Murder of Halland (9 page)

Jumping off my bike, I crossed the square on foot. Or perhaps I should say ‘getting off’: there was nothing
athletic
about my movement. I felt empty and at the same time heavy, as if filled with metal. I even tasted metal in my mouth. I sensed a headache coming on. And again, there was the fear, but fear of what? All part and parcel of drinking aquavit. I had been there before, with the smell of ammonia in my nostrils.

Someone was sitting on the step. As far as I could make out, it was a woman, though no one I recognized. She was reading. She could have been me. I adopted the look of disapproval I normally reserved for tourists who thought they could stand and gawp at people’s windows on the square or take photographs through doors left open. I abruptly stopped in my tracks. The woman looked up. She didn’t smile. But I did.

‘How often do you get the cleaning done?’

Her first words after I let her into the house. She was indomitable. Cleaning was one of her talents, or at least seeing what needed doing.

‘As seldom as possible,’ I replied. ‘I see the dirt but do nothing. I’ve told my cleaner I won’t be needing her for the time being.’

‘Just because your husband’s dead doesn’t mean the place has to go to pot,’ she said. Indomitable, and sensible too. ‘Is the house yours?’

‘Not yet. But it will be.’

‘How does that work?’ she asked, clearly interested. But the subject was too trivial to discuss further.

‘It doesn’t matter. But thank you for your concern about my future.’

She looked around, surveying the walls, the piano, the bookcases, the pictures. She stopped at the portrait. ‘Why have you got a picture of Frederik VI on your wall?’ she asked, surprised.

I was proud that she recognized the king, but kept the reason to myself. ‘It’s Halland’s,’ I said. Wrong answer. She carried on. My study door was open. ‘Is that where you work? Where was my room supposed to have been?’

‘Your room’s upstairs. You can stay the night if you want.’

Going over to my desk, she looked out of the window. ‘A trembling mirror,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘“The Fjord”. We read the story at school. Twice. Once in primary school and then again in sixth form.’

‘How original.’

‘You called the fjord a trembling mirror.’

‘Did I really?’

‘One of the teachers said it was a cliché. His words made me angry.’

His words made her angry! ‘But it
is
a cliché.’

‘Yes.’

‘Perhaps I stole the phrase from somewhere. It sounds alien. I don’t recall writing it.’

‘No.’ She straightened up and turned towards me. ‘This place is a tip. It reminds me of when I was little. You read that story aloud at one of your readings.’

My ears rang. ‘You came to one of my readings?’

She shrugged.

‘Without saying hello?’

‘You didn’t see me.’

‘There are always so many people at those events.’

‘Not at that one.’

‘I’m sorry. For not recognizing you.’

She shrugged.

‘I always thought I could pick you out anywhere.’

‘Why?’

She stood right in front of me, looking grown-up but still so very young. Yet I knew she didn’t think of herself as young. Never does a person feel so wise, so mature and so adult as when she is not. But I couldn’t tell her that. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Could I tell her that? She wasn’t being all that nice to me, but I didn’t expect her to be.

She looked under my desk and tugged at something. When she straightened up again, she was holding the
telephone lead in her hand. ‘Have you pulled the plug out?’ she asked. I hadn’t the heart to say, ‘What does it look like?’ As she crawled around trying to find the phone jack, I sat down on the sofa. ‘I’m a bit dizzy. I didn’t sleep much last night,’ I said.

‘Were you out all night?’ She stood in the doorway, looking mildly outraged.

‘As a matter of fact I was.’

‘But it’s almost midday. Where have you been?’

I started to laugh, and was so taken by the sound of my own laughter that I carried on. She looked like she had
discovered
something unpleasant. Perhaps she could smell me.

Sitting on the edge of an armchair, she said, ‘Dad’s divorced now, you know. She won’t let him see the twins.’

I tried to look unruffled. ‘When did that happen?’

‘About six months ago.’

‘He never said.’ Don’t gawp like that, Abby, it doesn’t become you.

‘Have you
spoken
to him?’

‘Yes. He was here.’

‘Here? What for?’

‘What for, indeed? We didn’t get round to that. And why are
you
here? Halland’s dead. I suppose that’s why you’re all turning up like this.’

‘But Dad hates you.’

‘Does he? Still? It didn’t show.’

She stared emptily at Frederik VI. ‘And no one’s
allowed
to mention Halland.’

‘You do as well, I suppose? Hate me?’

‘Not really. I did, but I’m used to not seeing you now.’

‘Have you never missed me?’

‘Of course I have.’

‘You said my food tasted like shit.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I did not!’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Are you saying that’s why you got divorced? Did you move in with Halland to get away from me?’

