The World's Worst Mothers (16 page)

‘Your son asked us to say hello from him. We met him yesterday.'

‘In America?'

‘What's America got to do with it?' asked Bruno, puzzled. ‘He's here in Germany.'

Frau Wohlfarth pointed her walking stick at Bruno.

‘Nonsense! My son lives in New York. He works for the Walker, Winehouse and Winston Bank, which will shortly be the Walker, Winehouse and Welfare Bank. And do you know why? Because old Winston has died, and my boy is to be a shareholder. This year.' A short, almost imperceptible smile hovered over her awful face. ‘And if you are any good at English, you will know that Welfare is the word in English for our honourable surname.'

‘Well, then, it must be a different Walther Wohlfarth,' said Sophie. ‘So sorry to have disturbed you.' She was holding Nicholas close, and he was crying softly.

‘There is only one,' said the old woman, ‘and that is my son.'

She moved over to a sideboard on which there stood several silver-framed photographs. She took one of them in her hand then stepped towards the children. Now that she was so close to them, they got an unpleasant smell from her. A mixture of cologne, old floor cloths and dust. She held the photo out to them.

‘This is my son, Walther Wohlfarth Junior.'

It was a photo of the Wohlfarth they knew. He was wearing a dark three-piece suit and was sitting at a large desk. Behind him could be seen in large gold letters the words ‘Walker, Wine…'

‘That's the fellow we mean all right,' said Bruno, ‘and I recognise that desk too. But it's not in New York. It's on Nordfall. That's a little island in the North Sea.'

The old woman waved her stick brusquely. ‘I know where that island is. That's where my husband's munitions factory was. After he died, my son took it into his head to make toys there. Even though I had spent a fortune on his education. Have you any idea what a boarding school in England costs?'

The children shook their heads.

‘Of course not. You don't look as if your parents could afford something like that.' She gave a derisive laugh. ‘I told him that was nonsense. Who needs toys? The children today are all spoilt anyway, aren't they?'

She bent down to Nicholas and chucked him on the chin.

The butler came in. ‘Would you like some refreshment, madam?'

‘That's a good idea, Alfred. Please bring me a glass of bitters and a hot chocolate for Henry. And for the children, water with a shot of cider vinegar. It's refreshing and slimming.' She gave Sophie a cutting look.

Alfred bowed and left the room, and Frau Wohlfarth sat back into her armchair.

‘And I was, of course, right, as always,' she continued. ‘He went bust with that silly kiddy stuff. But then came this invitation from New York. And there he climbed the ladder very quickly from lowly employee to shareholder.'

‘Your son is not producing toys any more,' said Bruno. ‘That's correct. But he
is
still on the island. He has a school there.'

‘A school for terrible mothers,' Emily added.

‘Nonsense!' said Frau Wohlfarth, taking an envelope out of her pocket. ‘I get a letter from him on the first of the month, every month, like clockwork.'

Emily looked at Bruno.

‘Could I have a look at that?' asked Bruno, and the old lady handed him the envelope.

‘It is postmarked New York all right, but that means nothing.'

‘What do you mean, boy?'

‘I just mean that he could easily have written the letter on Nordfall and then had it sent to someone in New York, who could put a stamp on it and stick it in the post.'

‘So that you would think he was a banker on Wall Street,' said Sophie.

And Emily added, ‘But in fact, he is on Nordfall, where he teaches mothers how to make custard and build sandcastles.'

Alfred came in with a tray on which stood four water glasses, a steaming bowl and a shot glass.

Nicholas shook his head violently when Alfred held out the vinegar water to him and gave Henry the Fourth an envious glance as he slurped his chocolate.

‘Trust us,' said Bruno. ‘We've seen it with our own eyes.'

The old woman knocked back her bitter shot in one gulp and gave Alfred the empty glass. Then she stood up.

‘If you are right, and these monstrous suggestions of yours are indeed the truth, then I will personally tan Walther Wohlfarth Junior's bottom for him.'

Susie was sitting at her desk, puzzling over the question,
How do I react if my child lies?

A: I impose a one-week TV ban

B: I try to find out why the child has lied

C: I lie to the child myself, so that he or she experiences how it feels to be lied to

D: I wash his mouth out with soap

Emily didn't tell lies. Or did she? Could you call it a lie when she pumped her mother up with optimism before she had a job interview, saying, ‘You're good, Mum, you just need to believe in yourself.'

‘I'm not one bit good,' murmured Susie. ‘Otherwise I wouldn't be here.'

Earth Mother, who was sitting next to her, hissed, ‘Quiet! I'm trying to concentrate.'

Some of the mothers were bent over their worksheets. Others were scratching their heads. Sophie's mother was smiling in that self-satisfied way she had. She was sure she'd tick all the right answers.

Susie ticked B and looked at the next question.
My child gets a bad mark at school. How do I react?

