Death By Water (2 page)

– Want something to drink, Jo? Arne asked, winking and acting like a pal, which meant that Jo could have a Coke if he wanted. He knew there was a reason for it. Sure enough, Arne returned with a Coke and some crisps and a doughnut. That was okay. It didn’t bother Jo that he’d bought a beer for himself. What he didn’t like was the red wine for his mother. It’s quarter to six in the morning and there’s his mother sitting there drinking wine. No normal grown-up does that. She hadn’t touched a drop for several days, and Jo was hoping that this trip, with the sunshine and the swimming and all those things she was always longing for, might mean she didn’t need to drink. But before they’d boarded the plane she’d knocked back three glasses and was already at the stage where she wanted to put her arms around him and ruffle his hair. She didn’t say ‘plane’ any more, she said ‘pwein’, and suddenly Arne’s jokes were so funny she was leaning her head back and clucking with laughter.

Once the
pwein
was up in the air and those blue-striped shirts appeared pushing the drinks trolleys along, Arne went right ahead and ordered a cognac for her, even though he knew perfectly well how it would end. Maybe that was why he did it. Jo huddled up by the window and pretended to be asleep. Thought how he should have had a parachute and opened the emergency exit and jumped out over Germany or Poland or wherever they were; landed in some strange town where no one knew who he was nor who his mother and Dickhead Arne were.

A few hours later, they were both sitting on sun loungers by the pool with a drink each, and Mother dropped hers so it smashed on the flagstones. Jo thought he didn’t want to be there any more and got up to head down to the beach.

– Take Truls and Nina with you, Arne ordered.

Jo made his way down the stony slope with his younger brother beside him and his baby sister in the pushchair. A little family. He could take Truls and Nina and just leave, go back home again. Not home. Move somewhere else, where he could work and get them food and whatever else they needed. That way they wouldn’t have to see Arne again. They wouldn’t have to see Mother drinking herself legless and breaking glasses and making a show of herself in front of a crowd of people they didn’t know.

But that isn’t the worst thing that happens on that first day of the holiday. The worst thing is what happens in the evening. Jo puts Nini to bed after he’s given her the allergy medicine and the sleeping draught. Forces it down her, in spite of her protests. Over and over again Mother has repeated that he must remember to give her all four pills before putting her to bed. And then Arne suddenly says that Mother gave them to Nini herself before she went out, only she forgot to mention it to Jo. That means Nini’s had twice as many pills as she should have. No wonder she’s sleeping so soundly. Lying there without moving.

Jo sits in the room with them for a while. Truls has brought along a pile of
Phantom
comics that Arne gave him. Truls thinks Arne is cool for giving him his old comics. It’s like a thing between them. Arne collected these comics when he was a kid. Was a member of the Phantom Club and had the ring with the Sign of Goodness on it. Truls has inherited that too. Jo never accepts anything from Arne any more. Accepts it maybe, but hides it away at the back of a cupboard and never uses it. A Man United shirt, or a football card, whatever it is.

He leans over Nini yet again to hear if she’s still breathing. Slowly and deeply, he notes, so it probably wasn’t that dangerous with the double dose. All the same, it occurs to him to pop down to the restaurant to ask Mother. Just to be sure. Even though the thought of being near her the way she is now makes him feel sick.

The music pounds towards him from the speakers up by the stage. Some disco stuff. Neither Mother nor Arne will let him play loud music at home, but the rules here are different. That’s what being on holiday means. Rules are changed, or dropped.

He sees only strangers when he looks around the restaurant. Hopes that Mother and Arne aren’t there. That they’ve gone for a walk and taken another way home and are back in the apartment … Then he sees Mother at a table next to the wall in the far corner. She’s sitting with her head on the shoulder of a man Jo has never seen before. Arne’s carrying on out on the dance floor. Him and that guy Mother is hanging on to have probably changed partners. Mother for that dark, skinny thing Arne is necking with. Arne likes skinny women and always grins whenever he grabs Mother by the stomach and yanks it over the lining of her trousers.

Jo stands there by the terrace doorway. He can still feel the sea in his body. He could sneak back down there again before the grown-ups catch sight of him. Throw himself into the waves again, not see them rolling up in the darkness, just feel them surging and twisting around him. But if he doesn’t stay here in the bar, something will happen to Mother. She might trip on the steps. Get raped, or drown in the pool. Arne doesn’t care a shit about things like that.

