Three Dog Night (21 page)

As she drove, she let back in the memory of the day that had turned her life upside down.

It had been a beautiful summer's day. The sun was baking hot and Maria's school holidays had started. They walked around the house in shorts, sleeveless tops and sandals, and Erik had put on a mint-green short-sleeved polo shirt. There was a sense of anticipation running through the whole family, or at least that was how it felt to her. Perhaps she was happy.

They flew in the helicopter across the sea towards the island of Samsø. She remembered her own impatience. She wanted Erik to fly faster, just get them to Samsø and land the big metal insect as Maria described it: ‘It looks like a dragonfly, Daddy, can't you see?'

But Erik didn't land the helicopter. Instead he found a spot, a specific spot, it struck her, where he circled over the water at a very low altitude. He checked the instruments and entered numbers into the GPS. He said something over the noise which she couldn't quite hear because Maria was chatting away in a loud voice, pointing down at the ships, the yachts and the water skiers. They were close to an island. Hesselø, probably. And then the summer's day, the idyllic scene, the blue sky and the even bluer sea was transformed into panic, death and destruction. The helicopter started to spiral downwards.

Felix gripped the steering wheel tightly as she recalled the vortex and the crash. Sweat began to pour off her. Her heart was pounding. She had to use all her energy to turn the picture off. It was the past. She was in the future now. She was on her way.

On reaching Højbjerg, she turned into Oddervej. The road was a slushy brown, but on the verges the snow was still virgin and surprisingly white. Trees and bushes in the gardens were heavily laden and clad in white, and the traffic moved up the hill at a snail's pace. She indicated, turned left and parked by the church. Then she got out, opened the cemetery gate and went inside.

She remembered the place exactly – just as well, because everything was hidden under snow. Only the tops of headstones protruded, and she had to brush snow off the red stone so that she could see the inscription:

Erik Gomez Andersen 23/11 1965–22/7 2009

Maria Gomez Andersen 1/5 2003–22/7 2009

Loved and missed

She stood gazing at it. Loved and missed. Sally, Erik's secretary, had suggested the wording. She had thought it was fitting. Was it really, though?

The loss of Maria had only just begun to make itself felt. What about Erik? Was he loved and missed? She stared at his name and tried to remember him, his skin, his voice, the way he moved. She tried to miss him, but her anger was stronger. Something inside her screamed at him that everything was his fault. Why was he circling? Why did he have mistresses? Why didn't he put his family first?

‘What made you do it?'

She said it and it felt good. She wanted to scream it out loud. She had never felt like this before.

She looked around. She was the only person in the cemetery. She sank to her knees. Maria's name danced in front of her eyes and Felix remembered her sweet smell when she was a baby, sleeping in her arms, warm, her pale, delicate skin and her thick, black hair. Tiny hands moving as she slept, reaching out for a comforting finger to hold on to. A tiny rosebud of a mouth, red against her pale complexion.

She leaned on the headstone for support. For the second time, sobs took hold of her and shook her body until she noticed she was so cold her fingertips were numb, even inside her gloves. She wanted to stand up, but a sudden impulse made her run her hand across the headstone once more. From there it was no great leap to remove the snow around the stone, and she uncovered a tiny moss heart and a nightlight in a closed glass cube. The truth hit home. Of course. She wasn't the only person to love Maria and Erik. She had hidden herself away, but other people also felt grief and pain. Others were left with the loss, and there were so many questions unanswered.

She struggled up and walked back to the car. Behind the wheel, she had to lean against the headrest and relax for a couple of minutes. Then she drove down Oddervej, to the other side of Højbjerg, until the red buildings of Kjær Entreprise A/S emerged from the winter mist.

She hadn't been there since Erik's death. Where had she been? She didn't remember. Had she buried herself at home, in a dark room? Who had looked after her? What had really happened in the weeks and months following the accident?

