– And your date tonight is fillet steak, Liss interjected, to show that she understood. – What about sell-by dates?
– Of course, Catrine exclaimed. We’ll start using that. Best-before dates.
– Use-by, Therese added.
They found seats on an old-fashioned sofa in the back room of the café. Catrine leaned towards Liss and shouted above the music that flooded from the speakers in the ceiling.
– I’ll tell Therese, just as well she knows… Liss is Mailin Bjerke’s sister.
Therese stared at her. Liss liked her dark eyes.
– The woman who… oh shit. Sorry about that.
Liss gave her a quick squeeze on the arm. – It’s quite all right. Catrine invited me out so I’d have something else to think about. But tell me about your footballer.
Therese recovered quickly. – Hello, Catrine, thought I could tell you things without the whole town having to know about it.
– Only told Liss, cross my heart. You can trust her.
The first beer was gone and another round ordered. Liss had hardly eaten and guessed she was going to be drunk before the evening was over.
– No one’ll hear it from me, she swore and crossed herself. The atmosphere of secrecy had a calming influence on her.
– He’s so sexy I might even end up going to watch a football match, Therese shouted. – It’s about the most brain-dead thing I can imagine, but if he’s gonna be rushing about in skimpy little shorts, then…
– Footballers wear enormous shorts, Catrine corrected her. – They probably need all that space for their family jewels. Handball players are the ones with the tight little shorts.
Liss had to smile. Catrine had always been interested in the male anatomy and ever since primary school had conducted her own studies in the field.
– What did you say his name was, the fillet steak?
– Jomar.
Catrine gaped. – Are you going out with a guy named Jomar?
– That’s exactly what I’m doing.
– You could always call him something else, Liss suggested. – Jay, for example.
– And you better start reading up on football too, Catrine teased her. – Study the sports pages, all the league tables from Germany and Belgium.
Therese put down her glass. – He’s not like that. He can talk about other things. He studies.
– At the sports academy, Catrine added with a meaningful look over at Liss.
Therese scoffed. – Well, would you go out with one of those political science wimps?
– Pas du tout, Catrine confirmed. – Not if I was looking for sex.
– Which you are.
– I don’t go home with somebody on a Saturday night to talk about the Norwegian welfare state with him, if that’s what you mean.
– Bad guys are for fun, said Therese, – good guys for…
– Study groups, Catrine interrupted.
Liss burst out laughing. The membrane around her was invisble, and maybe the others hadn’t noticed it. She thought she would be getting in touch with Catrine again. And she felt she wanted to put her arms around Therese with the dark eyes and squeeze her tight.
It was past 11.30 by the time he arrived. For some reason or other Liss knew straight away that the guy standing in the doorway of the room they were sitting in was the footballer. He was tall, so she could see his head above the others hanging around him. He had tangled fair hair that looked bleached. Therese caught sight of him and waved. He came across with another guy, who was black and wore his hair in dreadlocks.
Therese introduced everybody. – Catrine, this is Jomar Vindheim.
He was wearing a suit beneath his leather jacket, a white scarf with gold threads running through it tied around his neck. Catrine gave him a sort of sour smile, probably reacting to his name.
– Jomar, this is Catrine, and this is…
He turned towards Liss. Took her hand. Surprised, she tried to withdraw it, but he kept hold. His eyes were quite slanted and in the light from the lamps on the wall looked greyish.
– Jomar, he said.
– Liss, she said as she managed to free her hand.
His friend’s name was Didier and it turned out that he had just been bought from Cameroon. Suddenly they were aglow with an interest in football, Catrine and Therese. Both of them were suspiciously knowledgeable.
– Lyn play with a flat four, Catrine volunteered.
– A flat eleven, Jomar corrected her, translating for Didier, who burst out laughing.
– Bright girl, he said, and patted her arm.
– Bien sure, comme une vache, she answered with her most brilliant smile.
Catrine’s grandmother was Belgian, and when her friend started speaking French it always sounded fluent to Liss. Didier was visibly impressed too and looked like being a pushover. On the other side of the table Therese had attached herself firmly to her fillet steak, describing an invisible but distinct chalk circle around him, territory she was prepared to defend with any and all means necessary. Liss was in the corner of the sofa, on the outside. That was where she wanted to be, partly present, mostly somewhere else.
16
JOMAR VINDHEIM’S BMW was parked right outside. He said he would drive; had hardly drunk anything, he assured them. Therese squeezed in beside him. Didier wedged himself into the middle of the back. Every so often he broke off from his conversation in French with Catrine to say something to Liss in Afro-English. He put an arm around each of them and smelled of a perfume Liss had never come across before. She liked the weight of his fist on her shoulder.
They sped up Trondheims Way, across Carl Berners Place. Jomar was looking for an address in Sinsen. By the time they clambered out of the car, it had started to snow again. Heavy, ragged flakes that hit the ground and melted instantly. They could hear music from an open window. Liss still felt only slightly affected by the drinking.
They ended up in a large flat on the fifth floor. The music was so loud she didn’t have to talk to anyone, could just glide from one room to the next, note the looks, some indifferent, some interested. Found a seat on a sofa in the darkest of the rooms. Sat and watched people dancing. Someone had a joint. It appeared between her fingers, sweet-smelling, and she took two deep drags before passing it on. It was stronger than usual, she realised at once that it would make her distant. Just then someone put on some rai music, at any rate the kind of stuff Zako used to listen to. His name flashed through her mind. Looking for a way into the locked room. The door behind which he still lay on his back on the sofa. But she didn’t open it, and was pulled on into the music, as thick as cannabis oil. She glanced at Catrine, who had manoeuvred Didier into a corner of the room. Her evening is saved, she thought, closing her eyes and drifting deeper into the music. Shook her head when someone asked her to dance.
– I won’t take no for an answer, he said.
Liss opened her eyes. Jomar Vindheim squatted down beside her.
– I want to dance. With you.
Again she shook her head. But when he took her by the arm and pulled her up, she didn’t protest. Looked round for Therese but didn’t see her.
He wasn’t all over her. Led a touch unrhythmically, but she couldn’t be bothered to make things more difficult for him. The room was filled with the voice of the Arabic rai singer; it was slow and heavy with scents. She was in a garden with hanging flowers, a place where no one could reach her.
– Therese sent me a text before I met you at Mono. Said you were the sister of that…
She half turned, signalling to him that she didn’t want to talk about it. He laid his hand on her bare shoulder, one finger gliding along her hairline.
– I must see you again, he said.
– I like Therese, she replied.
– Me too. But I must see you again.