Chapter 15

Late September 1965 – early February1968

September – spring in Australia – brings brilliant colours to Brisbane, at least to my European eyes. They have planted the city and suburbs with thousands of Jacaranda trees that blossom before their leaves appear. It was that pinkish purple haze colouring the city I had seen from the window of the plane as we arrived a year ago. The trees shed their blossom into a carpet under the trees – but if it’s wet, I’d discovered the carpet becomes a skating rink that will dump you on your behind. Late spring – October – brings the flame-red Poinciana blossom against the brilliant green of their new fern-like leaves; this lasts through into January. After a thunderstorm, the Poincianas are dark-trunked monks under thick green cowls. They stand in pools of steaming blood – the blossom stripped from the tree glistening as the sun heats the rain to vapour.

The first weekend of the new school term, I looked over my “Willi letters”. I had filled one and a half bound A4 notebooks and my determination not to edit them was proving difficult. I had described Aunt Anastasia when I first met her as “an old-fashioned schoolteacher, stuck in her ways” – which embarrasses me each time I read it. My times with Maxim worried me. I was writing about them, but what would Willi think? I was as clear as possible Maxim meant nothing to me, but still...

That had me thinking about Willi and other girls – such as Lili.

Would they tempt him to forget about me?

Perhaps, but the gentle and unhurried way he had dealt with me and my confused desires gave me confidence.

With the start of school, all my previous activities had started again. On top of those, Aunt Anastasia expected me to accompany her to various Christmas events and the New Year ball. I was expecting Maxim (or was it his father) to require me for a variety of appearances. To prepare me for these social demands, Aunt Anastasia arranged for us to visit Finney-Isles one Saturday in late October. This allowed us to arrange a suitable set of outfits for the Christmas party season. The wardrobe in ‘my’ bedroom at her flat was becoming extensive. Leaving these clothes and accessories in Aunt Anastasia’s flat helped my unease at the money she was spending on me. Mutti had tried to contribute, but Aunt Anastasia had always refused the offers with firm but gentle grace. Mutti told her about the money we received from Mr Franks, but Aunt Anastasia still refused.

The Polish and German Clubs had events in December to which I received invitations – invitations that included bringing a partner.

They left me in a quandary.

Should I ask Maxim to accompany me?

He was Russian (well, in heritage) and that would be unwelcome at both places and raise uncomfortable questions about how we met. I spoke with both Mutti and Aunt Anastasia and they disagreed. Aunt Anastasia believed I should take Maxim to ‘my’ events. This horrified Mutti, as it would cause problems for me at the clubs. We couldn’t risk that and I explained the problem to Aunt Anastasia. She finally agreed that taking Maxim was not a good idea. I think she’s fixated on the Soviets and doesn’t understand that, for Mr Franks, information on the German and Polish émigré communities was as important. If we stopped being his link because I the clubs barred me, he’d threatened to expose us to the Stasi and KGB.

My lack of a partner was on my mind as I drank tea and chatted with Miss Bauer at the German book club in November. After talking about the current book, I overcame my nerves and asked her if I could come alone to the German Club Christmas party, as I didn’t have a partner.

“Surely there are young men chasing you?” She asked, surprised.

“Not one. I’m at a girl’s school. There are young men at the swimming club, but they’re not interested in the German girl.” I pulled a face.

“Hmmm.” She gave me a sympathetic look. “It would be a shame for you to miss out. I’m sure you’ll find some other young people to be with at the party.” She thought for a moment. “I am going alone this year.” She raised a questioning eyebrow. “You could sit with me and my friends, if you like?”

“Oh – thank you.”

“Consider it settled. We’ll sort out the arrangements nearer the time.” She smiled and looked me up and down. “It’s quite a formal affair. Do you have something to wear ... a cocktail dress?”

For the Polish and German clubs, I was planning to wear the dress I had worn to Maxim’s party. “I think so.” I described the dress to her.

“That sound perfect. Oh, before I forget...” She reached into a carrier bag. “Here’s this week’s paper for you.”

“Thank you. These are a great help.” Of course, I didn’t explain that they helped with much more than my German reading skills.

She glanced across the room – the organiser of the book club, Mr Fraser, was waving at her.

“Excuse me, it seems John needs me for something.”

“That’s fine. See you next week, Miss Bauer.”

