looked a bit hostile. He listened, astonished, as he retreated into himself. Was that the first thing he thought about when he met a woman? Surely that couldn't be true? Except for Sara, when he met her. But first of all Elise. And, very rarely, Mrs Brenningen on reception. But other times? Yes, if the woman was beautiful. But what if she wasn't attractive in any way? Then he rejected her. After first . . . He stopped what he was thinking. 'Will the painting be finished soon?' He nodded at the canvas and the face that was still missing a nose and mouth. The eyes were only indicated, two green shadows beneath the red shock of hair.
'It will be a while. But I'm not going to do anything more with the head. I promised that noone would be able to recognise him, and I'm going to keep that promise. Where is he?' she asked.
'We don't know. All we have is Zipp, and he's not very informative. What will you do now?' he said. 'He's missing, and you won't be able to finish the painting.'
She shrugged. 'I'm sure he'll turn up. And if not, then he'll never be more than a sketch. Would you consider posing for me?'
Sejer was so taken aback that he almost choked.
'I thought I made clear what my feelings on that score were.'
'It's important to break down barriers,' she said.
'To take off your clothes and let someone study you, to allow yourself to be properly seen through someone else's eyes – it's hugely liberating.' Stand in front of this woman, he thought, without a stitch on. With her eyes everywhere, analytical eyes examining him until all that was left was an impression. And not what he really was. Just the impression he made on her. Which was unique to her. What would she see? A 50-year-old, sinewy body in good physical shape. A trace of eczema in a few places. The line at his waist where his skin was paler than elsewhere. A scar running down his right thigh, shiny and white. Hour after hour, until he was fixed on the canvas for all time. And someone would own it, hang it on their wall. Look at it. But why is that so much more frightening than being photographed? he thought. Because the lens is dead and can't judge. Was he afraid of being judged?
Would he overcome something if he agreed to pose? And if so, what would that lead to? Sejer decided he could live with his own curiosity. His expression was polite and proper when he thanked her for her help.
*
Andreas opened his eyes. His mien, when he finally understood, how shall I describe it? A tiny light that suddenly goes out.
'You didn't go there,' he said, exhausted.
'Yes, I did!'
I wrung my hands and felt ashamed. Because I had failed him. But I was also furious at all the prejudiced people who don't really see us. Who just give us a quick look and jump to conclusions.
'I was there. But he didn't understand a thing. A young man, I don't think he's worked there long. I tried to explain, but he just asked me whether I needed a lift home. As if I were a foolish old woman. And you know what the funny thing is? I've seen him before, but I can't think where. It's so odd!' Andreas uttered a whimper. He must still have had some hope until now, but it was gone, the very last bit of it.
'Shit. You mean you went to the police station, and then you just left?'
He started wheezing, as if his throat were full of mucus. He couldn't cough it up. His lungs wheezed.
'Get out of here!'
'I'll leave when I feel like it. I tried to tell them.'
'No, you didn't! My God, you're so pathetic!'
'You're the one who's pathetic. Just look at you!
Don't provoke me; I can't take much more.'
'Poor Irma. The world has been so unfair to you. No-one understands what it's like for you, is that it?'
He was crying, but his tears were mixed with laughter. It wasn't attractive.
'Be quiet, Andreas.'
'I'll talk as much as I like. It's the only thing I can do.'
'I won't give you any more water.'
'Do you enjoy this, Irma? Tormenting me? Where do you feel it? Does it turn you on?'
'Leave me alone,' I snapped. 'If you only knew what I might do.'
'But I do know. It's the same for me.'
'You have no idea what you're talking about.'
'Go to bed. I want to be left in peace.'
'You want to be left in peace? You should have thought of that earlier. You know what? I do too. But did you take that into consideration?'
'No,' he said mildly.
'You weren't counting on Irma!'
'I didn't know that you were the one who lived here.'
'Liar!'
'I didn't recognise you until it was too late.'
'Don't give me that! Because if you'd noticed it was me, you would have gone to the next house!
And stuck your knife into someone else's face. Some stranger. Because that would have been easier!' I was trembling with anger, and it felt wonderful, those fierce emotions burning my cheeks. I was a live human being, justifiably shaking with indignation, in fact I was standing at the front, fighting one of my most important battles. And best of all, he had to listen to me! He couldn't even lift his hands to block his ears. His face went blank. He had closed me out again, but I knew he was listening.
'You're a spoiled child.'
He didn't answer, but I could see his eyelashes flickering.
'What did you ever do for your mother? Tell me that. What obligations have you ever had?' His smile was weak. 'I took out the rubbish. Every day.'
'Oh, how marvellous. You took out the rubbish! I'm so impressed, Andreas.'
'How long have I been lying here?' he whispered. I counted to myself. 'Three days. Do you want to get out of here? Try to find my weak points. My maternal instincts. The key to your freedom. I've had a child, so I must have them. Try to see if you're a good judge of character.'
'I am a good judge of character,' he sighed. 'But it's not necessary in this case. Even a child could see it a mile off. You're totally insane.'
I stood up and shook my fists. I wanted to howl out loud, show him how furious I was.
'You damn little brat!'
Surprised, he stared up at me with his light blue eyes. 'Your cheeks are burning, Irma!' I spun round and left. This time I turned off the light, wrapping him in thick darkness.
'Call them, for God's sake!' he shouted. 'You fucking bitch. Call for help!'
I knelt down and shoved the trap door shut. I opened it and closed it, over and over. It banged and slammed like an earthquake through the house. Worn out, I sank to the floor.
C H A P T E R 1 8
September 5.
Mrs Winther called. Skarre tried to explain.
'No, Mrs Winther, that's not possible. We're not unwilling, but I'm speaking from experience. The TV news doesn't report this kind of case. Only if we think it probable that a crime has been committed. And in this case . . . Yes, Mrs Winther, I realise that. But I know the man in charge, and he's not easily persuaded. You can call them, if you like, but I'm trying to spare you the disappointment. Only very special cases. Of course Andreas is special to you, but people disappear every single day. Between two and three thousand a year, to tell you the truth. A girl of ten would get more attention? Yes, that's true, that's how things work. We managed to get a photograph in the local paper, and that was difficult enough. The head of the news section? Of course you can call, but I don't really think . . . Yes, of course we'll call you at once, but there's a limit to how much we can do here. Actually, we've already done much more than we would usually be able to. I realise that you don't see it that way. But we can't rule out that Andreas may have left because he wanted to. And in that situation . . . Yes, I know you don't think that's possible, but no-one ever does. The thing is, if we do find him, we have no right to say where he is. To you. If he
