by Aly Sidgwick
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me what you see.’
‘It’s a big field. There are trees … all around … my house is there, on the edge … I’m … scared …’
‘Why are you scared?’
‘Noises … animals …’
‘Can you see any other houses, around your house?’
‘They’re further away … They’re near a … a railway track …’
‘I want you to go closer to the railway track, and see where the tracks are going. I want you to follow the tracks. Can you see the tracks?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where do the tracks go to?’
‘A city …’
‘Do you know the name of the city?’
‘There’s water …’
‘Go closer now. Imagine you are on the train, and it is pulling into the station … You are arriving at the station in the big city. Now turn your head and look out of the window as the train stops … You are standing up, and you are ready to get off, onto the platform. Can you see the sign on the platform?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does the sign say?’
‘Oslo S.’
‘Very good. Now, come all the way back. Back into the sky, and back along the tracks. Back to your safe place … Back to your place in the field … Go down … closer … closer … Are you there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. See yourself lying there. From the outside, as if you were someone else. You feel everything that that girl feels, and you know everything she knows. You are looking through her thoughts. Browsing through them. Can you see her thoughts?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now, tell me if you see Magnus.’
‘I …’
‘Is Magnus there?’
‘I can see him …’
‘Tell me, where is Magnus?’
‘Oh God … He’s coming … I hear him …’
‘Where is Magnus?’
‘He said he … he said … he …’
‘Concentrate. Where is Magnus?’
‘Bastard … drittsekk … drittsekk … jævla …’
‘Relax, relax, you’re safe. You—’
‘He’s coming! He’ll kill me! He’s going to kill me!’
‘You are feeling relaxed—’
‘Bastard! No! I—’
‘Okay, Katherine. It’s okay. I’ll count to five, and as I do so, you will start to wake up. One …’
‘No …’
‘Two. You are becoming aware of my voice and the room around you …’
‘I …’
‘Three. You are starting to wake up from the trance state. You are aware of your body, your arms, your legs … Four. Stretch your arms out, all the way to your fingertips. You start to open your eyes and wake up. You feel refreshed and positive … Five. Wide awake and you are feeling fantastic. There! Well done!’
Dr Harrison sits above me. My neck hurts. Her smile looks wrong. I know she can’t protect me. No one can.
‘I’m scared,’ I say.
‘Shhh. You did really well.’
‘I want to go back to my room.’
Everything is wrong …
16
February 17th, 2005.
On Thursday night, