Broken Page 19

  Alvar tightened his lips. What sort of description is that? he thought. I'm not effeminate, I never have been, I'm one metre eighty-seven tall and fairly broad-shouldered.

  'Are you hurt?' she smiled.

  'Certainly not,' he lied, crossing one leg over the other and brushing away a speck of dust.

  Suddenly she put her feet on the floor and got up from the sofa. She had spotted the kitten. Now she went over to pick him up and take him back with her to the sofa.

  'He's such a sweetie,' she said, stroking the kitten's head. 'When I was a little girl I always wanted to have a kitten, but I never got one. Those people gave me nothing.' Her voice was angry, bitter. 'But I can pretend that he's mine. Hello, kitty,' she chirped, 'I'm going to visit you lots and lots and you will be mine. I'll fuss over you and take care of you for ever and ever.'

  Her words sent a chill down Alvar's spine. Had she not just declared that she would keep coming back, to his flat, to his kitten? What had he started?

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The kitten settled on her lap and started purring.

  'Do you know what I fancy right now?' she said, looking at him. Alvar was tormented by her bruised eye. He shook his head nervously.

  'Hot chocolate,' she said softly. 'Hot chocolate with lots of sugar. Please would you make me some, please, please, please?'

  Alvar was not sure if he had any cocoa as he preferred tea or coffee. But there might be something in a packet somewhere, probably well out of date. He got up to check, driven by her needs in a way he resented. Again he felt like a servant. And this confused him, because he was in charge of his own life. Now with her simple request she had switched their roles. He opened the cupboard and had a look inside. Searched among bags of flour and spaghetti and rice for the brown cocoa packet. And there in the furthest corner he discovered some Kakao Express. Well, why not? he thought. It'll warm her up and she probably needs that. And they had to do something to pass this long evening. He found some milk in the fridge and poured it into a saucepan. Put it on the stove. Found a mug and a teaspoon and a bowl of sugar. From where he was standing he could see into the living room. Help, he thought, there's a stranger in my flat and she'll be here right until tomorrow morning. I can't find the words, I won't be able to talk to her, she has taken all my power from me and I'm helpless. He added cocoa powder to the milk and stirred with a wooden spoon; steam quickly started to rise. We're in a labyrinth, Lindys and I, and now we've run into each other on one of the many crooked paths, and we can't get past each other, everything has ground to a halt. My breathing, my heart, what am I going to do, move to a hotel for two weeks, so she'll think I've sold the flat? He instantly realised how ludicrous this idea was, as he struggled to find a solution. The milk was starting to boil, so he took the saucepan off the hob and poured the milk into a mug. Added a few extra spoonfuls of sugar and brought her the drink.

  She let go of the kitten and grasped the hot drink eagerly.

  'Christ, it's hot,' she burst out and licked the corners of her mouth with her pointy, pink tongue. 'But it's delicious, Alvar, it really is.'

  He sat down again, touched by hearing the sound of his own name. He rarely heard his name spoken by others and he was filled with conflicting thoughts. Now she was stroking the kitten with her left hand and holding the mug in her right.

  'You're probably thinking that I've made a right mess of my life,' she said in between gulps of cocoa.

  He could not think of anything to say in reply, so he raised his eyebrows instead, as a sign that she could go on.

  'On drugs, shooting heroin. Unemployed, battered and miserable. You probably think I'm the lowest of the low. A pathetic, broken creature who doesn't deserve to live in a welfare state.'

  Alvar gave her a startled look. 'No,' he practically cried out, 'I've never ever thought that!'

  'You haven't?' She looked at him sharply and narrowed her healthy eye.

  'I don't know much about these things,' he said reluctantly, 'but you probably haven't had an easy life.'

  His reply caused her to look serious.

  'No,' she said in a tired voice, 'I haven't had an easy life. My mum was always ill, she spent most of her time in bed and my dad travelled the world selling ankle socks which don't cut off your blood supply when you wear them.'

  Alvar, who had been studying his hands, looked up.

  'So you were on your own a lot of the time,' he said softly.

  'Practically all the time,' she said. 'And whenever she did get out of bed she would sit in a chair shaking like a rag doll because of her phobia. Have you ever seen phobia close up? It looks like someone's being electrocuted. She took a lot of pills, not that they seemed to do her any good. The curtains in our house were always drawn because she was scared of the light. She was scared whenever someone rang our doorbell, she was afraid of the telephone. We never had any visitors, she was scared of people. I could never bring any friends round.'

  'But,' said Alvar, shaken to his core, 'when your father came home, what happened then?'

