‘You’re the one who said you were different.’
‘I still like Nena. And everything that makes her different too.’
Summer 2010; Laueli.
The K23 planning and building committee put aside its plans and planning application for two weeks to go on a group holiday in Switzerland: to the lovely Bernese highlands and Christian’s parents’ house, which by then belonged to Christian and his brother, Bernd, who luckily lived in Bavaria, meaning that their summer holidays didn’t clash. Bernd and his wife were pretty stuffy, and incredibly fussy when it came to the house and furniture. They talked a lot about ‘overbooking’, and how not everybody had the right to spend their holidays in the house, just because they happened to be old friends with somebody in the family. Christian ignored all that. He invited whomever he wanted, although in practice, ‘invite’ meant that you arrived and put up your own tent. The house had a high turnover of guests and whoever mowed the lawn, chopped wood, and chipped in with the running costs — everybody showered and cooked in the house — was always more than welcome.
It was wonderful there. A lively motley crew, with kids from zero to twelve, in a place where everybody constantly took photos.
‘Everybody together on the hill! And … “Cheese”!’
A foretaste of how life would be when K23 was finished; then, the freedom they felt on holiday would never stop, and all the solidarity, adventure, purpose, and community that went along with it—
Ellen organised a cooking and washing-up plan, and it worked out really well. We all pulled our weight.
Vera and Frank slept in their VW van. They had bought it just before the holiday, having wanted one for a long time. They were independent, and on the second day, when it rained, they drove down to Lausanne, where the weather was better, with Willi and Leon, so that the kids could top up their vitamin D.
Sven and I borrowed two igloo tents from friends, and Vera and Frank let us pack them in their van, together with our camping mats and sleeping bags — there was always so little space for luggage on the night train. But then there was some misunderstanding: we were supposed to know that Vera and Frank would stop over in Stuttgart to see the grandparents on the way. So we spent the first night in the hotel in Adelboden; a bit of a pain, but Sven preferred that to hearing the word ‘overbooking’ again. When it was generous enough that we were all allowed to stay, and it wasn’t Christian, but his brother who was the stickler.
Ulf and Carolina were allowed to stay in the room with the antique beds.
‘Much too soft,’ said Ulf, clutching his lower back in the morning. ‘Want to swap?’ Sven asked. Ulf waved his suggestion away.
Carolina showed Bea and Charlotte how to press flowers.
Sven chopped wood and mowed the lawn.
I shunted Kieran in his buggy up the mountain, over the gravel path, so that he took a nap after lunch. The wheels were too small, and I envied Vera’s baby jogger, but Leon didn’t like it when other children used his pram.
‘He’s like his old man and the van — his precious wheels!’ Vera mocked, and it was true that Frank didn’t like lending anybody his VW.
But Sven preferred taking the post van to do the shopping anyway; and if you went to the smaller shops a few more times, the grocery bill didn’t come as such a shock.
The share was smaller.
And we all shared.
Everybody had to take their turn.
Everybody acted according to their best knowledge and beliefs, and if something bothered you, you had to say so; otherwise, the others couldn’t be expected to know.
It was a lovely holiday.
I don’t want to spoil anybody’s memories — neither yours nor mine — because I really do love being in the mountains.
I love the scent of evergreens in the sun, the incredible variety of flowers, the cheerful sound of cow bells and goat bells; the punctuality of Swiss trains and post vans, the cleanliness of public toilets that don’t even cost anything, and those delicious Gipfeli that cost the same as an entire loaf of bread. Were we supposed to bring one back for everybody? Fifteen of them? Or eat one secretly on the way home? Or were we to justify it, like: ‘In some matters, my nuclear family is dearer to me than my chosen one,’ or ‘I’d like my kids to try one of these Gipfeli and the other parents have other life goals,’ or ‘Christian’s children won’t appreciate them anyway,’ or ‘If I could buy fifteen, I would’?
All that was undignified: I didn’t want to think it, let alone say it, when we were all sitting together in the evenings.
The evenings were short anyway, after all that exercise during the day.
If we talked at all, it was about trivialities; Vera was never there because she had to help one of the boys fall asleep in the van. Christian tried to google what the mountain he’d always climbed as a child was called, and failing that, called his brother, having to leave the room as soon as Bernd picked up so that he wouldn’t hear that there were seven adults in a living room designed for four.
Sven was standing outside, surveying his pile of freshly chopped wood and smoking. I went out and joined him.
‘Don’t you think you’ve contributed enough now?’
‘It’ll collapse,’ said Sven, ‘if I don’t finish it.’
‘That’s impossible,’ I said. ‘Then you’d never be able to take a piece for firewood.’
Sven pulled a surly face. He wanted to saw, chop, and stack; he wanted to have something that belonged to him and him alone, even if it was work. I went back inside to join the others. I enjoyed the company.
On the ninth day, there was an almighty clash.
Vera and Frank weren’t there. They had headed south in the van with Willi and Leon. The rest