A: I say, ‘That's what happens when you don't study'

B: I blame the teacher because he hasn't managed to teach my child properly

C: I promise I'll practise with my child before the next test

D: I thrash his behind for him

Thrashing a child's behind? Who would do a thing like that? Susie couldn't remember ever having smacked Emily. She did remember once giving her a tap on the bottom when she ran out into the middle of the road and nearly got run over. But that was years ago.

‘These questions are totally daft,' muttered Susie, and Bruno's mother whispered, ‘You can say that again.'

‘Quiet!' called Ramona Bottle. ‘Anyone caught talking will have to hand in their paper immediately.'

She stood behind a lectern and every now and then she looked over her glasses at them, checking that nobody was copying. In between times, she filed her nails, getting ready to paint them with a pearly nail varnish.

That won't do you the slightest bit of good,
thought Susie, rather meanly. They'd all noticed immediately that their practical theory teacher was in love with the director. But Wohlfarth took absolutely no notice of polished nails or of lovesick eyelid-batting either.

The last question on the worksheet was, What do you think makes a good mother? You were supposed to write at least two pages. Susie didn't think for long before writing:

A good mother puts the life of her child before her own. She is ready to make any sacrifice if it does her child good.

She crossed out ‘any' and wrote ‘many' in its place. A mother who sacrificed everything wouldn't be any good either. Only a happy mother could be a good mother.

Susie was a happy mother, wasn't she? After all, she had saved Emily's life. Kruschke had used that to blackmail her. When Susie thought about it, icy chills ran up her spine. First he had pulled her out of the water. Then he had pointed at Emily, who was struggling and being carried further and further from shore. ‘I can save her, but only if you shut your mouth and don't make any more stupid moves,' he'd said.

In this situation, Susie would have promised to take the moon down from the sky. ‘I'll do anything you want, but please, please, take my child out of that sea!'

And now Emily was on her way back to Berlin. She'd probably move in with her father until Susie was back home. And she would probably discover that this girlfriend of his wasn't so stupid after all, but was actually quite nice. And not as disorganised as her own mother.

Susie sighed.

‘Time's up, please hand up your papers,' called Ramona Bottle, tapping a pen against the lectern. ‘But quietly, if you please.'

‘What did you put for number 6?' asked Bruno's mother.

‘B, but I'm not sure that's right,' Susie whispered back.

Ramona Bottle gathered in all the papers. ‘You can take your break now,' she said. ‘Afterwards we'll have the results, and we can discuss your answers.'

‘Do we have to?' asked Earth Mother. ‘Is it not enough if you just tell us what the right answers are?'

‘Exactly,' agreed Sophie's mother. ‘All this eternal picking stuff over. Why not just give us our grades and be done with it?'

‘You'll get an A, anyway,' said Bruno's mother jealously. ‘No skin off your nose.'

‘I agree, it's just a waste of time,' Fitness Mother chimed in. She was doing a few knee-bends as she spoke. ‘We could be jogging on the beach instead.'

‘Or doing our homework,' said Clingy Mum.

Bruno's mother pushed her way to the front. ‘Sven-Ole recorded a boxing match last night. I have to watch it before I go to training.'

She had not only learnt lots of boxing rules off by heart, but lately she'd actually been hitting a punchbag, ‘to get a feel for it,' she said.

The mothers all started complaining now. ‘I've had it up to here with this practical theory stuff,' Clingy Mum moaned.

Ramona Bottle retreated behind her lectern and reached for her bell.

‘Quiet!' she cried. ‘Silence at once, or everyone will stay back after class.'

Earth Mother twirled her finger at her temple, to show that she thought Ramona Bottle was a nutcase, and said, ‘Oh, wow! Really?'

‘I'll report you all!' cried Ramona Bottle, getting red in the face and swinging her bell like crazy.

‘Oh, let her be,' said Susie to Clingy Mum. ‘Come on, let's go to the beach.'

At that moment, the door opened and in came Wohlfarth.

‘What's going on here?' he asked.

Ramona Bottle was close to tears by this stage.

‘They won't do their work!' she said with a snuffle.

‘That's not true,' argued Bruno's mother. ‘We've just spent two hours filling in those damned tests, but there is only so much we can take.'

She grabbed one of the pages and read it out. ‘You want to take your child to the toilet, but the child says he doesn't need to go. Then he wets himself. What's the right thing to do?'

She looked at Wohlfarth. ‘Thank God I have that phase behind me anyway.' She scrunched up the paper and threw it towards the wastepaper basket.

‘Exactly! Bottle's classes have nothing to do with real life,' cried Sophie's mother, scrunching up the next sheet.

‘It's as dry as a soya burger,' Earth Mother added.

Wohlfarth raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Calm down, please.'

One last ball of paper flew through the air.

‘I understand. You want a lesson that has a more direct bearing on your needs. Is that right?'