  'Then he would drink,' she said simply. 'Binge drinking two to three weeks at a time. He would turn into someone I couldn't recognise. I had to cook my own meals, no one ever helped me with my homework. When my mum took an overdose, my dad got so scared he left the country. And I was taken into care.'

  Alvar leaned forward a little to show his sympathy.

  'What was it like there? Were they nice to you?'

  She smiled an acid smile.

  'Sometimes,' she said and suddenly became indifferent.

  Alvar did not understand.

  'Either they were nice to you or they weren't.'

  'It was too late,' she said, 'I was fifteen years old by then. The damage had already been done.'

  Damaged, Alvar thought, broken like the severed bridge. A strange feeling of solidarity filled his heart. Here he was talking to a total stranger, and yes, they were having a real conversation. He suddenly thought he was observing the scene in his own living room from a distance. A skinny girl with a mug of cocoa and a kitten on her lap. He in an armchair, the adult, being supportive. Peace and mutual understanding. Snow melting outside.

  'But,' he said, suddenly feeling very reckless, 'surely you could get help somewhere? Couldn't you ask to go into rehab?'

  She looked at him with mild reproach.

  'And lose the only thing that gets me through the day? I wouldn't dream of it. It might sound crazy to you, but this is how I want it, I don't want to be on this merry-go-round any more. It's riddled with ghosts.'

  Alvar recalled the painting and nodded.

  'But,' he said, raising his voice because he was beginning to engage deeply, 'you're so young. You might get a job one day, and a flat and a kitten. Wouldn't that be something?'

  At that she smiled broadly. 'But I've already got that,' she said, nodding down at the kitten. Alvar started to feel dizzy. He got up from his chair, he felt in urgent need of a large sherry. Did she want to join him?

  She shook her head adamantly.

  'Growing up with a drunk teaches you to stay clear of alcohol, if nothing else,' she said, sipping her cocoa demonstratively.

  This made complete sense, Alvar thought, even though her argument seemed somewhat flawed given that she had substituted alcohol with heroin. But he said nothing. He fetched the bottle from the cupboard and poured himself a large glass. Fell back into his armchair and tasted the golden liquid.

  'You're very tidy,' she said, watching him.

  He clutched his glass.

  'Yes,' he conceded after a long pause, 'I like to know where everything is.'

  'Or you'll start to fret?' she teased him, scrutinising him from head to toe.

  He shrugged and put the glass on the table.

  'That's who I am,' he said simply. 'I can't stand mess. It makes it impossible to find anything.'

  She laughed and threw back her head. 'So what are you looking for then?' she said, her voice filled with laughter. 'We
're all set on the same path, the one that leads to death. Just in case you didn't know that.'

  That irked him. He did not like that she was talking about death, nor did he feel that he was on the same path as her.

  'I'm just talking rubbish,' she consoled him. 'My life's chaotic. Getting high, getting beaten up, desperation and strange disgusting men, that's all I have. I bet you have a lot that I'll never have. A well-paid job. Family and friends.'

  Alvar looked down. He had none of those things.

  'Is it all right if I take a shower?' she asked.

  Alvar jumped again. 'I suppose so,' he said.

  'I feel so filthy and grimy,' she explained, 'and it's not often I get the chance because I don't have a shower in my room.'

  He nodded again. Once more he felt that she was devouring him, but, having given her cocoa, offered her sherry and a bed for the night, it felt impossible to deny her a shower. She leapt out of the sofa and placed the kitten on his lap.

  'I know where it is,' she called out and made a beeline for the bathroom. Again he sat there with his heart in his throat. He could feel his cheeks burning. A woman would be standing behind a thin wall with no clothes on. The water would wash over her. The same room where he carefully washed and got himself ready every morning and evening. Her smell, her hair in the plughole. He gulped down more sherry, he could think of no other solution.