Suddenly his mother tries to stand up and collapses forwards. The stranger grabs hold of her before she upends the table. Two or three glasses glide over the edge. Everyone turns and stares. The woman dancing with Arne comes hurrying over. She holds Mother up and shouts to her. She and the stranger drag her up the steps towards the bar; they pass right in front of Jo. Mother is deathly pale and doesn’t seem to recognise him. Her skirt is hitched up so half her knickers are showing. She staggers on, held up by the skinny woman. When they disappear into the toilet, Jo follows and stands waiting outside the door. Hears funny sounds. Suddenly Mother screams. He’s seen her drunk, but never heard her scream like that. As though she’s in the process of dying in there. He takes hold of the doorknob. Then he feels a hand on his shoulder.

– Don’t go in there.

Jo jerks, trying to free himself, but it’s an adult that’s holding him, a stranger. At first he thought it was the man his mother was making out with, but it’s someone else.

– Someone’s in there with your mother. You don’t have to look after her.

Something or other makes Jo let go of the handle on the toilet door. Maybe it’s because the voice seems familiar. He glances up at the stranger. A man about Arne’s age. Unshaven, with sunglasses pushed up on the top of his head, even though it’s evening.

– No need for you to care, barks Jo, but he isn’t angry.

– No, there isn’t, the man replies.

But then he acts exactly as though he does care. – Come with me, he says. – I’ll treat you to a Coke.

He heads out towards the terrace without turning round. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a short-sleeved black shirt. His hair is quite long and combed straight back and hangs over the collar of his shirt. Jo doesn’t hear his mother screaming any more. He stands there, hesitating. Then he slips out after the man.

They sit at a table at the end of the terrace. Far below them the waves are breaking. Louder now, it seems, and Jo still thinks about what it would be like to go down there and throw himself in. The water should still be warm. The night colours it black.

The stranger is drinking a Coke as well. Jo realises why the voice seemed familiar. He’s heard it on TV. And not long ago this man was on the front page of
Aftenposten
.

– Seen you in the paper, he says. – And on TV.

– You’re probably right there.

– Do lots of people recognise you?

– Quite a few. They stare and seem to find it hard to believe that someone who has been on TV is made of flesh and blood and eats dinner and goes to the toilet. The stranger smiles. – But Norwegians are polite. Once they’ve finished staring, they’ll generally leave you in peace. Actually everyone’s shy and scared of making a fool of themselves, same as you and me.

Jo drinks his Coke, glances towards the restaurant. – Not Mother. She makes a fool of herself all the time.

The grown-up leans back. – She is drunk, he agrees. – Everyone changes when they drink.

Jo tries to find something else to talk about. – Don’t you drink? He points to the Coke. – I mean, like wine and spirits and stuff?

– Only when I have to. Your name’s Jo, isn’t it?

– How do you know that?

– Heard your father calling you as we were getting off the plane.

– Arne isn’t my father.

– I understand. You don’t know my name?

– Heard it lots of times. Don’t remember.

The grown-up pats his shirt pockets and takes a squashed cigarette packet out of one of them.

– You can call me Jacket.

– Jacket? That ain’t a name.

The grown-up lights his cigarette. – Got it when I was about your age. How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?

– Twelve, Jo answers, with a touch of pride.

– Some of my old friends still use that name when we meet up, the grown-up tells him.

– Did you like it? Jo grins. – Being called Jacket?

Jacket runs a hand across his unshaven chin. – Where I come from, everyone had a nickname. Often we got names from the jobs our fathers did. My dad ran a clothes shop, or gents’ outfitters as they used to call them back then, and Jacket was an okay name. Actually, I like it even better now. Better anyway than Staples, or Laces, or Scissors. Not to mention Condom.

He laughs, and Jo has to laugh too.

– Jo isn’t my name either, only the beginning of it.

– Really?

– But no one dares use the whole of that stupid name. Or I’ll kill them.

– Cripes. Then I guess I’d better stick to Jo too.

– I’m not kidding. Some kids at school tried to give me a nickname. They’re sorry for it now.

