Reilly took a few steps through the snow, still keeping his back to him.
Axel pulled out his mobile from his pocket.
‘Here you are, Jon, go on, make the call. After all, you’re so much better than us. Do the right thing and ruin the rest of your life.’
CHAPTER 36
Ingerid Moreno spotted the taxi from her window.
She pulled on her boots and had just got outside when Yoo Van Chau’s foot appeared below the door of the taxi. Yoo was carrying a big shoulder bag. It was heavy, and it upset her balance. The street had been gritted, but there were still icy patches on the flagstone path leading up to the house.
‘Let me help you,’ Ingerid said.
Yoo hooked her arm through Ingerid’s and together they staggered up the slippery flagstones like two old ladies. They could not help but laugh at themselves, and their laughter reminded them of the old life they had lost.
‘Please sit down,’ Ingerid said, once they got inside.
She had cleaned the house. She had bought flowers and lit candles. She had cooked dinner and set the table, and she had opened a bottle of wine.
Yoo sat on the sofa and Ingerid let herself fall into a chair. There were things that needed saying. They both summoned their courage.
‘I’m not making excuses for Jon,’ Ingerid began. ‘He should have held his ground even though Axel and Reilly were older and stronger than him. But I was young myself once. We went to parties every Saturday and we used to get quite drunk. Some mornings I would wake up unable to recall the night before. It would just be a blur.’
Yoo listened with the shoulder bag on her lap.
‘There’s so much we don’t know about ourselves,’ Ingerid said. ‘Perhaps we ought to thank fate for the trials we never have to face.’
‘Kim shouldn’t have drunk as much as he did,’ Yoo said. ‘He wasn’t used to it. I feel sorry for both of them. And I feel sorry for us.’
She looked at the flowers on the table. She recognised them as caramel roses. Ingerid had food in the oven too. She could hear hot fat spitting.
‘Every day I light a candle on his grave,’ she said. ‘I go there whatever the weather, come rain or come shine. Afterwards, I wait for the bus, in the freezing cold. I’m so tired of it. Then I make up my mind not to go the next day, but I think I can hear him calling out for me, so I have to go anyway even though it’s cold. I have to, otherwise I can’t sleep.’
‘He’s controlling you,’ Ingerid said. ‘Did he control you when he was alive as well?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So why do you allow him to do so now?’ She went to the window and looked outside. ‘The snow will come soon,’ she said. ‘Think about that.’
Yoo thought about the snow. It would cover the graves like a duvet.
Ingerid went to the bookcase, pulled out a photo album with a black cover and placed it on the table. ‘You first,’ she said.
Yoo opened her shoulder bag. Her photo album was pale blue and bore the following title:
She opened the first page and pointed to the photo of a newborn baby swaddled in a blanket.
‘Kim,’ she whispered. ‘On the day he was born.’
CHAPTER 37
Reilly’s cell measured eight square metres. It had a simple bed and a desk, and he had his own toilet. He also had a shelf with a handful of books, and on the wall above his bed he had fixed an old photo of himself, Axel and Jon when they were boys. Axel’s father had taken the picture. It was before the stroke destroyed him. Axel was wearing a white shirt and jeans; Jon was in shorts and on his head he wore the dark blue cap from Toten Transport. Reilly himself was wearing an old tracksuit with red and blue trim.
Reilly studied the picture every day. He was convinced that he would eventually spot signs of everything that had happened since then. A shadow, perhaps, or a certain light. But he found no such thing. They were just little kids with skinny legs and pointy knees.
The window of his cell faced the river, and a herd of cows was grazing on its bank. There were fifty, maybe sixty animals there, and he enjoyed watching them. The animals were sturdy and shaggy, some were as pale as cream, others black or red, and they always moved as one. Whenever it began to rain, they would huddle together under a cluster of trees in a compact slumbering mass.
‘Herefordshire,’ Hermansen said.
Hermansen was the prison guard whom Reilly liked the most. He was the oldest one on the section and would retire shortly. Sometimes you could sense that he was already winding down. He had lost some of his flexibility, and his dealings with the inmates was characterised by a brutal honesty.
‘Herefordshire,’ Reilly echoed. ‘You know about cows then?’
‘I know the farmer,’ Hermansen said. ‘It’s the best meat there is.’
Reilly remained by the window. He was filled with a sense of gravity, which pulled him towards the floor, but it was not unpleasant. It was the feeling of being in the right place. I’m atoning now, he thought. I atone while I sleep, and every second I repay part of a huge debt.
‘Are they outside in the winter?’ he asked, nodding towards the cows.
‘Oh, no,’ Hermansen said. ‘They go back in the cowshed at the first snowfall.’
‘But that could be any minute,’ Reilly said. ‘We’re halfway through November. What will I look at then?’
‘Then you’ll have to look at the sky,’ Hermansen said. ‘And the clouds. You’ll always find something to look at. You have to. You’re going to be here a long time.’
Reilly went to his bed. He sat down and picked up the Koran that was lying on the blanket.
The older man watched him kindly. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘I’ve been thinking about something,’ Reilly said, ‘since you’re asking. I was wondering if perhaps I should send flowers. To Ingerid and to Yoo Van Chau.’
Hermansen frowned. ‘Flowers? What good would that do?’
‘I just want to express my grief. At everything that happened.’
‘For what you’ve done,’ Hermansen corrected him.
Reilly nodded. ‘Yes. For what I’ve done.’
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ Hermansen said. ‘It won’t solve anything.’
‘But I have to do something,’ Reilly groaned. ‘You understand that, don’t you?’
‘You can’t send flowers,’ Hermansen said. ‘They don’t want to hear from you ever again. Leave them in peace.’
Reilly slumped on the bed. The Koran slipped out of his hand on to the blanket.
‘No matter how bad your actions were,’ Hermansen said, ‘in the end you confessed. That in itself is an act of decency.’
The door to his cell slammed loudly behind him. Reilly was on the verge of tears. If only I could get high, he thought, a seductive little drop of Salty Water. He opened the Koran and picked out a verse at random.
If a man kills a believer intentionally, his recompense is Hell, to abide therein for ever: And the wrath and the curse of God are upon him, and a dreadful penalty is prepared for him.
He returned to the window and focused on the cows again. Big, beautiful and slow they meandered across the meadow, seemingly unaffected by time or man, enclosed in a world of their own, devoid of any urgency. Only a
