyed the Russians in multiple battles, pushing them further and further back into their country. Moscow was soon in their sights, some of the German generals already wishing to rush forward to seize the city but were held back by Hitler himself. He wished to silence the Soviet Union forever, and to do that it would have to be killed economically. Capturing the Capital city would deal them a heavy blow, but it would not stop them completely. Other targets such as Kiev were to be captured first before the Swastika could be raised over the Red Square.
Those were not concerns of Elsa though, who walked around the sofa to stand in front of Lyla. Little Leo was nestled safely against her chest, the other woman looking up with a fond grin across her face when noticing the little boy was snoring away.
"Lyla, würdest du Leo für ein paar Minuten halten? Ich muss Wäsche vorbereiten." Elsa enquired.
("Lyla, would you hold Leo for a few minutes? I need to prepare some washing".)
"Ja, gerne, Elsa."
("It would be a pleasure, Elsa".)
Standing up, Lyla threw the newspaper out of the way once it was shut, taking her favourite young man into her arms. Elsa's heart always pumped out an extra beat when she saw Leo in Lyla's arms, the angel that any dream could be made of holding her precious baby son. Sadly, for her, Lyla was far from an angel, an agent of a foreign power sent to infiltrate her country. The truth remained unknown to her though, the Irishwoman in front of her instead acting as a motherly figure that she could only dream of being. Elsa's main concern was her washing though, which had fallen behind that week. Despite numerous offers of assistance from Lyla, she insisted that she would do it all once the opportunity came. Hans' supply of shirts for reporting for duty in were running dangerously low, the Lieutenant not wanting to embarrass himself by turning up to the barracks in a dirty one.
"Ich habe die Wäsche niemals gern gemacht." Elsa explained, gathering garments together. "Mein Onkel hat immer die Weiß- und Buntwäsche gemischt...ich konnte ihn manchmal töten."
("I have never enjoyed washing. My uncle always used to mix the whites and the colours… I could kill him sometimes".)
"Was für ein schrecklicher Mann!" Lyla shouted in reply.
("What a horrible man!".)
"Er ist glücklicherweise tot."
("He is dead thankfully".)
Neither woman could stomach a conversation about the pains of mixing the whites and the colours, a cultural similarity between Ireland and Germany that was to be expected. It was the nightmare of any self-respecting woman in the world, they both thought, usually perpetuated by the ignorance of undomesticated men who did not understand the agony of mixing the washing.
Lyla walked around the offices with Leo in her arms, loosely following Elsa whilst the younger woman continued to gather garments that required washing. She used a basket to store them all in, which became heavier and heavier to her dismay. Barely able to lift it once she'd finished, Elsa was panting heavily from the incredible effort gathering the washing together required. In her head, she vowed to never allow the backlog to grow so long again if it required that much effort to get back under control.
"Es ist lieb von dir, dass du uns hilfst, Lyla."
("We really appreciate you helping us, Lyla".)
Elsa was watching her as she rocked little Leo's sleeping form, a fond expression slapped across her face. She'd been meaning to thank her friend for weeks, but the right moment always seemed to slip through her fingers. That morning whilst Hans was out though, she was able to find her time.
"Nichts zu danken.". Lyla beamed at her, before tilting her head down. "Leo ist ein sehr gut aussehender kleiner Junge.
("Do not mention it. Leo is a very handsome little boy".)
"Doch, wir haben zu danken." Elsa insisted. "Hans könnte dem Land nicht weiter dienen wenn du nicht dabei wärest, mir zu helfen."
("No, you must accept our thanks. Hans could not continue with serving the country if you were not here to help me".)
"Du hättest es ohne mich geschafft."
("You would have coped without me".)
"Nein, hätte ich nicht. Ich bin eine furchtbare Mutter."
("I would not. I am a terrible mother".)
After months of strength, Elsa showed momentary weakness as she placed her hands over her face. For reasons that she did not understand herself, the young woman began to sob at her own description of her capabilities as a mother to young Leo. Self-confidence was a massive issue for the blonde before she'd met Lieutenant Hartmann, who'd managed to break her out of her shell. At heart, Elsa was quite the character, but she often struggled to show her natural personality under layers of belief lacking thoughts. Seeing her distress, Lyla rushed over to her with Leo still in her arms, placing her free arm around Elsa's shoulders where she stood.
