Broken Read online

  'For Christ's sake,' she said suddenly, 'you don't need to make such a drama out of it, I'll leave soon, I promise.'

  'But the key,' he whispered. 'You can't just help yourself to things like that, people just don't do that.'

  'Yes,' she said. 'I do. I help myself. Whereas you never do.' She smiled, showing her sharp teeth.

  'I've been thinking of moving,' he said abruptly. It just burst out of him.

  She laughed out loud.

  'Oh, you're so naive, matey!'

  He bowed his head.

  'Now take off your coat. Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?'

  He shook his head. No, he was screaming on the inside, no, no, no!

  'You're nervous,' she said more mildly this time. 'I can tell. But surely you can see that I'm not high?' She spread out her hands and beamed at him.

  No, she was not high. And she was more brazen than ever, he thought.

  'But you know,' she carried on, 'that's not something that can continue for very long.' She smoothed the blanket a little. 'I need a grand.'

  He shook his head, terrified. She narrowed her eyes.

  'You know what will happen if you say no,' she said, suddenly sounding vulnerable. 'I'll go cold turkey, and that's not a pretty sight.'

  He bit his lip. Gave her a doubting look, wrung his hands in his lap.

  'But don't you worry about that, I can always turn tricks. I would have to, anyway, in order to pay back what I owe you. You're thinking you won't ever see that money again, you think I'm robbing you blind and that I'll never repay you. You don't think very much of people like me.'

  Her lower lip protruded, she was sulking.

  'I'm not really sure,' he began.

  'Exactly. You're like all the others. With your fine flat and your job and your cat and your savings while the rest of us are on the street living hand to mouth.'

  He shook his head again.

  'I don't want to be mean,' he said then. It felt as if he was falling down a pit. He fumbled for his wallet in the inside pocket of his coat, opened it and looked into the notes compartment.

  The painting, he despaired. If this goes on, I'll never be able to afford it. It's like the bridge is sliding away from me and another person with a more forceful character will snatch it right before my eyes. A staunch, resolute man. A man who makes decisions without even blinking.

  'I've only got five hundred in cash,' he whispered.

  She turned her head angrily. 'Bloody plastic,' she said fiercely. 'I've got friends begging on the streets of Oslo and that's all they ever hear. I don't carry cash. I'm gonna get one of those little Visa terminals,' she said, 'and I'll swipe their bloody cards until they light up like a Christmas tree.'

  He put the notes on the table for her, his hand was limp. She snatched them greedily.

  'Just finishing my tea,' she said.

  Has she stopped saying thank you? he wondered. Are we where I thought we would end up? Suddenly he felt exhausted. He rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

  She immediately slammed her mug on the table with a bang. 'Why are you looking so tormented? You look like you're on your deathbed and you're clearly not.'

  'I'm just a little tired,' he explained. He looked at the kitten. He wanted to lift him up and stroke his back, but he could not do it while she was looking, as if stroking the kitten was something terribly intimate.

  'What have you got to be tired about?' she demanded.

  He merely gave her a deep sigh in return.

  'Oh, I get it, the picture,' she said, leaping up from the sofa. 'Anyway, it was nice to have a shower. I'm going to go now so you can get some peace. You don't need to get so stressed out just because you come home and find someone in your flat. Most people can handle that,' she claimed.

  She retrieved her jacket from under the coffee table and put it on. Stood unsteadily on the high-heeled ankle boots. She went out into the hall. Alvar sat as before, immovable, with his head in his hands.

  'See ya,' she called from the hall. He heard the door slam. Nevertheless he remained on his chair. And then a new wave of despair rolled over him. He had not got his key back.

  Eventually he snapped out of his trance.

  He fetched his shopping bag, which he had abandoned in the hall and went out into the kitchen with heavy steps. There he stopped and stared aimlessly at the worktop. Parts of him were still paralysed, he was unable to lift his hands. She had got him now. She had him in a vice, she was spending his money and using his bathroom, she was drinking his tea. She had the key to his flat in her pocket. She could have ten copies made of it and hand it out on Bragernes Square, it was only a matter of time before they would all be going to his flat and he risked coming home from work to find them there, perhaps a whole gang of them with their feet on the coffee table. And her with the kitten on her lap. He shuddered. This prospect almost brought him to his knees.

