as Dr Hoppe opened the door.
She always needed a moment to get used to his appearance again. Her eyes were continually drawn to his hair and beard, and she often caught herself staring at his scar, which he tried to camouflage with his moustache.
‘Come on through, Frau Nüssbaum,’ the doctor said.
In the consultation room he took a seat at his desk and bent down to find her file in one of the drawers.
Irma Nüssbaum took the opportunity to turn the framed picture sitting on a corner of the desk towards her. ‘It amazes me every time, Doctor, how much they look alike,’ she said.
The doctor glanced up briefly and nodded.
‘They must have changed quite a bit since this picture was taken - am I right?’ Irma went on.
Placing the patient file on the desk, the doctor nodded again.
‘Do they still look alike?’ she insisted.
‘They do.’
‘And how are they, Doctor? I thought I heard one of them yelling just now.’
‘Frau Maenhout is trying to give them a bath, I think. They aren’t very fond of baths so, naturally, they resist. Wouldn’t you?’
‘Tell me about it! Just wait until they’re a little older. I’m glad my two have finally left home. How old are the boys now?’
‘Almost two. But please tell me—’
‘You should soak it in cold water,’ Irma interrupted the doctor.
‘Excuse me?’
‘That spot,’ she said, pointing at the doctor’s lab coat, the left sleeve of which had a stain on it the size of a coin. ‘That’s blood, isn’t it? You can get rid of the blood by soaking your coat in cold water for an hour or so, and then washing it at sixty degrees. Doesn’t Frau Maenhout know that?’
He seemed bewildered for a moment, and rubbed at the dried stain.
‘Or is it ink?’ She was pointing at a fountain pen lying on the desk. ‘If that’s what it is, you ought to use vinegar, or lemon juice.’
‘I’ll tell Frau Maenhout,’ said the doctor, scratching at the spot with his fingernail.
‘Don’t do that, it’ll only make it worse,’ said Irma sternly.
The doctor drew back his hand involuntarily. He sat up straight and began leafing through her file. ‘So. What were you here for, again?’
Before Irma Nüssbaum was able to answer him, or even remember what she had come for, there was another noise from upstairs, this time a loud thudding. It sounded as if someone was storming down the stairs, and both Irma and the doctor turned to gaze at the door leading to the corridor, which was flung open wide the next instant. Frau Maenhout stood in the doorway. Her face was red and she was panting for air, her hand clenched on the doorknob. Her mouth was twisted into a grimace and behind her glasses her eyes were gleaming with anger.
Irma, in her chair, cringed at the sight of the tall figure stomping towards her. She raised her arms to defend herself, but she wasn’t the one Frau Maenhout was after. Skirting the desk she marched right up to the doctor, who was gripping the arms of his chair, raised her hand, leaned forward and wagged a threatening forefinger right in the doctor’s face.
‘If you ever again so much as raise a finger,’ she cried out, ‘against your children, I’ll report you to the authorities! Just remember that, Doctor!’ Then she turned on her heels.
Irma Nüssbaum slapped her hands to her mouth. But Dr Hoppe didn’t seem the least bit cowed, for he had risen to his feet before Charlotte Maenhout had gone three steps.
‘Frau Maenhout, what on earth do you mean? I don’t understand . . .’
She halted and turned around. ‘How dare you?’ she cried. ‘How dare you act as if nothing has happened?’
‘Truly, Frau Maenhout, I . . .’
Irma glanced from Frau Maenhout to Dr Hoppe and back again. She was asking herself whether she should try to intervene, or just stay out of it, when suddenly the doctor’s three little boys appeared at the doorway, each wrapped in a towel.
Bald. That was the first thing she noticed. The boys’ heads were
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