Page 93 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

‘Is that it?’ she asked, her arms already outstretched, ready to take it from him.

He handed it over and she read the engraving:

Isaac Schüller

remember me

January 1945

‘When did you go?’ She ran her fingers over the engraving, imagining Isaac cutting into it all those years before.

‘After I went to the camp,’ he said. ‘He was right. It wasn’t a shop anymore. It was a cafe – imagine that, me walking in and asking to prise up one of their floorboards!’

‘But you did it,’ she said.

‘I did. I should have gone sooner, but for years, like you, I suppose I wanted to try and forget that part of me, that part of my life. It was only when I was standing on the train platform that I realised I had to face it. Strange, isn’t it, that the way my friendship began with Isaac was over a train, and the one thing that made me return was when I was near a train once more.’

‘It was as if he was talking to you, asking you to remember your promise to him.’

‘If you believe in those kinds of things, then yes, I suppose it was. He told me, the day I said goodbye to him, to find his shop, but also that he could smell lemons,’ Friedrich said. ‘He asked me if I could smell them too.’

‘It was his way of telling you that he was going to die – he knew it, you see – he was so sick; he knew his end was near.’

Suddenly Friedrich started to cry, fat sloppy tears that wetted his cheeks, making him look like a lost boy again.

She sat next to him on the couch and let him weep into her shoulder.

‘He said something else too.’ Friedrich sat up, wiping his nose on his sleeve. ‘He said he was going home to see Hannah.’

‘But Hannah died years before.’

‘I know. But at the time I didn’t. I remember asking him if I could go with him and he told me not yet.’

She wanted to grieve with him, to share his tears, but she could not – there was something holding her back, a part of her she worried would take over her and not allow her to return to the life she had built.

A crunch of tyres on the driveway as it negotiated the fresh snow gave them both a moment to compose themselves.

It was, as she expected, her sons Isaac and Jakub, soon followed by Katharina who looked as though she had just rolled out of bed, her hair wild, her clothes creased.

‘Could you not have at least ironed them?’ she asked her daughter, who made straight for the glasses of wine her father was handing out.

‘I was busy. Studying all night for exams and then I’ve got that dance recital next month, so I had to practise this morning. I jumped in the shower and now I’m here, so I’d take that as a win!’ She kissed her mother on her cheek.

Isaac was enamoured with the pocket watch of his namesake, whilst Jakub told tall tales of his first year at university – it seemed as though all the girls adored him.

She sat back in her armchair and watched the scene unfold around her, secretly drinking them in. The way Katharina tossed her hair back and how each time she turned, it was as though she was doing a pirouette. How Isaac wanted to know more about the watch – how old was it, where did it come from, how did it work? His inquisitive green eyes behind his spectacles, trying to take in every detail.

And then, Jakub. Her baby.

Three children in four years. She wasn’t overjoyed when she found out she was pregnant with Jakub so soon after Katharina, but when she had seen him, his delicate features, his face that already looked too old, too wise for him, and then that smile, that smile she already knew – she fell head over heels in love with him.

His humour had come on naturally and was so much like his uncle’s – the same teasing silliness and yet, underneath it all, soft and loving.

More people quickly arrived, filling her living room, bringing flowers, food for the buffet and bottles of wine. She meandered between them, talking, laughing, and then there was the tinkle of a knife as it tapped the side of a champagne glass – it was time.

Everyone duly stood or sat whilst she took her place next to the fire, the photograph of Anna on the mantel.

‘I’m so grateful that you could all come today to say goodbye to our dear friend, Anna,’ Nina began.