"Nein, bist du nicht, Elsa.". The older woman whispered to her. "Du liebst den kleinen Leo innig und du betreust ihn perfekt. Es ist normal, dass du dich gestresst fühlst, aber es verbessert sich."
("No you are not, Elsa. You love little Leo dearly and you care for him perfectly. It is natural for you to feel stressed, but it will improve".)
"Ich bin so müde, Lyla.". Elsa choked out, revealing the wider issue at hand.
("I am so tired, Lyla".)
"Wirst du sein...Babys nehmen ihren Müttern die ganze Energie. Im laufe der Zeit lohnen sich die Verzichte durch seine Entwicklung."
("You will be tired… babies take all of the energy out of their mother. In time, the sacrifices will be rewarded in his development".)
Listening intently to the woman twice her age, Elsa's tears resided, replaced by sniffles that were gradually getting quieter as neither woman spoke for a few seconds. Without Lyla being there for her, she would have faced her breakdown alone, a thought that truly terrified her. Whatever she'd done to deserve such a fantastic parental figure in her life, she did not know at all, but would thank the Lord in the afterlife whenever she reached it.
"Du bist zu weise". Elsa chuckled lightly, drying her eyes.
("You are too wise".)
"Ich bin viel zu alt. Ich rede mit dir, als wärst du meine Tochter."
("I am far too old. I speak to you as if you were my daughter".)
"Ich hätte Glück, wenn du meine Mutter wärst."
("I would be lucky if you were my mother".)
"Das sagt Hans die ganze Zeit." Lyla said in return, her heart warm from the loving compliment. "Ich glaube, ihr beide versucht, mich zu schmeicheln, Elsa."
("Hans says the same. I think you are both trying to flatter me, Elsa".)
"Gar nichts, du bist eine wunderschöne Frau."
("Not at all. You are a brilliant woman".)
The flattery was working, Lyla feeling the tremendous buzz that one would receive after such comments from a friend. As she enjoyed the feeling of being wanted by someone for something other than acts of espionage or meaningless sex, Elsa retrieved Leo from her. Her son clutched back to her chest, Elsa stroked his chubby little cheeks that held a rosy colour to them. He was going to be a beautiful young man, just like his father. His eyes were bright blue, the little hair he had already showing signs of blonde colouring. The perfect young Aryan child, just like his father hoped he would be.
"Hat dir Hans von unserem Plan erzählt?"
("Has Hans told you about our plan?")
Elsa's question caught her off guard, Lyla having to stop for a moment. She'd relaxed too far into the caring protector of young Leo, forgetting who she was and what she was really doing there. Pressing questions such as the one that the young blonde asked, forced her back into the mindset she should have been holding at all times.
"Plan?" She replied with a question of her own.
("Plan?")
"Ja." Elsa responded happily. "Unser Plan für Leo."
("Yes. Our plan for Leo".)
"Nein, hat er nicht."
("No, he has not")
Mystified, Lyla tried to think of the times she'd spoken to Hans about his young son. There was never a time when a plan for the boy was mentioned, other than his hopes that one day his son would be a leading figure for the country when they dominated the world. A conversation which involved multiple rolls of the eyes when his head was turned away, she did not remember there being a concrete plan for the development of the boy's early life. She supposed it was fairly obvious though. Hans had already spoken of a desire to move to a home of their own at some point, hopefully somewhere near to the barracks so that he did not have to travel far. He would be schooled in Berlin, with a likely agreeable Kurt funding him for the best education possible. Whether she would be around to see it, she did not know, but she would remain proud nonetheless. Months later, the young couple found themselves with other ideas in their heads.
"Nächstes Jahr hoffen wir, auf das Land umzuziehen."
("Next year, we hope to move to the countryside".)
"Das Land!?" Lyla almost bellowed in disbelief. "Das ist ein Schock."
("The countryside!? That is a shock".)
"Hans hofft, Regimente wechseln zu können. Wir würden unser Leben weg von der Stadt führen, wenn das möglich ist." Elsa explained.
("Hans is hoping to be able to transfer regiments. We would like to lead our life away from the city if it is possible".)
"Bist du sicher, ob das eine gute Idee ist?"
("Are you sure that is wise?")