‘Of course not. It’s just another one of those sad things, that’s all. If I’m trying to say anything, perhaps it’s that being a mother isn’t easy.’

‘So you did a bunk?’

‘Stop it! I’ve missed you every single second since I left.
You
were the one…’

‘No,
you
were, Mum.’ Standing up, Abby shuddered. She had called me Mum. Now I felt emotional.

‘Yes, you’re right,’ I said. ‘It was me. Would you like something to eat?’

She smiled. She
smiled
!

‘Dad really does hate you! Was he horrid when he was here?’

‘Not at all. He was just…’

‘Just what?’

‘Dull?’

She laughed out loud. Oh, my daughter in my living room, laughing out loud. Why was Troels not allowed to see the twins? What was that about?

‘I’m no better at cooking, but I need a bite myself, assuming I can find something.’

‘I’ve brought some food,’ said Abby. ‘It’s in a cooler in the car. Sit down and let me cook for you.’

There’s something I haven’t mentioned.

Actually, there’s a great deal I haven’t mentioned. How could I possibly include everything? Nonetheless, there is something I haven’t mentioned which I must have left out on purpose. That’s the difference. Or perhaps there isn’t any difference. Perhaps I leave out the things I’m not aware of leaving out on purpose. I wonder, too, if my claim that my mind ran on two parallel tracks proved a poor excuse. Doesn’t that apply to everyone? Doesn’t everyone look back with bewilderment on what they’ve said and done? Awful things happen, and afterwards you shake your head and would so much like to know why you did one thing rather than another. Why had I never cried? Crying is such an easy signal. It says, Grief! It’s that simple. Yet I never cried, not when they could see me. I want to tell the events as they happened, but I can’t. At the time, I was convinced that I hadn’t cried and that that made me appear insensitive. That was how I saw myself, and it worried me. But I recall now that I did cry, that I cried on several occasions, and that Funder had seen me weeping.

While Abby was in the kitchen, I took a shower and tried to wake myself up. I stood motionless until the water
became
too hot. I dried my hair with a towel until it frizzed, put on Halland’s dressing gown – mine now – and padded back into the living room. My phone and Abby’s rang at the same time. I went into the study while Abby fumbled about in the living room looking for her bag. When she retreated to the kitchen, I tried to listen to what she was
saying at the same time as I was answering my own call. Funder. He wanted to know if I had found Halland’s mobile. I hadn’t even looked. I could hear Abby talking. Did she sound excited? ‘Are you there?’ asked Funder. Yes, I was there. ‘Have you heard about Brandt?’ I asked. ‘Maybe he’s turned up by now, but yesterday he’d gone missing.’ ‘Are you worried?’ Funder asked. ‘I’m not sure. He was supposed to have been a pall-bearer at the funeral, so it’s a bit strange, don’t you think?’ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s just that… well, he mentioned something the other day about the Churchyard Committee… have you spoken to them?’ ‘Do you mean the Parish Council?’ ‘No… I don’t know what he wanted with them. It may have had something to do with Halland…’

The doorbell rang. ‘There’s someone at the door,’ I said cheerfully to Funder. ‘It’s like a train station here. Let me see who it is.’ I hung up.

‘I’ll get it!’ I called to Abby, who stood at the cooker and just nodded. I felt excited. The house had found new life just by her being there: the telephones rang and now we had a visitor.

I hadn’t seen her in years. The first time, I rang the doorbell of my own house and she opened. I wanted to collect Abby, but Abby wouldn’t come out and the woman didn’t invite me in. I had no idea who she was then. I never liked that house and didn’t feel sad when I left it. But there was something about the way she stood in the doorway… I could see myself standing there, too. I had never thought of that doorway as being my place to stand, but then I saw her hand on my doorknob and her long, tanned legs below the hem of her skirt in my hallway. She didn’t apologize for Abby not wanting to come out. She was abrupt, stand-offish and rather pretty.

And now here she stood in the square outside Halland’s house. Not much changed but flustered. Angry, even. ‘Is Troels here?’ she snapped, stepping forward as if to come in.

I blocked her way without thinking. ‘No, he isn’t. Why should he be? Anyway, I thought you were divorced. Aren’t you?’

‘Yes, we bloody well are!’ she yelled. ‘But it’d be just like him to come here. I’ve read about that husband of yours.’

‘You’ve read about my husband? How interesting. What do you want?’

‘I want to speak to Troels!’ I thought she was going to stamp her feet. ‘He’s been waiting for this to happen for ages!’

‘For what to happen?’

Abby appeared behind me. I immediately felt edgy, as though she was a cat that mustn’t be let out or else she’d run off and never come back. I tried to stand in the way and she had to peer over my shoulder. ‘Hello, Gudrun!’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’

Gudrun was aghast. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘what are
you
doing here? You don’t even want to be here!’

