Bad Intentions

‘Our sons are dead,’ Ingerid said, ‘but we’re not. I want to go outside in the wind. Do you have some stale bread so we can feed the ducks? Put on a warm coat.’

Yoo quickly went to the kitchen to fetch some bread. When they got outside they were hit by an icy blast.

‘As if grief weren’t bad enough,’ Ingerid said, ‘the gods have sent us a storm.’

They clung to each other as they walked. No one else had ventured out in the cold weather. It took them half an hour to walk to the pond. They found a bench by the water’s edge and Yoo took the bag of bread from her handbag. The ducks heard the rustling and zoomed in on them like small ships in a dense feather-clad fan formation. Their orange feet paddled energetically in the water.

‘It doesn’t matter if we get a bit chilly,’ Ingerid said. ‘We can warm up afterwards. How are you doing? Are your hands freezing?’

Yoo started tossing pieces of bread at the ducks. She found it amusing the way they all made a beeline for her. It seemed like devotion.

‘I’m going to come here every day,’ she vowed. ‘With stale bread.’

‘I would like to come with you,’ Ingerid said. ‘If you don’t mind.’ She gave the small woman a kind look.

‘Do you know what I often think?’ Ingerid said. ‘When something terrible happens, we talk about people getting over it. Is she over it? we say, as if the tragedy is an obstacle in someone’s path and we have to scale it. It’s not that straightforward. Grieving is something we have to live with,’ she said, ‘it’s a constant battle. And the enemy is the rest of our lives. All those nights. All those hours.’

She was reminded of something she had read in Jon’s diary. ‘He was so horribly ashamed,’ she explained. ‘He was so burdened by guilt and shame. He wrote as though he didn’t deserve to live.’

Ingerid looked down at the bread that Yoo was holding in her hand.

‘That crust of bread reminds me of something,’ she said. ‘A man was in a German prison camp during the war. He was subjected to so many awful things – abuse, torture, starvation and exposure. There were thirty men crammed into a freezing barrack, and the snow blew in under the door. Nevertheless he survived, and when the war ended he returned home. Though he now had plenty of food and warmth, he died shortly afterwards. He was haunted by a terrible memory. One night he had stolen a crust of bread from a sleeping man. It was this incident that killed him. He could not bear to eat.’

‘That’s very sad,’ Yoo said. She could visualise it all, an emaciated man in prison clothes stealing in the night. Crouching alone in the dark, furtively gnawing at the dry crust.

‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ Ingerid said. ‘But I also think that it says something positive about people. We need a sense of decency. Without it we cannot live a good life. And Jon had lost that sense of decency.’

Yoo looked down at what was left of the crust.

Ingerid took one of her hands and gave it a friendly squeeze.

‘Put your gloves back on,’ she ordered her. ‘You’re freezing. Look. They want more.’ She pointed to the ducks, which kept coming.

‘I think we’ve made friends for life,’ Yoo smiled.

Afterwards they headed towards Nattmal to warm up with a pot of tea.

‘Kim is never coming home again,’ Yoo said. ‘That means that no one will find me when I die. Not for a long time. Not many people come to my house,’ she explained.

‘That could happen to me too,’ Ingerid said. ‘I have an idea. Why don’t we call each other every evening?’

At that Yoo looped her arm though Ingerid’s, and they walked the last stretch close together.

‘What about us?’ she remembered when they were back inside. ‘Is sending that letter to Reilly an act of decency?’

Ingerid had her answer ready.

‘We forgive the poor wretch who stole the bread,’ she said. ‘He stole because he was in need. And so are we. Different rules apply.’

CHAPTER 29

Axel Frimann was speechless when Reilly told him about the letter and his silence lasted for quite some time. Reilly pressed his mobile to his ear. He could clearly visualise Axel’s jaw muscles twitching as he reacted to the news.

‘Bloody hell,’ he heard.

And he repeated the oath with more emphasis.

‘Bloody hell.’

While he waited for Axel to continue, Reilly wandered around the flat in circles. The kitten chased him and clawed at his trouser leg.

‘Jon has exposed us,’ Axel said.

‘Never,’ Reilly said.

‘Who else could it be?’ Axel said. ‘Use your head, man!’

Reilly carried on wandering; the kitten carried on stalking him.

‘Posted locally?’ Axel asked.

‘Yes. Nice envelope. Nice paper and pen. Capital letters.’

‘Nice paper? A girl’s behind it,’ Axel declared. ‘It’s got to be Molly.’

‘But it says “we”,’ Reilly reminded him. ‘“We know what you did.”’

Axel fell silent again and Reilly wondered if he, too, was walking around his flat but in larger circles, as his living room was three times bigger.

‘I think we may have to go away for a while,’ he heard Axel say.

Reilly stopped pacing. From where he was standing, he could see the letter lying on the table, shiny and white.

‘I have work,’ he said. ‘I can’t go away.’

‘For a couple of days, I mean,’ Axel said. ‘We’ll go this Friday. You’ve got the weekend off, haven’t you? We’ll go up to Dead Water. We need a break. And we need to discuss some important stuff. There’s a lot at stake. Wouldn’t you agree?’

Reilly stared out at the autumn weather. The wind was rising and the treetops outside his window were swaying.

‘I’ll buy some delicious food,’ Axel tempted him. His voice was enticing. He wanted to enforce his will. ‘I’ll pick you up around six,’ he added. ‘Reilly, are you listening?’

‘But why are we running away?’ Reilly asked. ‘Someone saw us. They’re watching our every move. It’s only a matter of time before they come knocking on my door.’

‘Everything is a matter of time,’ Axel said. ‘The world will end, it’s only a matter of time. You and I are going to die, it’s only a matter of time. We’ve made it this far and we’ll manage the rest.’

Reilly finally agreed to a weekend at the cabin. For years now he had allowed himself to be controlled by Axel’s strong will. When the conversation was over, he sat in his chair for a long time with the kitten on his lap. He took some GHB, but it failed to calm him, so he took some more, and then he grew agitated. He was starting to have doubts. Why did Axel want to go to Dead Water? What were his motives? He glanced at the letter again.

We are watching you. How? he wondered. Were they following him in the street? Were they waiting outside the hospital when he turned up for work? Were they hiding behind the screens in the corridors watching all his mistakes as he wandered aimlessly, still unsure of his way around the vast building? Did they know that he had wheeled a ninety-year-old woman into the maternity ward and that Nader had slapped his thighs and laughed with his bright white Arab teeth when he heard about it? Did Axel know that he was losing his grip? That he sat on the sofa with the kitten all day long, seeking refuge in substance abuse, that he was no longer capable of taking pleasure in anything but turned to the Koran, actively seeking condemnation in order to torment himself and to atone for what they had done? Perhaps the trip to Dead Water is a trap? He shuddered. Axel wants to make sure he’s still in control. He will never give that up. I’ve got to be on my guard.

His mother looked perplexed as she opened the door.