Silent Saturday

by Helen Grant

  He went over to the illuminated switch on the wall and turned on the corridor light. When his eyes had adjusted to the sudden brilliance, he drew his favoured weapon from his shoulder and approached the wet-room door. His spirits rose, as they always did at such a glorious moment. He wrenched at the handle, jerking the useless lock open. Then he flung open the door and turned on the light, blinding Egbert, who was huddled against the tiled wall. While the pupils of Egbert’s eyes were still trying to contract to bring the dazzling brightness down to a tolerable level, De Jager shot him at point-blank range with the crossbow.

  26

  ‘YOU KNOW, IT’S the first day of spring,’ said Veerle.

  She was lying on an old picnic blanket on the floor in one of the high-ceilinged upper rooms of the old castle where she and Kris had met – or re-met, she reminded herself. Veerle was lying on her back, staring up at the ornate carvings on the ceiling. In spite of the cobwebs and the dust motes drifting through the pale sunshine, the ancient castle still retained a certain kind of beauty, like a very handsome old lady still holding herself with poise and grace in spite of her years. Directly above the spot where Veerle was lying there was a carved wooden head and she was trying to decide whether it was supposed to represent a lion or a bear.

  Kris was lying next to her on his stomach. He had a can of Coke but he wasn’t drinking it.

  ‘March the twenty-first,’ he said thoughtfully. He was staring out of the window at the trees clustered behind the castle. First day of spring or not, the branches remained resolutely bare, spreading like a fine net across the pale sky. All the same, you could feel the spring coming. It was suddenly warmer and lighter. Warm enough to picnic in the old castle’s unheated interior, even if the picnic was only a packet of tortilla chips and a couple of cans of Coke.

  ‘Yes,’ said Veerle, rolling her eyes. ‘March the twenty-first. First day of spring.’

  Kris glanced at her, grinning. ‘I know. My powers of detection are amazing.’

  ‘Your powers of pointing out the obvious are amazing.’

  ‘I was thinking.’

  Veerle rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow. She assumed a serious expression, although her eyes were bright with mischief. ‘So what were you thinking?’

  ‘I was thinking that if Horzel doesn’t get in touch with Fred soon, there’s going to be a meltdown. It must be nearly three weeks.’

  ‘Who’s Horzel?’

  ‘His real name is Egbert,’ Kris told her. ‘He’s the guy who’s into lock-picking.’

  ‘I remember, you said.’

  ‘I don’t really know him. I don’t know his surname or anything.’

  Veerle flopped back onto the rug, gazing up at the ceiling. ‘So why do you care whether he gets in touch with Fred or not?’

  ‘I don’t. It’s just odd.’ Kris drummed his fingers on the worn wooden floorboards, his face pensive. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘nobody knows anybody in the group any better than they have to. OK, there’s whoever invited you to join, and there’s anyone you ask to join yourself, and everyone has to get the nod from Fred. Some people like to do the houses with someone else, like we do, but never more than two. It doesn’t make sense to get to know the friends of friends and the friends of friends of friends. It just means more trouble for everyone if someone gets caught. If you don’t know anyone, you can’t shop them. That’s why it’s all nicknames.’

  ‘OK,’ said Veerle, shrugging.

  ‘So Egbert, I don’t really know him personally. But I know someone who knows him.’

  ‘I still don’t see why you’re interested in whether he contacts Fred or not. I mean, like you say, nobody knows anybody else all that well. Maybe he’s just gone on holiday or something.’

  ‘Egbert’s close to Fred,’ said Kris. ‘He sounds like a bit of a pain but he’s useful because he can get into anything, anywhere.’ He rolled onto his side, facing her. ‘Fred might have invited him personally, I don’t know. Anyway Fred’s on some kind of mission to save old buildings . . . or maybe he photographs them or something. You know, record it all before it falls down. And when the security is too tight Egbert gets him in.’

  Veerle glanced at him. ‘So you think Egbert would tell him if he went off?’ For the first time she felt a twinge of unease. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘it’s probably nothing. Maybe he owes Fred money or something.’