“Indeed.” She smiled and I headed home.

On Thursday at the Polish Club, I spoke to Mrs Jaworski about the Christmas party and coming alone.

She cocked her head sideways. “Ha – no need for you to come alone. I will find a nice Polish boy to escort you.”

This was awkward. I couldn’t say no and risk the relationship I had with her and the club. “Um ... I’m quite shy with boys...” It was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment and had the advantage of some truth.

Mrs Jaworski pursed her lips, smiling in understanding. “Don’t worry, Karlota, I will find you a nice, polite Polish boy.”

Her matchmaking antennae twitched in anticipation, but she could see I was uneasy.

“It’s okay, Karlota.” She smiled. “You wait, I’ll find you someone nice.”

All this build-up had me feeling quite anxious about Christmas and it was only early November. Mutti noticed my tension and sat me down. When I explained what was going on, she gave me a wry smile.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d call you a social butterfly, flitting from one party to the next.” Her smile was full of understanding. “But I know that’s not the way you are.”

We shared a moment’s silence and Mutti leant across to take my hand. “Is this about the lies you have to tell?”

I took a deep breath, thinking. “Yes ... no ... well, yes ... I suppose underneath everything else it is.”

“What do you mean, Liebling?”

I had been trying to work out why I was feeling anxious and in a flash of insight, I knew. “Control – I have almost no control over my life.”

Mutti thought for a moment and gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m not sure what we can do about it.”

“We have to keep that wretched man happy.” My shoulders slumped and the silence extended.

The weather continued to warm as November progressed, but somehow it didn’t seem as hot as last year. We were becoming acclimatised, I suppose. End of year exams at school arrived and I was confident walking in – and remained so walking out.

Lizzie and I grew closer during the year – thanks to our shared time at swimming and school. I was still ‘the quiet one’ in her group, but a few asked me for assistance in French, which helped.

I arranged with Aunt Anastasia to stay with her the nights of the German and Polish club parties. The Polish club Christmas party was the first Saturday in December, followed a week later by the German club. I planned to catch the tram as I always did, but Aunt Anastasia wouldn’t hear of it. She arranged a taxi to take me and gave me the number to call for the taxi at the end of the evening.

After I changed, Aunt Anastasia looked up from her book. “Do a twirl, Karlota.”

Mindful of the shortness of the skirt, I rotated slowly.

Aunt Anastasia chuckled. “Very good.” She looked me up and down. “I don’t think the Russian eagle would be appropriate for tonight.”

“Neither do I.” I smiled. “Tonight, I will be happy wearing Willi’s gold chain.”

When I arrived at the Polish club, Mrs Jaworski took me by the hand and led me across the room. “Karlota, this is Janusz. Janusz, this is Karlota. I would like you to look after her this evening.”

Janusz looked younger than me, with dark hair and brown eyes hiding behind thick glasses. He did not seem thrilled to be with me. We sat next to one another for a few minutes in an awkward silence. I had to find something to do and saw Mrs Jaworski bustling around with platters of food.

I stood up. “Excuse me, Janusz, I need to help Mrs Jaworski.”

He gave me a blank look. I walked into the kitchen. “Can I help you, Mrs Jaworski?”

“Oh, Karlota. Would you? Thank you.” She pointed to a fridge. “There are sandwiches in boxes that need to be arranged on the platters over there.” She whisked an apron off a hook. “Here you are – you mustn’t get spills on that beautiful dress.”

Sometime later, she chased me out. “Thank you for your help. Now find Janusz and have some fun.”

I wandered through the club without finding him, but I saw a group of young people out on the unlit veranda. I slipped outside and ambled towards them, looking for Janusz but not wanting to be seen if he wasn’t there.

As I approached, a voice lifted over the others. “Janusz, what are you doing with that German girl? Won’t any of the decent Polish girls dance with you?”

I stopped, staying in the shadows.

“She’s not German, she’s English.” At least he was trying to defend me.

“Rubbish, Janusz. She’s half German and that makes her a Nazi. Why they let her in here is beyond me.” The speaker towered over Janusz, pushing him and forcing him against the wall. “You stay away from her.”

Janusz stayed silent and the large boy grabbed him by the shoulder. “Stay away from her, or else.”

“Yes, Szymon.” Janusz quaked.

The large boy pushed Janusz back into the wall and turned, laughing, to his friends.