  He lifted the shopping bag onto the worktop and unpacked the food. For weeks, he thought, for months, for years she would burden him, what am I going to do? These thoughts distressed him deeply. They circled places he did not want to go to. How do you get rid of someone you do not want? What would his neighbour think? Would he end up drifting around the town himself, too scared to go back to a flat filled with strangers, would he end up being forced out of his own home? No! a voice inside him screamed. Fate can't be that cruel. I don't deserve this. Though he did not believe in justice. Misfortune could strike anyone, he realised, and now it's my turn. Or I've got it the wrong way round, she's the unfortunate one. She needs heroin; she walks the streets in thin clothes. He clasped his head with both hands while he stared at a coil of Cumberland sausage. Suddenly he had an idea. The solution was so obvious, so brilliant in all its simplicity, and in addition totally achievable; he just had not thought of it until now. When my mind is darkened my thoughts go around in circles. I'll replace the lock, he exclaimed joyously, I'll do it right away. And get new keys. Then she won't be able to let herself in. And I'll never open the door when the bell rings!

  The plan energised him and he hurried into the living room where he snatched the Yellow Pages from the shelf. Looked up a locksmith. Ran to the telephone to punch in the number. He lifted the handset cautiously and heard the dialling tone. It took a lot out of him to make the call. Asking for anything was so terribly hard for him that he wavered. He inhaled deeply several times before dialling the number. He heard the ringing tone. At the same time he looked at his watch. They were obviously closed, it was almost six in the evening. He would have to wait until tomorrow. He left the Yellow Pages open on the floor and went back to the kitchen to prepare his dinner. While he cooked he visualised her face the next time she would be standing outside his door with a key that no longer fitted. He could imagine disbelief, disappointment and rage, he saw anguish and desperation. But sod it, he thought and was startled by his own language, even though he had not said it out loud. I need to take charge here, before everything goes completely off the rails.

  He put butter in the frying pan and watched it melt. After a while it started to sizzle, then it turned golden and later nut brown and that was when he cut up the sausage and placed it in the pan. He opened a packet of sauerkraut and heated it in the microwave. He arranged the food attractively on his plate and carried it into the living room. He felt awfully pleased with himself. Something was stirring inside him now, a completely new sensation, and he would never have believed he could feel this good. He was angry, pure and simple. He was angry with Lindys, he was angry with himself, he was angry with drug dealers and he was angry at the injustice of the world. The food tasted delicious. Afterwards he lay on the sofa, filled with a deep sense of calm. He felt serene and determined. The kitten jumped up and settled by his feet.

  At exactly nine o'clock the next morning he rang the locksmith. When he had finished the call he felt very proud of himself. He had carried out his plan in a firm voice, employing a polite and friendly tone, it had gone like cloc
kwork. The locksmith would arrive at six in the evening with a new safety lock and two keys, the cost of which would be two thousand three hundred kroner including fitting the lock. Alvar's peace of mind returned and on his way to the gallery he felt the sun warm his face. Of course solutions could be found, of course he was a man of action. He clenched his fists out of sheer joy and punched the air because he felt so strong. He unbuttoned his coat and savoured the faint touch of spring in the air. He was even capable of looking at people he passed in the street, looking at them with an open and friendly face. He straightened his back, he lowered his shoulders, he strode on, imbued with energy. Then he remembered the severed bridge. Which he could no longer afford to buy. This thought depressed him. Then he tried to trivialise it. It had only been a fleeting infatuation, he told himself, and these things always pass. Perhaps he would fall for another painting sometime in the future. Human beings are so unpredictable, he thought, they change, they let you down. Take Lindys, for example, there was no way you could trust her. And when it came to Ole Krantz, well, he was a nice enough chap and he meant well, but when push came to shove he would inevitably look after number one. That's how it is, Alvar Eide thought, as he walked through the town. He reached the gallery at two minutes to ten. He disabled the alarm and went inside. He stopped in front of the painting of the severed bridge. Suddenly it struck him how sombre it was, how dark, almost brutal. On the other hand he had no eye for bright, colourful pictures of naked rocks, glittering lakes or pretty flowers. Beauty, he thought, is all well and good, but it's not what we base our lives on. He continued up the stairs and into the kitchen where he started making coffee. He opened his newspapers and bent over to read.

  The locksmith was on time and went to work straight away. Alvar made himself comfortable in an armchair and listened to the drone of the drill. A new lock, he thought, delighted. From now on only I can get in, no one else can disturb my peaceful life. He switched on the television and watched the news. Pope John Paul II was dying. The locksmith worked on. Alvar's heart beat like a drum, he felt empowered in a new way. He was also very good at his job, even if he did think so himself. He could see only clear skies ahead. Everything will be fine from now on, he thought, because I've taken control. Then the locksmith finished and Alvar tried the new lock. He inserted the shiny new key and turned it. A sharp, precise click sounded.