  ‘Maybe,’ agreed Kris, but without conviction. ‘It’s just . . .’

  ‘Just what?’ Veerle asked him.

  There was an infinitesimally small pause before Kris said, ‘I’m not hearing back from Hommel, either.’

  Oh. Hommel.

  Suddenly there was a feeling of cold dismay in the pit of Veerle’s stomach, as sour as guilt. She kept her gaze fixed on the carving high above her and thought about what to say.

  She was still thinking about it when Kris said, ‘We just talk now and again.’

  ‘OK,’ said Veerle carefully.

  ‘But she’s not replying.’

  She’s pissed off at you, thought Veerle. She let out her breath in a long sigh and waited for Kris to go on.

  He was shaking his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’m chasing ghosts. Seeing a pattern where there isn’t any pattern.’

  ‘What pattern?’

  ‘People just suddenly dropping off the radar.’

  Veerle stared at him. No, she thought. Egbert, that’s a bit odd, maybe. But Hommel . . . She had a feeling she knew why Hommel hadn’t been in touch. She’s playing hard to get. Maybe she thinks she can get you to come running after her. She didn’t say that, of course. She said, ‘Maybe she’s gone away somewhere too. She doesn’t tell you everything, does she?’

  ‘No,’ said Kris reluctantly. He put one lean hand into his dark hair, tugging at the unruly strands. ‘But’ – he hesitated – ‘it’s not just them.’

  ‘Well, what is it then?’

  ‘Vlinder.’

  ‘Vlin—’ Veerle started to say something, something along the lines of Vlinder? No, it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Vlinder, and then she stopped. The uneasy feeling that had been stealing over her coalesced into something more solid, as though something were curdling inside her.

  She remembered very clearly the night she had met Kris, here in the castle, and how he had asked her persistently whether or not she was Vlinder, because Vlinder had gone silent and nobody knew where she was.

  And now someone’s asking the same questions about Egbert.

  Just thinking about what had happened to Vlinder – Call her Valérie, she reminded herself. She had a real name, not just a nickname – well, it made her feel cold all over. Slaughtered by some unknown person in an unknown location, and then dumped into an icy lake to hang suspended in the glacial water like a cut of meat in a freezer. They didn’t even have a definite death date for her.

  This Egbert guy, he’s probably just gone off somewhere, she told herself uneasily. Aloud, she said, ‘It has to be a coincidence. What happened to Vlinder – that doesn’t happen every day.’

  Kris shrugged. ‘Look at the papers.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Veerle was struggling to think of some way of proving that there couldn’t be a connection. ‘What are the chances of something like that happening to two people we know? Well, sort of?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Kris grimly. He sighed. ‘Maybe it’s nothing. But it’s not just two of them.’

  ‘Hommel,’ said Veerle. She took a deep breath. ‘Look, she’s probably gone away for a few days or something.’

  ‘I’d know,’ said Kris.

  ‘You’d know? I thought—’

  ‘I said, I know.’ Kris was looking at her sideways, and she could see a slightly amused expression in his eyes that was more irritating than the knowledge that he was still in regular contact with Hommel. ‘I know she’s probably just gone away or something. I’m probably being paranoid. Anyway,’ he added casually, ‘I’ve learned something else tod
ay.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You’re jealous.’

  This was so undeniably true and yet so inadmissible that Veerle was outraged. She sat up, an indignant expression on her face. ‘I am not jealous.’

  She tried to cuff Kris but he parried with his arm. Then they were struggling together, and laughing, and then Kris was kissing Veerle and she was kissing him back and the topic of Egbert was forgotten, as good as packaged up and fired off to the planet Mars.

  Later, when she was sitting on the bus home with a smile on her face and the memory of Kris’s kisses still warm on her lips, Veerle did think about Hommel again.

  Playing hard to get, she told herself. Or with a bit of luck, maybe she’s run away with Egbert.

  27

  SHE’S CRAZY, THOUGHT Veerle. My mother has finally gone crazy.

