Hell Fire (24 page)

“He'll be following what's happening,” Skarre said, looking at the inspector.

“Obviously,” Sejer replied. “And he may not be sleeping at night.”

When he got back to his apartment on the twelfth floor, he was ambushed by Frank. He knelt down and took one of the dog's soft paws in his hand. The dog's eyes, which were barely visible amid all the folds and wrinkles, were black.

“You need a facelift,” he said affectionately. “But it would cost a fortune.”

He went into the kitchen and started to rattle around with the pots and pans. Frank immediately trotted in to beg for scraps. Sejer hesitated before giving him a bit of sausage. I never learn, he thought sheepishly. If only Elise had seen that.

BONNIE WANTED TO TELL
anyone who would listen about her inheritance because she was so excited. But something made her hold back. Many of her clients only received a minimum pension and struggled financially just as she had. However, young Alex was let in on the secret. When he heard about Erna's generosity, he was thrilled.

“So are you going to take me to Bagatelle?” he asked hopefully. “Or an eleven-course dinner?”

“Of course,” Bonnie agreed. “In the autumn. And Elisabeth can come too. But first I have to clear my debts.” They were in the middle of a chess game.

“I wish I had a pawn on wheels with right of way,” Bonnie said with a laugh.

He immediately responded with a very smart move. He leaned back in his wheelchair and looked at her. He wanted to tell this beautiful woman, who was only three years away from forty, and who came to his door to help him, that she was the highlight of his week. But he was far too proud and shy to show his devotion.

“I've got an old aunt who lives on a small farm,” he said instead. “And her Border collie is named Bonnie, and she's an impossible dog.”

Bonnie laughed. “What's your greatest wish for the future?” she asked him.

“To have my own child,” he replied without hesitation. “I want what you've got. A son. He would run riot, but he'd also do things for me. And he would of course be a genius at chess. And I would make it perfectly clear that when it comes to bad driving, he has to stay alive.”

“What's wrong with a girl?” Bonnie asked.

“Nothing, I just want a boy.”

“And you know that you can have children?”

“Oh yes, we're planning to. And what's more, we have you,” he said with a little smile. “I hope that you'll be around for a long time, and that you won't desert me, just because you're rich.”

“Never,” Bonnie assured him and moved a knight.

Alex brushed his bangs away from his face. He was clean-shaven and smelled good.

“You better watch your queen,” he warned her. “Let's take a break. Put the pizza in the oven.”

Simon Hayden resembled his father, Olav. He had the same slim body and thin ankles. The same blue eyes and the same restlessness. When he was big, he wanted to work at sea, like his father. Every morning when he sat on the bench under the snail at daycare, he looked up at his mother and said: “Do you think the money will come soon?”

“Yes,” Bonnie told him. “It won't be long now.”

“It will definitely come, won't it?”

“Yes, we'll definitely get it. Because Mr. Falck promised. And he knows things like that because he's a lawyer.”

Simon had already told Märta the big news, and about everything he was going to get and the trip to Africa. That he would have to have lots of vaccinations and that he would come home with photographs of lions. Märta retorted that he might get eaten, but then Simon told her that the person driving the safari car had a gun. Kaja noticed that he had blossomed; he opened up to the other children and the desperate scenes when his mother left had stopped. He would now run around and at times couldn't be stopped. She had to admit that she was a little envious. There was no likelihood of her ever inheriting anything like that amount of money. But she was pleased for Bonnie.

Britt was also delighted by what had happened. Bonnie's life was back on track and she hadn't seen her so happy since she had been with Olav. She could never have dealt with all those difficult old people. She liked the drama of her work with the air ambulance; the first decisive minutes in which she could save a life made her feel important. But what Bonnie did was important too, only in another way. They saw each other more often now than before. Bonnie had more energy, so she got her mother to babysit and they went out on the town.

Bonnie didn't mind staying out late. When the alarm clock rang in the morning, she jumped out of bed right away to wake Simon, often with a song. He was also quick out of bed. They were both looking forward to the summer that would soon arrive.

THE CANCER HAD
really started to ravage her body. The pain increased, especially in her bones, and she continued to lose weight. She still hadn't said anything to Eddie. There was fear in his eyes as he watched his mother getting thinner and thinner, but Mass reassured him that it was just age.

“You know,” she said, “old people are never fat.”

“But you're not old.”

“Yes, I am. I will be soon enough anyway.”

One day, when Eddie was sitting at the computer, Mass came into the living room with two plastic bags of food and drinks, newspapers, and fruit. And chocolate for Eddie, even though it wasn't good for him. She had been out for some time because she'd had a few errands to run. She was suddenly reminded of the winter she turned thirteen. She had nagged and nagged her parents until they let her get a perm, because other girls in the class had curly hair. She had straight hair. It was long and thick, to be fair, but not even a wave in a single hair. So after going on and on about it, she was eventually allowed to do it—only to come back from the hairdresser with what could only be compared with black sheep's wool. When she went to school the next day, the boys in her class flopped over their desks, howling with laughter. They shouted and yelled and pointed, baaing like sheep. They punched her and threw erasers at her. After the last class, she slunk home, burning with embarrassment. She sat down at the fireplace in despair and cut off all the curls as close to her head as she could. She threw them into the fire and could still recall the smell of burnt hair. When she looked in the mirror afterward, she looked like a plucked chicken. And as if that wasn't enough, she then tore off her clothes and threw them on the fire too. She remembered the episode now, standing in the middle of the room with a green scarf around her head. Eddie looked at her in astonishment because she had never used a scarf before.

“Is that in fashion now?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mass said. “Let's hope so.”