I slipped inside, anger and shame warring inside me; anger at the bully and shame at what my father and his generation had done to Poland and its people. I wanted to find somewhere to be alone and lick my wounds, but running away would risk my connection here. I retreated to the safety of Mrs Jaworski’s kitchen.

“Karlota. Why are you here?”

I tried to plaster a more cheerful aspect on my face, but Mrs Jaworski saw through it.

“What’s happened, Karlota?” Her expression was a strange mix of sympathy and frustration at the interruption.

“It doesn’t matter, Mrs Jaworski.” My eyes were pleading. I couldn’t go out there. “Let me help you with the food.”

I received a long stare before her face relaxed.

“Okay, but we’ll talk later.” She reached up and a fresh apron flew off the hook towards me.

I spent the next hour helping prepare and carry platters of finger food into the bar and the tables set up in the room we used for Polish classes, then a further hour washing platters and cleaning up the kitchen. Once we were done and aprons doffed, Mrs Jaworski sat on one chair, dragged another across with a foot and pulled off her shoes to rest her feet.

“Ooh ... that’s better.” She wriggled her toes and pointed to at another chair. “Now, sit down, Karlota and tell me what happened.” Her face darkened. “Janusz behaved himself, I hope?”

“Oh yes, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Good. But you didn’t spend the evening with him.”

I sighed and explained. “You and others here are kind to me...” I came to a stop. I didn’t know how to explain without giving offence.

“But...” Her eyes were penetrating. “You’re German ... and not everyone accepts you?”

“But it’s not Janusz’s fault. A boy called Szymon bullied him.”

She sighed. “Karlota, I’m sorry that’s happening to you.” Her eyes drifted away from mine. “There are people here who had,” her lips pursed for a moment, “a terrible time during the war ... and their feelings have trickled down to their children.” She frowned. “But that Szymon Nowak is a real bully. I’ll speak to his parents ... again.”

I sat ... I’d been here before.

Mrs Jaworski’s eyes returned to mine. “But you should know that many people here at the club are impressed with the help you provide me.” She smiled. “And you are doing well in your Polish class, too.”

I dropped my eyes, embarrassed. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you, Karlota.” She thought for a moment, before slipping her feet off the chair and into her shoes. “Come along. I’ll introduce you to a few more of the senior members of the club.”

Rather against my will, Mrs Jaworski escorted me into the bar, where she introduced me around, in Polish, as her best helper. Mr Taciak and Mr Franc remembered me from the time they interviewed me and they were polite in their thanks but guarded. I met several other people – a few were parents of students in the Polish class – and Mrs Jaworski was effusive in her praise. All the same, I sensed uneasiness at the idea of a German girl being involved in their club.

I ended up standing next to my Polish teacher, Mrs Kowalczyk, who had an amused smile on her lips. “Mrs Jaworski has been singing your praises, Karlota.”

I blushed. “I wish she hadn’t.”

“She had her reasons, I think.” She raised an eyebrow. “Some people here harbour ill-will towards Germans and that must make things ... uncomfortable for you?”

I sighed. “It was like this in England.”

Mrs Kowalczyk’s smile was sympathetic. “I expect all this will fade as the years pass, but that doesn’t help you now.”

I smiled wryly. “It could be worse.”

“Worse ... how?” Mrs Kowalczyk sounded bemused/

I gave her a mischievous smile. “If I was half German and half Japanese.”

Mrs Kowalczyk chuckled. “Very true.”

We chatted about books for a while. I glanced at the clock above the bar – it was fast approaching ten o’clock. “I have to go.”

“Are you coming to Polish classes next year, Karlota?”

“Yes, of course ... if that’s all right?” Keeping Mr Franks at bay required I attend.

Mrs Kowalczyk smiled at me. “You’re one of my best students, but your Polish is not yet perfect. I’d be delighted to have you there.”

My smile was part relief and I summoned my best Polish. “Happy Christmas. Mrs Kowalczyk. See you in the new year.”

“You too.”

I found Mrs Jaworski and she let me phone for the taxi, which deposited me at Aunt Anastasia’s flat. She was still up, although wearing her Chinese robe.

“Shall I make tea?”

“Thank you, Karlota. That would be nice – and you can tell me all about the party.”

A few minutes later, I brought out the tea glasses. As we sat there, I recounted the evening’s events.