  She was in her bedroom in the house at Kerkstraat. There was a little white clock on the wall above the door and the clock told her that it was 7.33 p.m. The bus would be leaving in three minutes, assuming that it was on time. Veerle was dressed for her evening with Kris: jeans, boots (you never knew what you were going to have climb over or indeed through), a shirt and a black jacket. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face and fastened in a loose knot. She had a small torch in her pocket; she even had a screwdriver of her own now – one with interchangeable heads stored in a space in the handle. She was, in fact, one hundred per cent ready to leave the house. And she couldn’t open the door.

  She thought she could even identify the exact moment when Claudine had locked it. Veerle had been standing in front of the mirror applying eyeliner and she’d heard a stealthy tread on the landing outside. The door was closed because after the bitter exchange she had had with her mother earlier in the evening Veerle wanted to retreat into her own space. She didn’t want to argue with Claudine any more and if Claudine saw her getting ready to go out, the whole thing would inevitably start up again. So the door was closed, and when she heard her mother padding along the landing Veerle didn’t react, other than to frown at her own reflection in the mirror. Somehow it was worse that Claudine was creeping about like that than it would have been if she had come stamping along the landing screaming reproaches. Lurking silently on the other side of the closed door was somehow a little pathetic. It was not as though you could move along that landing without other people hearing you, anyway. The old house had so many creaky boards that walking along the landing was like playing a harmonium.

  For a period of several minutes Veerle had been painfully aware of her mother’s silent presence on the other side of the door. Then there had been a small but audible click. At the time Veerle had thought her mother was trying the handle, and had glanced at the door, inwardly praying that this was not the harbinger of another round of arguing. But the door had remained stolidly closed, and now she knew why. Claudine had locked her in.

  She planned it too, thought Veerle. Normally the key was on the inside of the door, and since Veerle had been the first to reach the room after the row, evidently Claudine had been up earlier, when Veerle was out, and removed the key.

  She’s finally flipped, Veerle said to herself. She tried the door again, but it wouldn’t budge, and she had a horrible feeling that the sound of her rattling it or banging on it would simply have gratified her mother in some unpleasant way. She put her ear to the battered wood and listened, but all she could hear was her own breathing.

  ‘Maman?’

  Silence. Then she heard a door closing downstairs, and a few seconds later the sound of the kitchen radio blaring into life.

  Verdomme.

  She glanced at the clock again. I’m going to miss the bus now, that’s for certain. She could see the bus stop in the town quite clearly in her mind’s eye – the white and yellow De Lijn sign and Kris standing underneath it, looking at his watch. The image was so sharp that she could almost – almost – have stepped right into it, spoken to Kris, touched him. But she wasn’t going anywhere, not unless she could find a way out of this room.

  I’ll have to text him, she thought, and then for the first time she could have screamed with frustration, really screamed. Her mobile was downstairs on the little table in the hallway, charging.

  Now she was angry. She went to the door and hammered on it with the flats of her hands. ‘Maman! Maman!’

  She no longer cared whether Claudine got some unhealthy satisfaction out of hearing her. She wanted to get out. She screamed at her mother for a full minute and when she stopped to listen, her throat feeling scoured and dry, the kitchen radio was still blaring away to itself like a lunatic and there was no other sound from below. No reaction from Claudine.

  Veerle kicked the door as hard as she could, but although it relieved her feelings it didn’t help her get out. Then she went to the window. She had some idea that she might be able to get out that way, remembering her hasty departure from Tante Bernadette’s apartment. Climbing down was always going to present more of a challenge than climbing up, but she was desperate.

  When she looked out, however, she knew it was useless. She was a good climber, she knew that without any false modesty, but you’d have had to be Spider-Man to get down the front wall of the house without dropping off and breaking your neck. Unlike Tante Bernadette’s apartment block, which had all manner of archaic and useful architectural features, the front of Veerle’s house was pretty much a blank slate, without even a drainpipe within reach of her window. She looked sideways too but neither the bathroom window to her left nor the neighbour’s window to the right were close enough to reach; and neither of them had a windowsill you could really stand on. She stared down at the street for a moment and then she drew her head back in and closed the window.

