Death By Water (21 page)

Liss took out the notebook. Mailin’s book.

Why do you remember everything, Mailin, and I’ve forgotten?

She sat for a while, considering the question, before she continued writing.

All the things I want to ask you about when you come back.

There is something in Viljam’s eyes that reminds me of these pictures of Dad, have you noticed? Something around the forehead too. And something about the way he talks. But the mouth is different.

Mailin, I miss you.

I miss you too, Liss.

Why didn’t you clear out the fireplace before you left?

I can’t tell you that.

There are only five more days to Christmas. I want you to come home.

She wrote down in detail what Mailin might have done at the cabin on that last visit: cooked some food, sat with a glass of wine and stared into the fireplace, or worked on her computer by the light of the paraffin lamp. She wrote down what her sister might have been thinking before she fell asleep. How she packed the next day, suddenly in a rush because she had to meet someone and didn’t have time to clean the fireplace. She hurried through the trees and down to the car. Drove out of the parking space.

Liss couldn’t imagine what happened after that.

T
HE COMMUNAL KITCHEN
was sparsely equipped. A fridge, a table and five chairs, a small cooker, a microwave. On one wall hung a poster of Salvador Dali’s melting wristwatch.

A guy in a hoodie came in, gave Liss a quick look, took something out of the fridge, it looked like liver pâté. He cut himself a slice of bread, buttered it and hurried out again with the bread in his hand.

Just then Catrine returned from the toilet.

– Promise me you’ll never move into a student village, she warned her. – The moment I can afford something else, I’m out of here. She scowled in the direction of the kitchen surface, which was covered in dirty dishes and leftovers. – You’ve no idea how tired I am of people not tidying up after themselves. The guy that was just in here is one of the messiest pigs I’ve ever shared a kitchen with, and that’s saying something.

When they were living together in the commune in Schweigaards Street, Catrine had often been annoyed by the same things: pigs, usually of the male variety, who never cleaned up. Liss refreshed her friend’s memory, and Catrine had to concede that there had been a couple there who were almost as bad.

– If I ever move in with a guy, it’ll be a male nurse, she said now. – At least they know how to keep things tidy.

– I can’t actually see you with a male nurse, Liss observed.

– Don’t say that. I don’t mind if he’s a bit of a wimp. Maybe even gay. As long as he tidies up after himself.

It had been more than three years since Liss had last seen her. Catrine had let her hair grow, and dyed it black. She’d changed her way of dressing, too. From baggy pullovers to tight-fitting tops with low necklines trimmed with lace from the push-up bra beneath. From wide unisex jeans to skinny jeans that gave her a better-shaped bum than she’d ever had before. When Liss asked, she had to confess that she’d starting going to the gym as well. She was still into politics, but it was a long time since she’d last squatted in a house or fought in a street battle. She was studying political science now and sat on the board of some student body.

– How are things at home?

Liss didn’t think of the house in Lørenskog as home, but she let it pass.

– I’m sure you can imagine what it’s like.

Catrine nodded. – It seems so unreal to me. For you it must be completely …

She couldn’t finish the sentence, and Liss didn’t respond. She had visited Catrine for a break. Not to have to talk about all the things that were troubling her. Catrine obviously understood this. She stood up, fetched coffee, apple juice and biscuits.

– I see you’re still on a negative calorie budget, said Liss when she saw the packet.

– Yep.

– You don’t eat meat either?

– Now and then. But not wolf or bear.

Liss had to smile, a moment’s light relief, and then the thoughts began again.

– What does
death by water
mean to you? she said as she tipped three rounded spoonfuls of instant coffee into a cup. – Got thousands of hits when I googled it. I think it must be the title of a film. Or a novel.

Catrine was better read than she was and went to see a lot of weird movies.

– Has a familiar ring to it, she agreed. – How about the name of a rock band?

She popped out to her room, returned with a computer, got online. Almost immediately she exclaimed:

– Of course.
The Waste Land
by T. S. Eliot. I did actually once read it.

