The World's Worst Mothers by Sabine Ludwig Read Free Book Online Page B

Mechanical functions, such as vacuuming, ironing and making beds, were easy to program: they were the same for all the Annas. What had taken up most of his time had been language. Hopefully he’d overlooked nothing. Kruschke shook his head. No, no. He hadn’t made any mistakes. His Annas were absolutely perfect. So perfect that no one would realise what they really were.
    And they had survived the first test. Kruschke accompanied them himself to the ferry port. They marched out of Wohlfarth’s factory through the gate that had been flung wide and on down the street to the harbour where Wohlfarth’s dazzling white motor yacht Margarethe was anchored. They took their seats on deck, throwing bright scarves over their heads and putting on their sunglasses.
    Bursting with pride, Sven-Ole took up the helm, imagining himself as some big oil magnate or rock star who was speeding off over the Mediterranean to Capri with his playmates. Only the North Sea wasn’t the Mediterranean, and Nordfall wasn’t Capri.
    Even on an island full of beautiful people, the departure of seventeen blondes would have caused something of a stir. All the more so on Nordfall.
    Swantje, who did a bit of casual work at Dune View, tore off her apron and exclaimed, ‘I want to go to this model school too, if that’s what you look like at the end of it!’
    And Hinnerk, the last fisherman on the island, who was just unloading his catch at the harbour, couldn’t keep his mouth closed, so amazed was he to see seventeen attractive young women going by. He let a whole box of flounder fall back into the sea from sheer astonishment.
    The only strange thing was that the young women didn’t say a word to each other. They had come silently along the gangway, and silently they sat in the yacht.
    â€˜That’s what models are like,’ declared Swantje. ‘They don’t talk to each other because they all distrust each other.’
    â€˜I couldn’t say which one I liked best,’ said Hinnerk. ‘They were all equally pretty.’
    â€˜Well, you can forget it. You’ll never get one like that. As long as you stink of fish,’ said Swantje, poking Hinnerk in the ribs.
    â€˜You smell of cooking fat,’ Hinnerk replied, but his grin made it plain that that didn’t bother him.

Chapter 7
    Bruno was in no hurry to get home on this fine June day. It was Thursday, and the thought of the looming piano lesson with Professor Griebel made him queasy. Of course he hadn’t been allowed to take part in the recital. ‘The fluency in his left hand leaves much to be desired,’ Professor Griebel had explained to his mother. ‘He really needs to practise more and to take more lessons. That would give him some chance of making an appearance at our big summer concert.’
    As soon as she heard the word ‘concert’ Bruno’s mother’s eyes lit up. Since then, Bruno had had to practise every day, whether he wanted to or not. Only when his father came home in the evening and made pained faces, saying, ‘I’ve got a headache,’ was Bruno allowed to close the lid of the piano.
    There was no point. Even if he played for ten hours a day, he would never amount to anything. Professor Griebel knew this perfectly well. And Bruno was sure of it too. He suspected the professor of deliberately giving his mother to understand that her son could one day be an important pianist. The money he made from Bruno he surely spent on taking that red-haired girl student out to dinner.
    Bruno kicked a tin can angrily against a lamp post. Suppose he was injured? Maybe he could catch his hand in the door. His friend Jim had done that – not on purpose, of course. And now his right hand was all bandaged up.
    â€˜You can have my punchbag, if you like,’ Jim had said. ‘I can’t train for the next four weeks.’
    That was a very tempting offer. But the punchbag was far too big for