And then Therese was there, Liss pulled herself free and swayed back towards the sofa. There she sank back into the garden she had made. Through avenues of jasmine and poppies she peered out at the dancers. Catrine was now wearing a red Santa hat with a flashing light on the tassel. She was draped round Didier’s neck. His hands had a firm hold around her trim buttocks. A little further away, Therese stood on tiptoes and kissed her fillet steak on the cheek. He looked away. Liss met his gaze and again shook her head.
After leaving the toilet, she wandered into the inner bedroom. Had an idea what was going on in there. All the traffic traipsing in and out. A guy in a denim jacket, without a hair on his head, sat over a glass table and scattered snow across it.
– First round is on the house, he yawned.
He made three lines. A boy who had been sitting beside Liss on the sofa and had given up trying to pick her up took out a brass pipe, snorted a line and handed it to her; he didn’t look a day over seventeen. She bent forward, sniffed it up. She felt it burn from the bridge of her nose all the way to the top of her head. An instant of intense pleasure. An image of the cabin appeared. Lie in the snow among the trees on the marsh, looking up into the black sky.
– I’ll go back there tomorrow, she said aloud.
The boy leaned towards her. He was wearing tight-fitting yellow trousers that made her think of portraits of Renaissance princes. But he has no codpiece, she thought, and it made her laugh.
– Back where? he wanted to know.
– Never mind, she said.
– Neverland?
She nodded.
– You’re cool. I like you. He put his arm around her, ran a finger down into her neckline. She twisted away, smacked him across the head with a bright smile, glided out into the corridor, headed for the living room, stopped in the doorway.
The guy who had laid the lines out on the glass table emerged into the hallway behind her. Opened the front door. A man with curly black hair stood there wearing a reefer jacket. She recognised him at once. He had been at Mailin’s office that day, torn a page out of her appointments book. Just then Jomar appeared and said something to him.
– That’s none of your fucking business, the guy in the reefer jacket growled, and pushed a bag into the dealer’s hand. In return he received an envelope, checked the contents and disappeared again.
Liss slipped out of the front door, the guy in the reefer jacket was already on the next landing down.
– Hey, she shouted.
He didn’t answer, carried on down. She ran after him, caught up with him just by the street door.
– I’m talking to you, she said, feeling stronger than ever.
The guy turned towards her with that same evasive look she had seen in the office.
– What’s the idea, following me about?
– You know exactly what I mean, she hissed.
He tried to get out the door, she grabbed hold of his arm.
– You were at Mailin’s office that day.
– Oh yeah?
– You knew she wasn’t there, but still you went there poking about in her stuff.
He glared at her. – You’ve had too much, bitch.
– Why did you tear that page out of her appointments book?
She felt an enormous rage, wanted to lay into him, hit him, bite his throat.
– What’s your problem, he shouted, and pushed her against the wall. – Stay away from me, you fucking psycho.
He took hold of her by the throat. She felt faint, the dizziness rising to her head; it could end here, like this… Far away, footsteps on the stairs, running down.
She collapsed. Someone slapped her on the cheek. Repeated her name, over and over.
She looked up into Jomar Vindheim’s face. His eyes were filled with anger.
– Who the hell did this?
– Never mind, she coughed. – It was my fault.
She awoke to the smell of sweet water. Aftershave. She was in a man’s house. Looked round. Alone in a large bed. Felt down. Clothes still on. The room was in darkness, but she could see a strip of light below the drawn blind.
It wouldn’t be much fun trying to piece together what had happened before she ended up in this bed. She must try to keep to the main details. Not get sidetracked by all the fragmentary flashes of memory that came whirling by: in town with Catrine. Meeting Therese. Fillet steak and the African. The party at Sinsen. The guy who had been at Mailin’s office. She’d gone for him. The fillet steak, whose name was of all things Jomar, had carried her out to his car and put her in the back seat. When he pulled up outside Casualty, she sat up. Refused to go in. So instead he’d taken her back to his place. She hadn’t the strength to protest, but seemed to remember talking away as she lay in his car. About Mailin. About the cabin at Morr Water. About Amsterdam too, probably. Had she mentioned Zako?… She’d passed out as soon as they got into his flat. A recipe for idiocy. Three highs. End up at the home of some unknown male and in no condition to take care of herself… He hadn’t touched her, she could feel it. He had put her in this bed and gone off to sleep somewhere else.
She got up quietly and came into a room. The TV clock said quarter to eight. One door led to the kitchen, another to a hallway. A third door was ajar. She could hear his deep, even breathing from inside.
The cold hit her as she opened the front door. She was wearing only Mailin’s thinnest pullover, had left her jacket behind at the place where the party was. She backed inside again. Some outdoor clothing hanging on a stand. Leather Marlboro jacket like this guy Jomar had been strutting about in the night before, two heavy-weather jackets, some suit jackets and a snowsuit. She put on what looked like the older of the heavy-weather jackets. Checked the pockets, emptied out some chewing gum, a few receipts and a packet of condoms, put them on the table by the entrance. Opened the door again and slipped away down the steps.
17
Wednesday 24 December
TORMOD DAHLSTRØM WAS still seeing a patient when she arrived. A woman, judging by the fur coat hanging just inside the door to the waiting room. Liss slumped down in the leather chair and began flipping through Vogue, couldn’t face reading it, not even looking at the pictures. The distant hum of voices could be heard from the office, broken by a long pause. Then a few sentences, then another pause. She picked up Dagbladet’s magazine section. Berger with his mouse’s teeth grinning out at her from the front page. She turned to the interview. He talked about his childhood. A father who was a pastor in the Pentecostal church. How glad he was to have grown up with this clear distinction of black and white, between what was Christ’s and what was the Devil’s.
The office door opened, and a woman in a dark green outfit emerged. She was quite a bit older than Liss. She held a handkerchief to her nose and took no notice of her, so it was a few seconds before Liss realised that this was a woman who had featured on the front pages of the weeklies for years, even in Amsterdam. The woman unhooked her fur and trudged out without putting it on.
Dahlstrøm appeared in the doorway.
– I’d no idea you had patients on Christmas Eve. Sorry if I…
– It’s fine, he assured her. – I’ve had a cancellation today. He added: – I’m glad to see you.
To judge by his look, he was sincere, his tone of voice too. Liss looked for a chink in it, something that would reveal the false bottom, but didn’t spot one.
– As for the woman you just saw leaving here… Dahlstrøm put a finger to his thin lips. – I’m counting on your discretion.
– Of course, said Liss. – I won’t give another thought to all those thousands I could have got from Seen and Heard.
– A thick wad, I’ve no doubt, he agreed as he held out a hand towards the even softer leather chair inside his office.