  She went and sat on the bed and put her head in her hands, overwhelmed with angry despair. Why, why did I leave my phone downstairs? She could power up her laptop and email Kris, but she couldn’t even call him right now to let him know she wouldn’t be coming. She wondered how long he would wait for her at the bus stop in town.

  How long before he gives up and goes off on his own? What is he going to think?

  She raised her head and looked with savage fury at the stuffed toy rabbit sitting on her pillow. Claudine had given it to her years ago, and whenever Veerle tried to relegate it to the back of the wardrobe her mother put it out again.

  She wants to keep me a little kid.

  Veerle picked up the rabbit by the throat and threw it across the room.

  Verdomme. Verdomme!

  28

  AT 11 P.M. Claudine unlocked the door. Veerle was sitting on her bed, still wearing her boots and jacket, as though there was some faint chance that she might go somewhere. She had left the window partly open too, in spite of the cold air that seeped in with the darkness. With everything closed tightly the room felt too much like a prison. There was a gentle breeze that sucked the light curtains in and out, as though the night itself were breathing.

  In spite of the soft rubbing of the curtain material she heard the click as the key turned in the lock. She didn’t bother to get up right away. What’s the point? She knew that the last bus had gone nearly an hour ago. She sat on the bed hugging her knees and waited for the creaking of the floorboards that would tell her that her mother had moved away down the landing.

  When she finally heard her mother’s bedroom door close, she got up and crossed the room. The door opened easily to her touch. Claudine had left the landing light on, but she remained closeted in her room.

  Veerle went downstairs and retrieved her mobile phone from the table in the hallway, slipping it into the pocket of her jeans. Then she went into the kitchen, switched on the light and opened the fridge. She hadn’t realized until that moment how hungry and thirsty she was. She found a wedge of apple tart in a bakery box, and wolfed it straight from the cardboard, not bothering to find a plate. She poured herself a tall glass of orange juice and drank that too. She looked in the fridge again and found a chunk of Chimay
cheese, and ate it while wandering around the kitchen.

  She didn’t like to sit down; she’d spent too many hours sitting upstairs waiting for Claudine to open the door. She pulled her mobile out of her pocket and switched it on, dreading to find either that Kris had called a dozen times or that he had not called at all. The screen lit up.

  Two missed calls.

  She checked, and both of them were from Kris’s number. There was no message though, and no text.

  Veerle glanced at the clock. Quarter past eleven.

  To hell with it. I’m calling him.

  She wasn’t entirely reckless, though; before she entered his number she went into the darkened hallway and listened. Silence. She supposed Claudine was still in her room. All the same, when she went back into the kitchen she quietly closed the door. Then she went right to the other end of the room and leaned against the wall with its faded paper, a design of squares overlaid with sunflowers that had probably been cheerful once. She entered the number and listened to Kris’s mobile ringing.

  It occurred to her too late that perhaps it might be unwise to call him this evening, that maybe he had gone to the house they had planned to visit without her. If he was climbing over someone’s garden wall at this very moment, the last thing he wanted was an electronic riff blaring out of his pocket. While she was debating whether to hang up, Kris answered the phone.

  ‘Veerle?’

  She could hear a kind of rushing sound behind his voice, as though he were outdoors somewhere with the wind blowing, or perhaps it was the sound of distant traffic.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘I thought maybe you’d vanished into thin air like . . . Egbert.’

  Veerle closed her eyes. Hommel, she thought. You were going to say Hommel.

  She pushed the thought away.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m at home. I couldn’t get away.’

  There was a pause. Veerle bit her lip. It was simply impossible to explain the whole thing with Claudine over the phone, especially when they were in the same house; she didn’t think her mother could hear anything from upstairs, but the possibility was off-putting. It was more than that, though. She’d never really talked to Kris about Claudine.