She parked and went into reception, where the girls sent her smiles of recognition and let her take the lift to the second floor. But someone else was sitting in Erik's old office now, of course. A man by the name of Mads Bendtsen, according to the sign. He must have been brought in from outside, she thought. He wasn't anyone she knew, but the secretary's name was still the same and she was in the front office, or so the sign said: Sally Mortensen. Except that she wasn't.

Felix entered. Everything was neat and tidy.

‘Oh, hello!'

Sally rushed in like a whirlwind. She was wearing a smart black trouser suit and a cobalt-blue T-shirt with some kind of print motif.

They hugged and Sally held her at arm's length. Questions came flooding out of Felix.

‘What happened, Sally? How did I get through the first period? Were you there? You were, weren't you? You made things happen.'

Sally nodded.

‘Of course I was there. I dealt with most of the practicalities.'

‘Erik's office things. Where are they?'

‘I've had them all packed for you. They're boxed up in the basement.'

‘Could you show me? Then I can take them with me.'

‘But …'

Felix was propelled towards the door on a burst of energy.

‘Come on. We might as well do it now.'

Sally followed. ‘I'm not sure I've got a key.'

‘Oh, we'll just get it from Olsen in reception,' Felix said. ‘Perhaps he could give us a hand carrying them to my car.'

Afterwards, she wasn't entirely sure how she had managed to organise it all. But with Olsen's key in her hand and Sally's help, they went down to the basement and found the storage area. Erik's name was on three boxes, which Sally pointed out.

‘I could help you go through it all,' Sally offered.

‘That's very kind of you.' Felix hugged her and inhaled the scent of her perfume. ‘But I think I can manage.'

When she got home, she managed to lug the boxes inside the house. Afterwards she had to sit down and catch her breath as realisation set in. This was just the first step. There was no way back now; on the contrary, there would be more. She had no idea what was happening to the house in Skåde, which she had literally fled. Maria's room, Erik's personal papers and belongings. The family home. How would she ever bear to unravel the past? But in time it would all be there.

She got up and made a pot of tea. Then she made herself comfortable on some cushions and opened the first box.

L
ATE IN THE
afternoon, Kir and Niklas were lifting weights at the gym. Down in the harbour a team of divers was still searching, but soon it would be dark and the search would be suspended. After the news that they were still looking for Nina Bjerre and after a long day searching practically the entire harbour, their mood had hit rock bottom. Sitting in the diving truck and drinking coffee, Kir had suggested to Niklas they take out their frustrations on the weights in the gym and he had agreed.

‘Another five. You can do it!'

She knew she was a good instructor. Niklas was lying on the bench grappling with the iron bar. Sweat poured from his face and his expression was one of grim determination. Slowly he raised and lowered the weight and exhaled.

‘And again!'

He sent her a pleading look. He had hit a wall.

‘Yes, you can do it!'

He clenched his teeth and pushed the weight up again. The muscles in his upper body tensed, accompanied by a roar of pain this time.

‘No more.'

‘Just one. Come on! We'll go for a beer afterwards.'

He managed to raise the bar again and held it for a quarter of a second before lowering it. His arms were glistening with sweat.

‘One more and I'll buy you dinner.'

He grinned.

‘We're on expenses.'

‘Oh, that's right, I forgot. I'll buy you another beer then.'

‘I don't drink and you know that very well.'

Of course she did. Mine clearance divers drank only in moderation and often not at all, certainly not during an op. She drank only the occasional glass of wine or beer, rarely more than a unit or two, and never if she was going to work the next day. She looked at Niklas. He was a man and there was nothing wrong with his body, but in her eyes he was still just a boy and an innocent in so many ways. Sex briefly crossed her mind, but she wasn't going to get involved in anything that could become complicated. So what could she bribe him with?

‘A Coke, then! At my brother's pub. And I'll wipe the floor with you at pool.'

‘Coke,' he repeated, pushing the weight up with everything he had in him. ‘But I'll thrash you, you know that.'

This was after he had lowered the bar and was gasping for air. She slapped him with her towel.

‘OK. See you after the shower.'

She had always been a tomboy. Dolls interested her only to the extent that she could encase them in rubber, put a mask and flippers on them and lower them into water. She had lost count of the number of dolls she had destroyed in various sinks and bathtubs.