  *

  At eleven he switched on the TV to watch the late-night news. Lindys was lying on the sofa, her hair was damp. The kitten had snuggled up to her chest and had fallen asleep. She was not interested in the news, she lay calmly with her eyes closed. Her swollen eye worried him, but it did not seem to bother her. Alvar was halfway through his second sherry. Human beings can cope with far more than we think, he decided, as a mild level of intoxication reached his head. There's a woman lying on my sofa and I haven't panicked. I'm taking it all in my stride, I'm a self-assured man. After a while he could see that she was asleep. She had neither a pillow nor a blanket, so he got up and went to a cupboard in the hallway where he kept a pure wool Berger blanket. He returned to the sofa. Stood there for a moment watching her. Her blonde, almost white hair had fallen over her cheek where the skin was stretched tightly over her cheekbones. The swollen eye looked truly nasty. He could not understand how anyone could have the heart to hurt such a defenceless girl. His initial thought had been to spread the blanket over her, but it seemed such an intimate gesture that he did not dare. Instead he laid the blanket over her feet. Perhaps she might wake up during the night and pull it all the way up. What would tomorrow bring? he wondered. What might she get up to while he slept? Could he trust her? No, Ole Krantz would have said, you can't trust people like that. Get rid of them, Alvar, get rid of them! He switched off the light, turned off the TV and went to the bathroom. He remembered that he had forgotten to provide her with a clean towel, so she had used his. He noticed black stains from her eye make-up, too. He took a clean towel from the linen cupboard, brushed his teeth and washed his hands. Left the bathroom light on and the door ajar, so she could find her way in the dark in case she woke up during the night. Then he quickly went out into the hall to retrieve his wallet from his coat pocket. He brought it into his bedroom and placed it in the drawer of his bedside table, and this small precaution felt like a nasty sting.

  *

  When he woke up she was standing by his bedside.

  He yanked his duvet up under his chin. Her eye looked even worse, he thought, and what time was it anyway?

  'Like I said,' she spoke firmly, 'I need twenty grand. If I go back into town without that money, he'll kill me.'

  Alvar sat up in his bed. He could not believe his own ears.

  'As long as I owe him that money, I'm fair game. I can't even return to my room.'

  She stuck her chin out and planted her hands on her hips.

  Alvar ran his hand across his bare head. He had been ambushed, it felt unbearable.

  'But,' he moaned, 'you'll never be able to pay that back.'

  'Oh, sure,' she said confidently, 'I can sell some drugs. Spring's coming, that means I can start working the streets again. I always make a lot of money this time of year.'

  Alvar rubbed his eyes.

  'I've made coffee,' she said proudly. 'And then we're going to the cashpoint.'

  He looked at her in disbelief. Hugged his duvet tightly.

  'I don't even have that much money in my account,' he tried in a desperate attempt to escape the humiliation she was subjecting him to.

  'But you've got seventy thousand,' she said. 'You've been saving, you told me all about it.'

  'It's for the painting,' he objected feebly.

  'But you haven't bought it. That wall in there,' she nodded towards the living room, 'is still bloody empty!'

  He wanted to get out of bed, but he could not bear the thought that she might see him in his underwear, even though his boxer shorts were perfectly acceptable.

  'It's in another account,' he said, 'a savings account. I don't have a card for that.'

  She rolled her blue eyes. 'Then we'll go to your bank,' she said lightly. 'They open at nine.'

  She went back into the living room.

  'I let the cat out,' she called to him over her shoulder.

  Alvar forgot all about his embarrassment and jumped out of bed. 'What did you just say? You let him out?'

  She came back in, stopped in the doorway.

  'Yes, of course I did. Don't tell me you're keeping that poor little creature cooped up in here all day.'

  Alvar reached for his neatly folded clothes on the back of the chair near his bed.

  'But what if he can't find his way home?' he said miserably. At this she burst into a fit of laughter.

  'What are you on about? I've never heard anything like it. Of course he'll find his way home. And he's not as helpless as you think. When you come home from work today, he'll be waiting on your doorstep, he's not stupid either, he knows who feeds him. Now get a move on, the bank opens in thirty minutes.'

  He got dressed. He went to the bathroom. He stared at his terrified reflection in the mirror. If he did not give her the money, she would get another beating. If he gave her the money she would become indebted to him and then she would have to walk the streets to pay him back. Both options were unthinkable. If he swore at her and told her to get the hell out of his flat, he would not be able to live with himself; after all, he was a good person. He went through his usual morning ritual; he lingered and dawdled as much as he could. There was music coming from the living room, she had turned on the radio. Finally he came out. She was sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee and she had put out a cup for him too. They drank their coffee in silence.

  'I'm not going to come with you inside when we get to the bank,' she said after a long pause. 'I'll wait outside. I'll sign an IOU,' she added, 'if you want me to.'

  He shook his head. 'No, what would be the point of that?' he said dully. There was no way she was ever going to pay him back. Now she had become something he had been lumbered with. He looked at her, he looked at his coffee cup, which she was holding in her hands as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And the kitten outside now on his own, he might get run over. Alvar moaned inwardly.

  'Don't be scared,' she said all of a sudden.

  'What do you mean?' he asked.

  'You're always so scared, you don't have to be. You see, there's nothing to be scared of.'