“I’m afraid there are people like that boy ... what was his name?”

“Szymon ... Szymon Nowak.”

Mutti’s memory training at work...

“Ah yes ... there are people like Szymon Nowak in every nationality, wishing to dominate others.” She looked over the rim of her tea glass. “We know of one Australian right here in Brisbane.”

I smiled in agreement.

Aunt Anastasia finished her tea, placing her tea-glass on the tray. “But we’re trying our best to outsmart him – or at least keep him at bay, aren’t we?” Her look held the fierce determination that had seen her through many vicissitudes across the decades.

“Of course.”

I helped her stand and we headed off to bed.

In the cool of the early morning, I ran several circuits in the Botanic Gardens before returning to shower and prepare breakfast for the two of us. We lingered over our tea, chatting about the upcoming social events.

Mutti was sitting listening to the radio when I arrived home.

“Did you have fun?”

“No, it wasn’t a fun night.”

She gave me a sympathetic and questioning look; I sat down next to her and explained what had happened.

When I finished, Mutti pulled a glum face. “I’m sorry, Liebling.”

“Oh, Mutti. It’s not your fault everyone hates Germans. You are a victim of the Nazis, too.” I closed my eyes for a moment, sighing in frustration. “I wish I could tell people that you and thousands of other Germans were in the death camps – along with the Jews, the Romani, the Russians, the Poles, the homosexuals – and some English girls.”

Mutti leant across to pat my hand. “But you can’t – and you know why.”

I sagged into my chair. “That man.” I looked across at Mutti. “How can we ever free ourselves from him?”

Mutti shook her head. “I don’t know ... if the KGB and Stasi ceased to exist...” her voice trailed off.

It had happened in Willi’s world, but not until the late eighties, when the whole of the Eastern Bloc collapsed like a house of cards.

Would that man run our lives until then?

For the Christmas party at the German club, I again stayed the night with Aunt Anastasia. Miss Bauer met me outside the club. She had arranged a table comprising members of the book club and their friends. Literary discussion made the evening pass pleasantly, warding off the darkness I felt.

Christmas came and went – as did the Russian New Year ball. For that, Maxim sat with me at Aunt Anastasia’s table and I felt the heated glowers of the Russian mothers focus on me. It seemed word had gone out and not one young man I danced with at Easter approached our table. I noticed the occasional speculative glance in my direction as they passed in a waltz or quickstep. I hated being the focus of such ill-will.

Aunt Anastasia sensed this and leant across, taking my hand. “Don’t worry, Karlota. You are doubly protected sitting here with me and Sergei’s son.” Her gaze swept round the hall, her ice-blue eyes quenching the mothers’ ire – at least for the moment.

After New Year, Lizzie again departed for the Gold Coast with her family and I leaving me to my own devices. I ran, worked on the weights each day and swam several times a week, but those rhythms could not dissolve the grey surrounding me. It sapped more of my will as each day passed. Mutti watched and I knew she was worried, but we both knew she was powerless to change our situation.

When Lizzie returned, we met at the pool, but her bubbling personality could not rouse me. She persuaded me to race, but I let her power away from me.

She was standing waiting for me when I reached the wall and leant down, pulling me out. We walked over to our towels and I saw concern and questions on her face.

“What’s wrong, Kal?”

I sat, trapped in my fog, looking across the pool as it sparkled in the brilliant sunshine. She was my best friend and I must keep lying to her.

“I’m fine.” It was almost a whisper.

She grabbed my arm, turning me towards her. “No, you’re not.” Her voice held a fierceness I’d not heard before. “You haven’t been fine for ... well, since before Christmas.”

I dropped my eyes from hers, but she bent forward, holding my shoulder, looking up at me.

“Something’s not right, Kal. I’m worried about you.” Her face softened. “Please, let me help.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my hands crushing my wet hair across my scalp.

What could I say?

Finally, I shrugged.

Lizzie’s eyes demanded more.

I stumbled, searching for a response that would satisfy her. “I ... umm ... my life’s ... flat ... at the moment.”

“I don’t understand.” Lizzie frowned. “You’re being squired to posh parties and balls by a handsome Russian, wearing gorgeous jewels and clothes ... and you’re not enjoying that?”