Kir turned off the shower and reached for the towel to dry herself. The desire for physical intimacy returned. It had been a long time since she broke up with Kasper. At the age of thirty-two, she still considered love an unfathomable concept.

She stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her hair and started getting dressed. Possibly, she wondered, not for the first time, it might be easier to fall in love with a girl who understood her lifestyle rather than throw herself into doomed relationships with men who were unable to grasp the idea that you could be a woman and a mine clearance diver at the same time. She had, in all honesty, met men who, when told what she did for a living, had reacted with the same shock as if she had announced that she was a serial killer. Romantically speaking, she hadn't done herself any favours with her choice of career.

She dried her short curls with the towel and looked at herself in the mirror. It wasn't that she didn't care about her appearance, and if needs must, she could even wear a little make-up. A discreet day cream to match her very pale skin, a dab of brown kohl around her eyes and brown mascara. On her lips a little pink gloss. Nothing major, nothing loud. That wouldn't complement her chestnut hair and freckles. It had to be subdued and downplayed, just like her style in clothes. Jeans and a smart shirt and she was happy. It worked for her. Simple, easy and quick to put on and take off. She loved the feel of the tight-fitting diving suit under water. Paradoxically, however, she hated the sense of feeling trapped in clothing.

They had bubble and squeak – Niklas's choice – at a small café in town, then went in her car to the harbour and Red's pub, the Bull's Eye. Niklas had cheered up after the workout and seemed quite jolly.

‘Christ, you know how to motivate me. Why don't you come over to Kongsøre to train us?'

She grinned.

‘You wouldn't be able to handle it. You're all a bunch of sissies.'

‘What was it like the time you were there, when you started at Kongsøre? I guess you were the only girl?'

She nodded and blinked.

‘I enjoyed it. All those men.'

‘Weren't you bullied?'

She shook her head.

‘No. I don't think so.'

He smiled. When he did that, she could really see the boy he still was.

‘No, I doubt you were. You'd just have told them to put another five on the weights and then stick them where the sun didn't shine.'

Red was behind the bar. She introduced him to Niklas and they ordered a couple of Cokes. The financial crisis was biting here and had done ever since the pub opened. A couple of lovers were sitting at a corner table; she had a glass of wine, he had a large draught beer. Apart from that, there were only a couple of young men playing darts. Niklas and Kir found a table a little further away. His question had started the film inside her rolling and she began to tell him about her early days.

She could remember everything from the very beginning, her first day at Kongsøre Torpedo Station, where the frogmen and mine clearance divers were trained. There had been four of them in this latest intake and, yes, she was the only girl. There had been other female recruits on the mine clearance diver course before, but not this time. Few women had the stamina for the job or were interested in the combination of diving and explosives. But she had not only listened to Hannibal's stories, she had also seen every film in existence and read every book she could get her hands on about high-risk mine diving. She already knew a fair bit about a variety of mines in Danish waters. She knew what mines reacted to: magnetism, acoustics and pressure – and she knew that during their training they would be issued with the best, most expensive equipment, especially designed down to the tiniest detail without a hint of magnetic material. Everything from zips to diving packs, and the weights that held them down, was made to their own exacting specifications. These packs cost 300,000 kroner. You would usually see bubbles on the surface of the water when an ordinary diver breathed, but you could barely see where a mine clearance diver was. The oxygen apparatus reused the air six to seven times and released only tiny bubbles – not because it was necessarily essential for them to be invisible, but because the tiny bubbles made hardly any sound when they burst. For the same reason the rubber dinghy was low-noise and non-magnetic.

It was all this and a whole lot more that had kept her dream alive. As a girl, she had read comics handed down to her by Red:
Superman
,
Batman
and
Spiderman
. She had loved them, but felt she was missing an underwater hero. She imagined herself as a silent protective dolphin gliding through dark waters, quiet, calm and confident. Being a mine clearance diver was the closest she could get to being a superhero in her imagination.