Liss peered over her shoulder.

– I like that. A drowned Phoenician.

– Why the sudden interest in poetry? Catrine wondered. – You’ve never been much of a reader.

She read the rest.

– It might have something to do with Mailin, she said. – She wrote
Ask him about
death by water
on a note and pinned it to her noticeboard.

Catrine clicked forward to a commentary and read aloud:

–
The Waste Land
is a journey through a kaleidoscopic world labouring beneath a curse of sterility. Few who appear in that desolate landscape see any hope, almost all are blind.

She turned to Liss. – Do you think this has something to do with Mailin’s disappearance?

– Very unlikely. But every trace of her I come across seems to have some kind of significance for me. Everything that might tell me something about what she was thinking, what she was doing.

After the coffee, Catrine brought out a bottle of Southern Comfort. She’d always liked sweet-tasting things. After a couple of drinks she suggested that she and Liss take a trip into town. Liss didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know whether Catrine really wanted to spend the whole evening with her. Felt herself surrounded by a membrane that protected her but also certainly made her inaccessible.

– I’m not exactly a bundle of laughs right now, she said.

– Get a grip, Liss Bjerke. Catrine sounded offended. – If you really think I’m out for a bundle of laughs, then …

– Well I could certainly do with having something completely different to occupy my mind, Liss said, interrupting her as she emptied her glass. She couldn’t face the thought of going back to Lørenskog and spending the night before Christmas Eve with her mother and Tage.

Despite having a pretty limited wardrobe of clothes, Catrine took almost an hour to decide what to wear. Liss was given the job of stylist, for which Catrine asserted she was extremely well qualified, adding, with appropriate irony, that she had read in
Dagbladet
’s magazine article that she was on the brink of a career as a top model. Liss didn’t mention that she herself had spent less than ten minutes getting ready to go out. She had chosen one of the pullovers she found in Mailin’s dresser. Her leather jacket was finally dry, but it had some disfiguring stains on the lapel. Catrine ended up with a short, clinging satin dress. She lay down on the floor and struggled into a pair of sheer tights without knickers. She had arranged to meet a friend from her political science course. Her name was Therese, and she had something going with a footballer. – He plays in the First Division, Catrine revealed as they sat on the metro heading into town. – A premium quality piece of beef, I believe.

Therese was standing outside Club Mono doing something with her phone. She was short and dark, with intense black eyes. An unlit cigarette dangled from her narrow lips.

– Where’s the fillet steak? Catrine enquired.

– On his way.

Liss was only mildly interested in the codes they spoke in, but Catrine had clearly decided that her friend wasn’t going to feel left out of things this evening.

– Therese and I have developed a system of classification for our dates, she explained.

– Simplicity itself, Therese added. – The same as they use at the meat counter. That’s to say, shoulder and rump are
ziemlich schlecht
.

– Offal is worst, Catrine said with a grimace. – I can’t stand liver.

– OK, liver and offal are worst, Therese conceded. – Next comes shoulder and rump and so on. Cutlets and ham aren’t bad.

– And your date tonight is fillet steak, Liss interjected, to show that she understood. – What about sell-by dates?

– Of course, Catrine exclaimed. We’ll start using that. Best-before dates.

– Use-by, Therese added.

They found seats on an old-fashioned sofa in the back room of the café. Catrine leaned towards Liss and shouted above the music that flooded from the speakers in the ceiling.

– I’ll tell Therese, just as well she knows … Liss is Mailin Bjerke’s sister.

Therese stared at her. Liss liked her dark eyes.

– The woman who … oh shit. Sorry about that.

Liss gave her a quick squeeze on the arm. – It’s quite all right. Catrine invited me out so I’d have something else to think about. But tell me about your footballer.

Therese recovered quickly. – Hello, Catrine, thought I could tell you things without the whole town having to know about it.

– Only told Liss, cross my heart. You can trust her.

The first beer was gone and another round ordered. Liss had hardly eaten and guessed she was going to be drunk before the evening was over.

