Page 91 of The Storyteller of Krakow

‘I said I would come,’ I replied. ‘You said, you know. You gave me this. I mean, not this exact piece of paper. I wrote it out again and again on others in case I lost it.’

He stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind him. The click of it was small. Decisive. Something in my stomach tightened.

Reality was slowly starting to dawn on me. I had got this all wrong. I wanted to run and get back on the train. This was a mistake.

‘There is a cemetery,’ he said after a pause. ‘Just beyond the church. We can go there and talk.’

A cemetery.

Not a kitchen table. Not a front room.

I forced myself to smile. ‘All right.’

We walked side by side down the street, and he didn’t reach for my hand as I had imagined he would. He didn’t ask about my journey.

I told myself he was overwhelmed. Perhaps the shock of me. Perhaps he had dreamt this too and didn’t know what to do now it was actually happening.

We reached the churchyard, the old stone graves crumbling into sagging grass, a few new headstones, with neat engravings. I did not want to see the names, did not want to think of the past and all it had taken. I wanted to live in this reality for once.

Matthias led me to a bench beneath a linden tree. It was quiet there, save for the wind threading through the branches.

I sat down and noted that he lingered for a moment before lowering himself beside me.

I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from trembling.

For a few seconds, we simply looked ahead at the graves.

‘I am glad you lived,’ I said finally. Then tried to laugh, but it was all wrong.

He exhaled slowly. ‘So am I.’

A blackbird lifted from the far wall.

I turned to him. ‘I thought about this day,’ I said softly. ‘About what I would say.’

He didn’t smile.

‘You said to come – in your note,’ I pressed on.

‘I said to write. I didn’t think you would come here.’ He gave a half smile and shrugged.

‘Why did you not invite me inside?’ I asked before I could stop myself.

He closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them, they held something like an apology.

‘Lena. I’m married. I wasn’t sure how I could really introduce you to my wife. She knows little of what happened during the war and I tell her little too.’

I felt the ground tilt under me. This was not how this was supposed to go. This was not my story – our story.

‘I imagined this differently,’ I finally admitted. ‘You said I was a warrior – your warrior. I’d saved your life and you gave Zosia the note – I just thought…’

He looked at me, confusion washing over his face.

‘What did you think?’ he asked.

‘I – I don’t know.’