Free Time to Let Go by Christoph Fischer Page B

“When she wakes up we could watch some of her old favourites.”
    “I am not sure she can follow a whole film any more: her attention span is not that long,” he said sadly.
    “Well, th ere is only one way to find out.” Hanna said and showed him her DVD collection.
    “I see you only brought comedies and happy movies?” he said flicking through the wallet of DVDs.
    “Of course. I love a good cry but once I have seen Deborah Winger die from a terrible disease I don’t need to repeat the experience, regardless of how beautifully she acted. So I usually don’t buy sad films.”
    “You can’t be continuously happy all the time, Pumpkin. That’s artificial and it can’t be good for you.”
    “I know that. I am not running away from the bad but I am only actively seeking the positive. There is enough sadness in every life, no need to go looking for it.”
    Hanna left him with the collection of films and went back upstairs into the guest room.
    Biddy was quite confused when she woke up and kept asking what had happened to her knee and elbow. Walter tried to explain to her that she had fallen but she was adamant that she had not. Gradually she lost interest in the conversation and began moving about and searching the rooms on the ground floor.
    “Are you looking for something?” Walter asked.
    “Yes. There was somebody here. I know it. Right here they were; where have they gone? I must find them. Have you seen them?”
    “Yes, Hanna is upstairs. You remember that she was here?”
    “I don’t know who you are talking about,” she said dismissively and kept looking and searching behind doors.
    “Your daughter Hanna came this morning,” Walter repeated but his wife seemed to become only more confused and shook her head.
    “No, they were here. Here in this house. Don’t you understand me?” she said full of despair and close to tears. “I must find them. I can’t leave them alone.”
    “I know who you mean, but they are asleep upstairs. They will come down very soon. I promise.”
    “You know?” she asked hopeful. “Upstairs and asleep?”
    “Yes,” Walter reas sured her. “Upstairs and asleep.”
    “Oh, good,” she sighed and at last smiled again.
    “Would you like to go for a walk? Do you think you can try or does your knee still hurt?” he asked her.
    “No, we have to stay here. Upstairs and asleep,” she said. “Upstairs and asleep. We must not leave them alone.”
    “Fine then. Let’s read the newspaper then, shall we?”
    An hour later Hanna came down the stairs and was enthusiastically greeted by her mother.
    “Ahhh, there you are! I thought that you had left us,” she scolded her daughter, just like an abandoned child would say to her mother.
    “Sorry Biddy. It won’t happen again,” Hanna humoured her mother before she went into the kitchen to start cooking the evening meal. Biddy folded up the paper and followed Hanna into the kitchen.
    Walter was worried about his wife’s injuries but controlled his urge to interfere and he returned to his papers. He could hear loud music from the kitchen radio. Hanna had selected Radio 2, the radio station that was the obvious compromise between her mother’s taste and her own, and he could hear the two women singing along to a Beatles song. As much as he loved to see mother and daughter bonding he did worry that things might get out of hand in there without proper supervision. He itched to go in and make sure Biddy was nowhere near the kitchen machines or knives, but he knew it would show how much he distrusted his daughter and cause unnecessary arguments. He forced himself to carry on with his work even though his mind constantly wandered back to the potential dreadful scenarios full of blood. In the end he decided to go and get a glass of juice from the fridge. That way he could satisfy his curiosity, hopefully lay his worries to rest and ease back to his chronicle without provoking or hurting his daughter’s feelings.
    When he opened