  'That's excellent,' he enthused. He thanked the locksmith profusely and settled his bill. The locksmith left. He decided to celebrate his newly discovered vigour with an early evening sherry. Now she could ring his doorbell for as long as she liked, he had shut her out once and for all. Then he turned and looked straight at Lindys.

  She had come out from his bedroom, her hair all tangled and messy. Alvar could feel himself starting to sway, he had to steady himself by putting his hand on the wall.

  'Christ Almighty,' she said, 'what a racket. What is going on here?'

  She stared at him with wide-open eyes, her clothes were crumpled.

  Alvar was struck dumb. He just stood there supporting himself against the wall, staring at her in disbelief. At the same time he also felt as if she had caught him with his hands in the till.

  'Was that you drilling?' she asked.

  He opened his mouth in an attempt to breathe.

  'What's your problem?' she said in an exasperated voice. 'I told you I would be coming and going. I wanted to have a nap so I locked the door. That mattress of yours is rock hard, I don't know how you sleep on it.'

  He was still incapable of uttering a single word.

  'Now just calm down,' she told him, 'it's not like it's a crime to have a nap.'

  He opened his mouth, not a sound came out.

  'I could hear that you had visitors,' she said, 'and I didn't want to disturb you. What on earth were you doing?'

  He was still leaning against the wall, while his heart pounded wildly. She took a few steps into the living room; she scanned it with sharp eyes. However, she found nothing unusual in the bright room. Then something occurred to her. She briskly walked into the hall. Alvar held his breath.

  'Bloody hell,' he heard, 'you've replaced the lock! You've only gone and replaced the bloody lock!'

  Alvar's knees turned to jelly and he blushed crimson from shame. She returned. Stopped in front of him and planted her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin.

  'What's wrong with you?' she raged. 'Cat got your tongue? If you don't want me here you can just tell me to go to hell. Just tell me straight to my face, because that's what you really want to do, isn't it!'

  Alvar inhaled. No, he did not want her to go to hell, he just wanted to be left in peace. But he could not find the words.

  'Is that what you want?' she challenged him. 'You just want me to piss off because you can't bear the sight of me? Well, if that's the case, why don't you just tell me?'

  He shook his head in despair. He tried to straighten up, but his knees threatened to give way. All his vigour deserted him. He was weak, he had shrivelled up and he felt mortified. His chest was hurting too, he realised, as if someone had jabbed a potato peeler into his heart and was now twisting it slowly.

  'So we're cool?' she asked in a milder voice. 'I mean, surely we can sit down and be honest with each other. Can't we?'

  'Yes, of course,' he said, still upset by everything that had happened.

  'So, you're saying we're cool?' she repeated.

  'Yes,' he whispered, 'we're cool.'

  She was silent. For several long seconds. Then her voice sounded bright and cheerful again.

  'That's all right then,' she said, relieved. 'So I'll just have a quick shower and I'll be off.'

  She marched into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Alvar was still leaning against the wall. Then he tried to stagger over to his armchair. His knees continued to tremble, his heart was starting to calm down, but the pain in his chest still scared him. I'm going to cause a scene, he thought, perhaps I'll collapse and I'll be discovered by a drug addict, lying face down on the floor, no pulse, not breathing. He collapsed into his armchair and clung to the armrests; he could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Now he had really been pushed over the edge. What's your problem? she had asked him. Well, what was his problem, why did his own will evaporate like mist before the sun, whenever it was confronted with another person's determination? An eternity later he heard her turn off the water and then a few minutes of silence followed. She came back out again, bright and cheerful, smiling broadly.

  'I feel much better now,' she said running her fingers through her hair, which ended up sticking out all the same. She looked at him and pursed her lips.

  'Have you still not got your act together?'

  Alvar was afraid to look her in the eyes. 'Of course,' he coughed, but his voice told a different story.

  'I need to go out,' she said and headed for his bedroom where she had left the grey jacket she always wore.

  'I need another shot,' she declared, 'I'm starting to crave it. In here.' She put her hand on her chest. 'You got any money for me?'

  'No,' he said without thinking.

  She froze. Then she gawped at him.

  'Really? You don't have any money?'

  'No,' he said for the second time. The word felt foreign, but also liberating.

  'You're telling me that you have spent everything that you own? You're skint? Your bank account has been cleared out and your savings have gone?'

  He pressed his lips together. Refused to reply.

  'You're lying,' she said fiercely. 'Of course you've got money. But if you don't want to give it to me, then that's another matter, so why don't you just tell me? Didn't we promise each other that we would be honest?'