I examined my toenails. They needed trimming. “You’d love that – but it’s not me.” I gave her a thin smile. “I want to sit at home, cuddle Imbi and read.”

Lizzie opened her mouth – but closed it again. She gave me a sideways look. “You mean that?” She held my eyes, searching, confusion in her voice. “You do.”

We sat in silence for a while before Lizzie grabbed my arm. “Come on, Kal. You’re going to race me.” Her face hovered a few centimetres in front of mine. “And this time you’re going to beat me.”

She tossed my towel down onto the chair and led me to a pair of empty lanes.

“Four lengths – your distance.” She stood me at the head of a lane. “ ... ready ... go.” She dived and I teetered for a moment, almost diving, but stood there.

After a few strokes, Lizzie realised I was not swimming. She turned and swam towards me.

“Snap out of it, Kal.” Fiery spots of frustration stood out on her cheeks. “Swim.”

She turned and powered down the lane. I watched for a few seconds before turning to pick up my towel and head for the changing rooms. I knew I was hurting her, but all the lies were crushing me. I half expected her to find me before I walked out to catch my tram, but she didn’t.

Mutti watched me pick at my food that evening and had to chase me out of bed for breakfast.

“You didn’t run?”

I shrugged. When she asked me what I was planning for the day, I sighed. I could see her struggling with my attitude, but she left me to my mood. I sat on the veranda with Imbi, unable to summon the effort to read. About an hour later, the phone rang. Deciding to answer or ignore it was beyond me. I sat until it stopped. A minute later, it rang again and I fled inside myself.

I don’t think I slept, but I wasn’t aware of anything until a shadow fell on me – Lizzie kneeling beside my chair.

She watched me fail to meet her gaze and enfolded me in a deep hug. After some time, she leant away. “I don’t know what’s wrong, Kal. But I want to help.” She was hesitant, tentative. “If I can.”

I could not respond, head down and hair cloaking my face.

Lizzie’s hand brushed the hair from my eyes. “Well, if I can’t help, I’ll be your friend.”

The tears trickled down my cheeks.

“Oh, Kal.” Lizzie pulled me into another deep hug and we stayed that way for a while before she rocked onto her heels. “My knees are killing me.”

She pulled a veranda chair round in front of me and sat, our knees almost touching, red spots on hers from the kneeling. She looked around, searching for understanding, stroking Imbi, who stretched luxuriously.

“I’m here, Kal, whenever you need me...” Her eyes were full of care. “For whatever.”

“Thank you, Lizzie.” A surge of gratitude came close to bursting the dam holding in our secrets. I shivered in fear, causing silent questions to scurry over Lizzie’s face.

We sat in silence before Lizzie gathered herself.

“I have to get home before my mother or she’ll be mad at me.” Lizzie crushed me in another hug. “Please take care of yourself, Kal.”

I could see the lines of worry on her face as she turned away.

Once she’d gone, I sat there with Imbi, thinking over Lizzie’s visit. She had the same worries about me that had tortured me with Willi. He was unstable and had come close to killing himself twice and I’d set Lili to help watch over him. Now I was feeling something similar and Lizzie had appointed herself to that role for me.

I’d made Willi promise to talk to me if he ever felt like that again – and now I travelled that same path, some distance behind him, but in his footsteps. Willi had promised me – but that promise worked both ways: it locked me into being there for him wherever he was: I must step off the path as Willi had done. The grey fog persisted in my mind, sapping the colour from my world. But I would push it away – somehow.

When Mutti arrived home, I hugged her. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

Mutti’s hand stroked my cheek. “You don’t have to apologise, Liebling.”

“But I do.” I huffed out a breath. “I shouldn’t let things overwhelm me.”

Mutti placed her bag on the sofa and drew me into her arms. “We rely on one another, Liebling. Alone, we might not make it. We can do this – if we talk.”

Supporting her was the resilience from surviving ten years in Nazi death camps.

If she could find her way through those years, I can do this. Can’t I?

The following morning, Euan was there as I dragged myself around the oval. I pulled up a lap short of my usual run, struggling to find the will to push myself into the final circuit.

“Eh, lassie, ye’s draggin’ today.”

I bent forward, catching my breath, resting my hands on my knees.

“The world’s pressin’ on ye?”

I stood up, nodding.

“‘Tis nae good.” He huffed. “Ye have ta press back, else ye’ll be crushed.” His ‘r’s rolled over me, breaking waves surging against my gloom.