They all nodded.

‘All right, then. I'll call a teachers' meeting. You can have two hours to work quietly, and at lunchtime I'll let you know what we have decided.'

He made a gesture to Ramona Bottle and the two of them left the room.

Not surprisingly, the quiet time he had prescribed was anything but quiet.

‘We have to think of something,' said Wohlfarth later in his office. ‘Only contented students learn things.'

‘Well, I've had no complaints,' said Sven-Ole in a self-satisfied tone.

‘Me neither,' said Vibke Paulsen.

Ramona Bottle sat there like a bundle of misery.

‘What is it, Kruschke?'

Kruschke was opening his book of grades. ‘They've all got a D or an E from me,' he said.

‘That's impossible,' said Wohlfarth. ‘You're doing something wrong!'

‘I'm not getting it wrong. The mothers are doing it all wrong,' said Kruschke. ‘In model construction, they've all scored F! Not one of them can distinguish between magnetic steering, infra-red steering and programmed steering. Not to mention what they can't tell you about a dynamic drive in relation to a rear-action drive. Which is the easiest thing in the world.'

‘So you say,' said Vibke Paulsen, ‘but it's all Greek to me.'

Wohlfarth pulled his fingers through his hair in irritation. ‘Look, we're not going to get anywhere with this.'

‘I've been saying that from the start, boss,' said Kruschke. ‘If you'd listened to me, we'd never have got involved in all this nonsense in the first place.'

‘Right, and have you got any better suggestions?' asked Vibke Paulsen.

‘As far as I'm concerned, the whole business with these mothers is already up the spout. Look, can't you see how fantastic my Annas are by comparison with all this? Earth Mother's husband wants to divorce her, he is so taken with his Anna. He's not getting any of those wholegrain nut roasts. We don't need the mothers at all.'

‘So what do you suggest we do with them?' asked Sven-Ole. ‘Should we wring their necks, or what?'

Kruschke's left eyelid was hopping, but he said nothing.

Wohlfarth cleared his throat. ‘I have a suggestion.'

The atmosphere was tense in the dining room that lunchtime. And not because there was fish yet again. No. Rumours were flying. Some people claimed that Ramona Bottle had fled. Others said that Vibke Paulsen had had such a row with Wohlfarth that she had given her notice. Still others claimed that Wohlfarth's institute for mother improvement was going to close that very day.

Quite a few of the mothers thought this was a shame.

‘I've been looking forward to getting my certificate,' said Sophie's mother. ‘I know I'll get an A in sandcastle building.'

Kruschke came down the steps from Wohlfarth's office.

‘I have something to tell you,' he said. ‘The staff has decided that there will be no lessons this afternoon. Instead, the director would like to invite you on a picnic. We're going to have a nice stroll on the beach, and then we will meet at a certain place that I can't disclose to you just yet.'

The mothers were not exactly thrilled at this news.

‘I hate picnics,' said Bruno's mother to Susie. ‘There's always some creature that stings you, and there's sand in your grub.'

‘Exactly,' said Clingy Mum. ‘It's always terribly uncomfortable.'

‘Still, it's better than building model aeroplanes with Kruschke,' said Earth Mother. ‘I stuck my wings on the wrong way round last time and he nearly had a heart attack.'

‘Well, at least he can't do much to us on a picnic,' said Bruno's mother.

She was wrong. Very wrong.

While the mothers, not in the best of humour, were setting off on their picnic, the children were on board a boat yet again. This time it was the
Henry I,
a yacht belonging to Frau Wohlfarth. They had boarded at Brunsbüttel, where Alfred the butler had changed his clothes for the second time. When they had left Blankenese to travel along by the Elbe in Frau Wohlfarth's elderly Mercedes, he had swapped his butler's outfit for a chauffeur's uniform. And now he appeared on the yacht looking quite the sailor in a captain's jacket and peaked cap.

Standing in the bow was Frau Wohlfarth, looking like the Angel of Death. Her skirt was blowing in the wind. She was hanging onto her stick with one hand; with the other, she held an old-fashioned telescope to her eye and was shouting directions.

‘Twenty degrees to starboard! Ten degrees to port. A surge in the mainsail.'

Henry the Fourth was wearing a little yellow oilcloth coat with a matching bow in his topnotch. He slithered from one side of the deck to the other with every heave of the boat.

Suddenly old Wohlfarth sliced the air with her walking stick, waving it like a rapier. ‘There it is! Nordfall!'

The children weren't particularly interested. It was their third time to see the island.

Alfred moored the boat, leapt ashore and reached out to offer his arm to help the old woman to disembark.

‘This won't take long,' she said to him. ‘You can have something over in the guesthouse, but nothing alcoholic, if you please.'

Then she used her crook to gesture to the children to come with her. Bruno was still a bit light-headed from the voyage, and Nicholas was whingeing because he was hungry.