"Warum wäre es nicht?"
("Why would it not be?")
"In der Stadt hat man die Sicherheit der Soldaten und der Gewehren. Auf dem Land gibt es nichts, euch zu schützen und es ist im Winter viel kälter."
("In the city, you have the safety of the soldiers and the guns. Out in the countryside, there is nothing to protect you and it will be far colder in the winter".)
"Es ist zu gefährlich in der Stadt, Lyla. Was über die Bomben, die die Briten abwerfen?"
("It is too dangerous in the city, Lyla. What about the bombs that the British drop?")
"Dafür haben wir Luftschutzräume, Elsa. Die hättet ihr auf dem Land nicht."
("That is what the shelters are for, Elsa. You would not get those shelters in the countryside".)
Lyla was raising far too many valuable points for Elsa to comprehend. The wise older woman, the title prescribed to her by the younger one, was completely correct in her assessment of the plan. It was not a good one. Although there was always the threat of being caught up in a bombing, that threat was far worse out in the countryside. Bombers who were required to release their payload without having a target to aim at, could easily jettison the unwanted explosives onto a remote country house without even aiming at it. Innocent lives would be lost with the potential for them not to be discovered for days afterwards. That would not happen in the city, which was as Lyla said it was, a far safer place to be.
"Ich...ich will nur das Beste für meinen Sohn." Elsa stammered through a response.
("I… I only want what is best for my son".)
"Ich weiss". A loving Lyla rested a hand on hers. "Deshalb müsst ihr in der Stadt bleiben."
("I know you do. That is why you must stay in the city".)
"Hans will auch auf das Land."
("Hans wants to go to the countryside too".)
Before any response to Elsa could be made, there was a knock on the front door of the offices. It was most unusual for them to have someone arrive on a Saturday, with most visitors knocking in the week. The interruptions were not usually entertaining, though in the back of her mind, Lyla was already silently praying that it was not the Gestapo.
"Es scheint, als haben wir Besuch."
("It would appear we have a visitor".)
Opening the door, an officer no older than Hans stood before her. His hat covered his hair, but she could see dark strands peering out from underneath it. He was not a young man that she recognised, but judging by the bag he was carrying, he was delivering important correspondence, which she correctly guessed made him a staff officer. Important correspondence for Kurt would always be forwarded onto his address somewhere in Poland, which made it an odd occurrence that an important letter would come directly to her instead.
"Guten Morgen." She greeted the visitor.
("Good morning".)
"Guten Morgen". He replied, his voice deep. "...ich habe ein Telegramm für Frau...Walsh?"
("Good morning. I have a telegram for Miss… Walsh?")
"Das bin ich, danke."
("That is me. Thank you".)
Handing the telegram over to her, the man quickly left as she shut the front door. It was a note that was short and sweet, but one that brought her fully back down to the reality that she was living in. A note that told her that it was all well and good looking after Leo for Hans and Elsa, but it was not her true purpose. The guard that she would let down on occasion would have to go back up. Anything but impeccable would no longer be good enough to maintain her cover, of the Irish woman loyal to Germany over Britain. Her telegram came from miles away from the east rather than the west or in the city where the usual telegrams she received would be sent from.
Moving back into the living room, she caught the attention of a curious Elsa, whose eyes were wide with wonder at what was in Lyla's hands.
"Was ist das?" The blonde asked.
("What is it?")
"Ich haben ein Telegramm. Ich glaube, es ist von Kurt." Lyla replied cautiously.
("I have a telegram. I think it may be from Kurt".)
"Das ist wunderbar!"
("That is excellent!")
"Ja, ich würde hoffen, dass es ist."
("Yes, I would hope that it is".)
"Lyla, was besagt es?"
("Lyla, what does it say?")
"Kurt bringt gute Nachrichten."
("Kurt brings good news".)
It was not good news. It was far from good news, not that Elsa would ever see it that way. The telegram from Kurt was one long in the making, but thoughts of the day it came were never too far away from Lyla. An eventuality that was always on the cards, it returned to the forefront of her mind on a day that had been otherwise pleasant. Her concentration levels were immediately heightened, knowing that they must stay that way permanently from that moment on.
"Er kommt in den nächsten Wochen nach Hause."
("He is coming home in the next few weeks".)