“But you've got such lovely hair, you shouldn't hide it.” He turned back to the screen, his fingers racing over the keyboard.

Mass collapsed into her chair; she looked at her son's broad shoulders and his brown hair that curled so beautifully at the neck.

“Where have you been?” he asked, turning around again. “You were gone for ages. If you're going to be that long, you have to say. Otherwise I just sit here waiting and not knowing.”

“I went to the hairdresser,” Mass said in a feeble voice.

“What?” Eddie couldn't believe it. “But you've got a scarf on. Did she make a mess of it?”

“No.” She turned away. She knew that she couldn't avoid it any longer. It was as if there was a wolf between them, snarling. Get to the point. Coward.

“I don't have hair anymore,” she said and looked straight at him.

“What do you mean, you don't have hair?”

“I've shaved it off,” she explained, “because it was starting to fall out.”

“But why?” he asked, horrified. “Are you ill? Will you get a wig?”

“I'm not going to get a wig, Eddie. It's the medicine I'm taking that makes my hair fall out.”

Finally Eddie understood. He gasped once, took a deep breath, then two, three more. His voice, which was usually so loud, was thin and reedy.

“Right, but it will grow back, won't it?” he asked nervously. “I've heard that it does.”

She shook her head. “No, that's not going to happen.”

“But why not? You'll get better again.” He tried to stay the panic that was rising.

“Cancer?” he said slowly.

“Yes,” she said, “cancer. It started in the pancreas and has now spread everywhere.”

“Seventy percent of people who get cancer survive,” he said doggedly. “That's what I read on the Internet.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know. But I don't belong to that seventy percent. I'm going to die, Eddie, and quite soon.”

“No,” he said feebly.

“Yes.”

“The doctors often make mistakes,” Eddie suggested. “And you're strong. I know you're strong. You're like an ox.” He punched the table.

“But the cancer is stronger. You're going to have to live on your own, Eddie, and you'll need help. You will have to accept all the help that's offered. People will come to the door, and you must cooperate. You know, home health aides and people like that. People from the council.”

He got up without turning off the computer and just stood there in the middle of the room.

“I've got some savings,” Mass continued. “But from now on, you're going to have to get by on your disability. And that means you can't live on Coke and cinnamon rolls. You're going to have to make yourself proper food or you'll get ill. Are you listening to me?”

“You're wrong,” he said, desperate. “People get it wrong all the time.”

Mass struggled to get up. The pain in her bones was intense, and she knew it would only get worse. That it would spread to every single cell. She couldn't bear to look her son in the eye. Everything felt so heavy, her heart, her head.

She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge; she had thought of frying some eggs and bacon for them both. Eddie followed her in his tartan slippers. He sat down and put his hands on the kitchen table. He swallowed hard. Every time a thought started to form in his head, it was interrupted by another—just like when a bonfire burns at night and the sparks fly up into the sky, a shower that will only last as long as there are flames. His mother dead and buried. Strangers coming to the door, people demanding impossible things of him: that he should get out and meet people, that he should try to find a supported workplace. He thought about all the things his mother had done for him over the years, all the things that he had taken utterly for granted. She had cleaned and tidied and made food. She had done the shopping and kept things in order and changed the beds. She had made sure there was toilet paper and had taken the car in to be serviced. She had paid the bills and done the tax returns, about which he knew zero. She had kept a check on his spending.

“Do you have to go to the hospital?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes, soon. I've thought about it long and hard, because at first I wanted to stay in my own bed. But you can't look after me here; it would be too much for you.”

“But I can do the shopping and things like that,” he said, “and I can go to the pharmacy for you. And you can tell me how to do things from the bed, and I'm sure I'd manage.”

She went over and stroked his cheek. “I would do anything in the world if it meant you didn't have to go through this,” she told him. “You are my greatest joy and have been my greatest comfort, especially after Anders left. But now you have to be stronger than ever before. You simply have to manage. You just have to take one thing at a time, and you will have to get people to help you. You'll have to arrange the funeral and all that. Don't use Jølstad, they're too expensive.”

Eddie couldn't speak anymore. His father had left him and now his mother was about to do the same. “To be honest, Mom,” he whispered, “I don't think it's going to work.”

“Don't say that,” she said in anguish. “That's not what I need to hear when I'm dying. You went to Copenhagen on your own. Just remember that.”

“Maybe there's something after,” he said, trying to be hopeful. “We don't know for certain.”

“That's one thing I know for sure,” she said firmly. “I will not live on, neither here nor there. Only in your thoughts,” she added, to soften it. “You will have to manage alone.”

They ate their eggs and bacon in silence. Eddie dipped his bread into the egg yolk, his feet fidgeting under the table. After they'd eaten, he went back to the computer and started to search. He got lots of hits. He sat for a long time reading about pancreatic cancer and how it spread to the bones and marrow. The symptoms were described in detail, and he recognized them. Some people could be operated on but not everyone. And often it went unnoticed until it was too late. The last thing he read terrified him. Among doctors, this form of cancer was known as “The Silent Killer.”

HE GOT UP
, put on some clothes, and then opened the door to his mother's room. He asked if she wanted a yogurt for breakfast. She could have strawberry or melon and he could take the top off and find a spoon. She said no. She managed to get herself out of bed and tottered across the floor. He could see her sick body through the fabric of her nightie. The evening before, they had packed some things into a bag that was now standing ready by the door. While his mother was in the bathroom getting dressed, he sat in a chair and waited. He thought about trying to find a doctor other than Bromann—someone who was better. They could go to China, for example, because he'd heard that the Chinese knew everything about medicine. Then he pulled himself together. Don't be a fool, Eddie. China's too far away and too expensive. She wouldn't be able to cope with it because she's too weak.