Christobel

Christobel Part 16

Chapter 16

Chris sat waiting in a visitors' room of the Justizvollzugsanstalt, Osnabrück's massive brooding red-brick prison. Finally, after three and a half interminable weeks of waiting, he was being granted a visit by Frieda. He had never felt so miserable, so anxious, so completely isolated in his life. Telephone contact wasn't permitted as he was a remand prisoner and it had taken a seeming age to apply for a visit, unaware because of the lack of communication that she had been going through the same snail's-pace process. But yesterday he had been told that she would be visiting today, for half an hour, under strict conditions that the case was not discussed in any way that might affect it. It would be supervised and only German-speaking allowed. Any infringement and she would be asked to leave.

Well, he didn't mind that; anything to see her, even if they couldn't touch, and anything to hear her voice, speaking any language. There was a clock high up on the wall, its minute hand taking forever to make its imperceptible way to three o'clock, although he'd only been waiting since five to. He watched the seconds counting down. Two minutes to three. One minute. Twenty seconds. Three o'clock. No Frieda. A minute past. Still no Frieda. A faint twinge of anxiety. But then the door opened on her side of the dividing table and there she was, being ushered in by a warder.

She sat as the warder stolidly took up station by the door, his arms folded, legs braced apart. Her face was careworn. Her dark-shadowed eyes, full of sadness, were on the table, avoiding his. He broke the silence. 'Hi, Frie; it's so good to see you.' The welling of emotion, of relief, of gratitude for her presence, was threatening to choke off his words already.

The warder interrupted immediately. 'Deutsch sprechen, bitte'.

She replied monosyllabically, as if begrudging words, 'Hi.' No name. No endearment.

Chris switched to German. 'You okay?'

'Yes, well . . .'

He felt a prick of irritation now. What did she have to be miserable about?

'You're not, are you?'

Frieda looked up now, her eyes cold. 'Well, what do you think?' The words were a barbed accusing arrow.

'No; right. Of course not. This isn't exactly a picnic for me, either, you know.'

'No, I do not imagine it is, but then you didn't have to do it, did you!'

'But you don't know what I did! Or rather didn't do!'

She sighed heavily. 'No, I don't. You have done something with Vater and someone else to kill my Opa; that is all I know. You have done something behind my back, sneakily, although I don't know how you got the opportunity. You were never alone with him. Although I suppose you could have sneaked off during the day to do . . . to do . . . something terrible, I don't know what.'

'I haven't done anything terrible, Frei!' Chris's voice was rising, edged with anger. He caught himself; lowered it. 'You know I refused your dad, when he asked me!'

'Well the police must think they have got a good case against you for doing something, whatever it is, otherwise you wouldn't be awaiting trial!'

'Yeah, well it's none of the horrible things you're probably imagining, honestly. Come on, Frie; a little support would be rather welcome here!'

'You are asking me for support?' Frieda snapped, close to angry tears. 'It has not been great for me either, you know: losing Opa and his body being seized for post-mortem, then the police turning up like that with their arrest warrant and taking you away, with no explanation, then finding Vater has been arrested too, and Mutter and I being left completely in the dark, not knowing what was going on. I am sorry, but I am having to spend what strength I have supporting Mutter. She is absolutely out of her mind with worry, and so am I!'