The grown-up takes a drag on his cigarette. – Agree with you there, Jo. You gotta make people respect you.

Arne’s up. He’s in a foul mood, and that’s good, because he doesn’t say much when he’s like that and Jo gets left in peace. And he won’t have to see Mother for a while, maybe not for the whole day. He can hear her whimpering as he sneaks past the bedroom door. There’s a bad smell all the way out to the kitchen.

Outside, the sun glows white. The stones burn beneath your feet. Go back and fetch sandals? Then he’d have to knock. He carries on walking, keeping to the narrow strip of shadow along the walls of the houses. It must look stupid. People who see him probably think he’s trailing someone. Or that he’s a thief. He runs the last bit, past the bar, up the steps to the pool. Most of the sun loungers are already taken. He feels the people staring at him from the beds. Almost as though he can hear them whisper as he approaches:
There’s the son of that woman who …

Two girls at the edge of the pool. Jo noticed one of them on board the plane. She was waiting to use the toilet right after him. She has a thin, pointed nose and brown hair hanging wet down her back. Could be older than him. She has tits. Bigger than some of the girls in his class. Her bikini is white with dark red hearts on it. He looks in the other direction as he walks past. Without taking off his yellow T-shirt, he suddenly dives in from the edge even though there’s a sign saying it’s forbidden. He’s a good diver. He once dived in from the top board.

He swims up and down a few lengths. Then he dives and glides underwater past the two girls. He’s better at this than any other boy in school, swimming underwater. He can feel their eyes on him, watching him. They’re wondering when he’s going to surface. Is it possible? He doesn’t have to surface, not until his hand touches the wall at the end of the pool.

He pulls himself up on to the edge and sits there dripping some distance away from the two girls. Doesn’t look in their direction, looks everywhere else. At least twice he feels certain that one of them turns and sneaks a look at him; not the short, slightly tubby one, but the dark one, the one with the tits. The heat is suffocating. The sun makes a heavy pounding inside his head, and if he goes on sitting there, that pounding is going to get louder and louder and something will happen, though he’s not sure what. He jumps to his feet. The soles of his feet hurt, as though they’re covered in blisters. He walks on tiptoe past the two girls, who have maybe noticed something’s happening to him; quickly round the corner and down the steps. Once out of sight, he starts to run. Doesn’t stop until he reaches the little children’s playground with the swing and the slide. His breathing tears at his throat, and still there’s this heavy thudding inside him, as if someone’s standing in the dark and beating away with a sledgehammer. He slumps down on the swing. Cats all around him. Counts them. Six of them, in and out of the bushes. Counts them again. He’s never liked cats. They sneak around and pop up without a sound; you never know where you are with them.

One of the smallest, a young one, has lost an eye. He noticed it when they arrived the day before. It was sitting in front of their apartment door and meowing. Grey-brown and skinny as a worm. Where the eye had been, a thin rag of eyelid hangs over the empty space. Now it follows him out of the gate when he opens it and walks after him back to the apartment. Must be because the people who lived there before used to give it food. According to Arne. There must be millions of cats in the world. This skinny creature with just the one eye wouldn’t have survived for long unless someone looked after it. Does every kind of creature have a right to live? Jo turns abruptly and makes a sharp whistling noise along the outside of his teeth. The animal gives a start and dives under a bush.

Of course it’s Arne that opens the door. He scowls at him and disappears into the crapper. Before Jo has got his sandals on, he sticks his head out and with his face full of shaving foam mumbles:

– When you go out again, take the kids with you.

– They haven’t eaten yet, Jo protests. But Truls is already hanging on to his arm. He can’t stand the thought of dragging Truls around. Should do, though, so he doesn’t have to be around in the apartment when Mother wakes up. Doesn’t have to see his mother roll out of bed and creep into the bathroom to puke up. That’s what she’s been doing all night, but Truls has slept like a stone. Nini too, naturally, after her double dose of sleeping pills.

It’s a half-hour before his baby sister has eaten up her Cheerios and her yoghurt. Mother is still sleeping. Arne’s wandering about the place scowling, but as long as Jo is looking after the kids, he keeps his mouth shut. Then he squashes water wings and a beach ball and Truls’s diving mask into a plastic bag and presses it into Jo’s hands and bundles them out.