I pulled a wry face, still sucking in deep breaths.

Euan sniffed. “Ye’s young and fit. Ye have t’ choose – push or gae under.”

“And if I have no choice?” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but I heard the tinge of self-pity there.

From the look on Euan’s face and the snap in his voice, he heard it too. “Ye’ve always a choice.” His eyes drifted away over my head and his voice came from the distance of decades. “Ye can gi’ up ‘n run – or stand wi’ ye mates as the guns thunder around ye...”

I watched as he brought himself back into the present.

He stooped to fondle the collie’s ears. “‘Tis nae gunfire pressin’ on ye. But whate’er ‘tis, ye’s not alone.” His voice held fierce conviction. “There’s alus people standin’ with ye.” His eyes gripped mine until his gaze forced a nod from me.

“Now, gae run another lap – and do this one proper, wi’out the lead in ye boots I saw afore.”

A shiver ran through me as I set off. Euan was right – I was not alone: Lizzie, Euan, Aunt Anastasia and, of course, Mutti; they all stood with me, despite my secrets. When I looked up halfway through the lap. Euan was gone, his job done.

Mutti and I kept going through the rest of 1966, with its switch from pounds to dollars in February, and on into 1967, much as we had our first year in Australia. Aunt Anastasia understood and helped. While Euan’s words were sparse, he understood my life from watching me run, offering encouragement in his gorgeous Scottish accent. Lizzie did not know what my problem was and accepted I couldn’t tell her; but she always supported me if I quavered, providing strength from beneath her bubbly encouragement.

In late September 1967, a knock on the door disturbed me from my Maths homework. When I opened it, a grey-haired woman was standing there.

“Karlota Miller?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Mrs Fraser, Euan MacDonald’s niece from Melbourne. May I come in?”

I opened the door, leading her to sit down in the lounge. Euan had never mentioned other family. “How can I help you?”

She was silent, looking me over before speaking. “Euan passed away three days ago.”

Oh, Euan.

I sat, disorientated by the news. “I didn’t know he was sick – I saw him on my morning run a few days ago.”

“It was quite sudden ... he would have been eighty-one next year.”

She seemed unperturbed by losing her uncle.

Eighty was a wonderful age ... but I’ll miss you, Euan.

“Anyway,” she said. “You are mentioned in his will.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Can I ask how you knew my uncle?”

Why would Euan mention me in his will?

“Oh ... umm.” I dragged my attention to Euan’s niece. “I run every morning on the oval where Euan walked Dodger, his dog. He had been a runner and ... we started talking.”

“I didn’t know that about him.” There was curiosity in her voice.

“He told me he was training to race in the 1916 Berlin Olympics. They were cancelled because of the war. He helped me with my running.”

And many other things...

Mrs Fraser’s face showed her surprise. “He must have been quite good if he was training for the Olympics.” She looked down at her hands. “Umm ... his will gifts you a set of weights ... but I’ve no idea what that means. Can you help me?”

I smiled. “I can do better than that – I can show you.” I stood up. “They’re under the house where I use them.”

Mrs Fraser followed me down and I showed her the weights.

“Oh – weightlifting weights.” She glanced at me in understanding. “And you use these?”

“Oh yes – every day. I’m a swimmer and I use them to build my upper body strength.”

“I’ll let the solicitor know you already have the weights.” She gave them another glance and turned to me. “The funeral will be in a few days. Would you like me to let you know when it is?”

“Yes, please.”

When Mutti arrived home, I told her about Euan.

“I’d like to go to his funeral. Mrs Fraser promised to tell me when it would be.”

“You’ll need a black dress. And shoes.”

Aunt Anastasia had insisted I have a black cocktail dress as more befitting my approach to womanhood. “I’ve a black cocktail dress and shoes at Aunt Anastasia’s flat. Would that be suitable?”

“As long as it’s a reasonable length.”

I indicated two inches above my knee. “About there.”

“That should be fine.”

“Can I give Aunt Anastasia a ring and see if it’s convenient for me to drop in after swimming tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

I rang Aunt Anastasia. She said she would be delighted to see me.

I explained about Euan to Lizzie before school.

“Oh, Kal. That’s sad.” She pulled me into a hug before pulling away to peer at me. “Are you okay?”

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