‘Well, she’s here anyway,’ I trumpeted, only to feel sorry, and then on edge again.

‘We’re about to have a bite to eat. Do you want to come in?’ Abby asked.

‘No, she doesn’t,’ I interrupted as calmly as I could. By now I had realized that I was wearing a dressing gown with my hair in a mess while Gudrun sported a short skirt like last time. She definitely did not want to come in.

‘Where are the twins?’ asked Abby.

‘Oh, kiss my arse!’ Gudrun yelled, striding off across the square.

‘Kiss it yourself!’ we both said. We went back inside.

‘Food’s ready!’ Abby announced. Then the doorbell rang again.

‘This time I’m putting some clothes on,’ I called, and dashed into the bedroom. ‘Don’t let her in!’

It wasn’t Gudrun, it was a man. Abby let him in; the voices disappeared into the kitchen. I looked at myself in the mirror. The face Gudrun had seen stared back at me. The black shadows under the eyes resulted from lack of sleep, smeared mascara, too much drink and general mortification. My hair was still in a frizz. I had to sort myself out. Perhaps it was Funder who had come around? True, he had only just telephoned, but hadn’t said from where.

I had never spent much time on my appearance. My curiosity invariably outweighed my vanity. Nevertheless, I took a while to get ready and when I eventually
reappeared
in the kitchen I seemed to interrupt an intense conversation. Did Abby’s eyes gleam? Brandt’s lodger had not yet shaved, so his angular jaw still appeared prominent. His long legs were stretched out in front of him and his hands were folded behind his head. The table was set for three.

He threw me a smile.

‘How’s your head?’ he asked, with a snide look on his face.

‘Fine, actually!’ I sat down and let Abby serve the food. ‘Has Brandt turned up?’

‘No. We’ve reported him missing. I don’t know what to say, really…’

I suddenly imagined the ceiling falling down on our heads. I flinched.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Abby. I shook my head.

‘I hear you were out having a good time last night?’ she said.

‘I wouldn’t call it that,’ I replied, glancing across the table at the lodger. I thought that his eyes were blue, but now they shone green. ‘I had an awful time, but that’s because I was drunk. These things happen. I haven’t been drunk in years.’

‘That’s not true!’ said Abby.

I gave her a look. The lodger grinned.

‘We haven’t seen each other for several years,’ I
explained
. ‘This is my daughter.’

‘Yes, she told me,’ he said. ‘The food’s lovely!’

‘It is. I haven’t had anything proper to eat for days,’ I said.

‘Should I fetch a bottle of wine?’ he asked.

‘No, thanks.’ I went to fill a jug with water. ‘I seldom drink at all, and only in small quantities.’

‘My parents got divorced because of my mother’s drinking!’ said Abby, leaning towards the lodger as though they shared some little secret.

I was taken aback. So I said, ‘That’s not true, Abby, and you know it!’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve got your drinking under control now!’ She continued eating without looking up.

I felt embarrassed. I couldn’t really thump the table and declare my sobriety after what had happened the night before, could I? The lodger had seen me dancing with
Bjørn, the caretaker, and that’s not how I behave when I am sober. Besides, I’d foisted aquavit on him without any rye bread and pickled herring. I decided not to comment. I had no desire to argue with Abby, yet her disdain was palpable.

Although I was looking down at my plate, I couldn’t avoid noticing the glances across the table. Not every single one, only the prolonged ones. ‘Do you two know each other?’ I asked, putting down my knife and fork.

‘No. Do we look as if we do?’ Abby replied. She
almost
sparkled.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact you do.’ I said. The lodger must have been quite a lot older than her. How much older I couldn’t say; I was rubbish at guessing people’s ages. Anyway, schoolchildren now drove cars and I had a teenager for a bank manager. Pensioners turned out to be my peers. ‘What are you actually doing at the museum?’

‘Looking at old photographs of the area for my next book,’ the lodger said. ‘Oh, hell! The bloody dog!’

‘Is the dog still at Brandt’s? Why hasn’t his sister come to collect it?’

‘She’s in the Canary Islands. Thanks for the dinner. I’m sorry to rush off, but I really must take it for a walk. I only came to tell you about Brandt going missing.’

‘Can I come?’ said Abby. ‘I love dogs! What sort is it?’

I remained seated. ‘Will you be coming back?’ I called after her. ‘Will you be staying the night?’ It didn’t really matter. I could leave the door on the latch. I wanted to sleep. I felt too exhausted for the Grand Reconciliation. I no longer had the energy to contemplate how that might happen. Perhaps we had already reconciled without my noticing.