– No one’ll hear it from me, she swore and crossed herself. The atmosphere of secrecy had a calming influence on her.

– He’s so sexy I might even end up going to watch a football match, Therese shouted. – It’s about the most brain-dead thing I can imagine, but if he’s gonna be rushing about in skimpy little shorts, then …

– Footballers wear enormous shorts, Catrine corrected her. – They probably need all that space for their family jewels. Handball players are the ones with the tight little shorts.

Liss had to smile. Catrine had always been interested in the male anatomy and ever since primary school had conducted her own studies in the field.

– What did you say his name was, the fillet steak?

– Jomar.

Catrine gaped. – Are you going out with a guy named Jomar?

– That’s exactly what I’m doing.

– You could always call him something else, Liss suggested. – Jay, for example.

– And you better start reading up on football too, Catrine teased her. – Study the sports pages, all the league tables from Germany and Belgium.

Therese put down her glass. – He’s not like that. He can talk about other things. He studies.

– At the sports academy, Catrine added with a meaningful look over at Liss.

Therese scoffed. – Well, would
you
go out with one of those political science wimps?

–
Pas du tout
, Catrine confirmed. – Not if I was looking for sex.

– Which you are.

– I don’t go home with somebody on a Saturday night to talk about the Norwegian welfare state with him, if that’s what you mean.

– Bad guys are for fun, said Therese, – good guys for …

– Study groups, Catrine interrupted.

Liss burst out laughing. The membrane around her was invisble, and maybe the others hadn’t noticed it. She thought she would be getting in touch with Catrine again. And she felt she wanted to put her arms around Therese with the dark eyes and squeeze her tight.

It was past 11.30 by the time he arrived. For some reason or other Liss knew straight away that the guy standing in the doorway of the room they were sitting in was the footballer. He was tall, so she could see his head above the others hanging around him. He had tangled fair hair that looked bleached. Therese caught sight of him and waved. He came across with another guy, who was black and wore his hair in dreadlocks.

Therese introduced everybody. – Catrine, this is Jomar Vindheim.

He was wearing a suit beneath his leather jacket, a white scarf with gold threads running through it tied around his neck. Catrine gave him a sort of sour smile, probably reacting to his name.

– Jomar, this is Catrine, and this is …

He turned towards Liss. Took her hand. Surprised, she tried to withdraw it, but he kept hold. His eyes were quite slanted and in the light from the lamps on the wall looked greyish.

– Jomar, he said.

– Liss, she said as she managed to free her hand.

His friend’s name was Didier and it turned out that he had just been bought from Cameroon. Suddenly they were aglow with an interest in football, Catrine and Therese. Both of them were suspiciously knowledgeable.

– Lyn play with a flat four, Catrine volunteered.

– A flat eleven, Jomar corrected her, translating for Didier, who burst out laughing.

– Bright girl, he said, and patted her arm.

–
Bien sure, comme une vache
, she answered with her most brilliant smile.

Catrine’s grandmother was Belgian, and when her friend started speaking French it always sounded fluent to Liss. Didier was visibly impressed too and looked like being a pushover. On the other side of the table Therese had attached herself firmly to her fillet steak, describing an invisible but distinct chalk circle around him, territory she was prepared to defend with any and all means necessary. Liss was in the corner of the sofa, on the outside. That was where she wanted to be, partly present, mostly somewhere else.

J
OMAR
V
INDHEIM’S
BMW was parked right outside. He said he would drive; had hardly drunk anything, he assured them. Therese squeezed in beside him. Didier wedged himself into the middle of the back. Every so often he broke off from his conversation in French with Catrine to say something to Liss in Afro-English. He put an arm around each of them and smelled of a perfume Liss had never come across before. She liked the weight of his fist on her shoulder.

They sped up Trondheims Way, across Carl Berners Place. Jomar was looking for an address in Sinsen. By the time they clambered out of the car, it had started to snow again. Heavy, ragged flakes that hit the ground and melted instantly. They could hear music from an open window. Liss still felt only slightly affected by the drinking.