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LeseprobeNele saw it between the roller cases. NELLE WEBER, black marker, the letters sloping off to the right.
The man holding it up was big and heavy in a dark suit that told her nothing about him. "Hi. I'm Nele. With one L." He didn't answer. He took a phone out of his inside pocket and held it low against his chest so she couldn't see the screen. He looked down. Then at her. Then down again. He nodded once. It didn't feel like a greeting. It felt like a box being ticked. "You're late." He dropped the sign into a bin without looking, and the name landed face up. Before she could say anything he had the strap off her shoulder and was walking, without asking whether she was coming. "Okay," she said, to nobody. "No small talk." She followed him, and turned her head once more on the way out, back toward the bin.
In the car she watched the city stop. The houses got bigger, then further apart, and then there were walls. "You're not big on conversation, are you?" His eyes came up in the mirror and went away again. "I'd rather drive. That's the job." "Okay. Are we nearly there?" The corner of his mouth moved before he could stop it. "How long are you staying?" "A year." She heard herself speed up. "I look after their daughter. Then I start university. Psychology." "A year is a long time." "Depends what for." She smiled. "What are they like? The family." He didn't answer. A wall went by outside, then fields, then another wall, and Nele waited long enough to understand that it wasn't a pause. It was a decision. The car turned between two stone posts onto a straight gravel drive. At the far end, small and white and flat, was the house. "We're here."
She opened the door. Cold air, wet gravel. "Look after yourself." He hadn't turned around. Both hands were still on the wheel, and he said it so quietly that it was almost not meant for her. Nele stopped and looked for his eyes in the mirror. They were gone. The house had no bell. No letterbox, no number. She pulled the door open herself and there was nobody behind it. Gravel ground under her soles on polished concrete, the door closed, and the rain and the wind were gone all at once.
"There you are." Verena came the whole length of the hall barefoot with her arms already open. "Finally." Her hand settled flat on the back of Nele's head. The hug held. Nele didn't count. She only noticed it the way you notice a song running a verse longer than it should. The room was white and the bed was made so tightly she didn't want to touch it. Verena pushed the wardrobe open in passing. Pale dresses on a dozen hangers, every one the same distance apart. They had been hanging there for three weeks. "I put a few things out for you." Nele took one and held it against herself. It fell exactly right. "That's my size." "You put it on the form." Verena said it like the most ordinary thing in the world. A man appeared in the doorway. Mid-fifties, grey at the temples, a glass of red wine in his hand. He looked at Nele, and for a moment it seemed he was going to say something. "Welcome." That was all. He set his glass down on her chest of drawers and left. "Is he always like that?" "He doesn't like a fuss." In the doorway Verena turned back once. "I've been looking forward to this." Then Nele was alone, and for the first time in hours she breathed all the way out.
She went to the window, because that's what you do in a strange room. Down in the courtyard a girl stood at the wall. White dress, dark braid, very close to the concrete. Left palm flat against it, right hand at shoulder height, something small and hard in her fingers. From up here it was impossible to tell what she was doing. Then the girl stopped, lifted her head and looked up. Straight at this window. She had known someone was standing there. A voice called from somewhere below, muffled through walls. "Sophie!" The girl lowered her head and went inside, and the wall looked exactly the way it had before.
At dinner the table was laid for ten and four people sat at it. Verena poured without asking. "I don't really drink wine." "One glass is part of it." Verena pushed it the last few centimetres toward her. "You live here now." Nele drank. It was easier than saying no. "Sophie doesn't eat much in the evening," Verena said to her, with Sophie sitting right beside her. "She never has." Sophie didn't look up. Her fork kept moving, as though somebody else were being discussed. Then she raised her head after all. "How long are you staying?" It was the first thing Nele had heard her say, and it sounded completely ordinary. Nele opened her mouth. "Long enough," Verena said. Sophie looked down at her plate. And Nele noticed that her glass was full again, without having seen when.
At night she lay awake. The wine sat heavy. The man's glass was still on the chest of drawers; nobody had come for it. And every time she closed her eyes there was the same picture. The hand on the wall. Small, patient, going on and on. At a quarter past two she gave up. She took her phone, switched on the torch and went down the long corridor to the glass door at the end. The courtyard was wet. Tall black panes in every wall, all of them pointed at her, all of them handing her own light back. She went to the wall where the girl had stood. The beam travelled across the concrete, left to right, at shoulder height. Nothing. She was already at the end of the surface when she swung the light back. And stopped. There were letters cut into the wall. Deep, gone over again and again until the concrete had broken away at the edges. In the raking light every groove threw its own shadow. They were not new. Nele didn't move. She blinked once. She swallowed. On the wall, no wider than a hand: RUN.
Lesetext
Serie "Au Pair Geheimnis" in Form von Text, die Lust auf mehr macht. Optimiert für mobile Leseanwendungen.
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Hörbuch
Hörbuch zur Serie "Au Pair Geheimnis" – emotional vorgelesen.
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Vertical Video der Serie "Au Pair Geheimnis", ideal für App- und Social-Media-Integration.
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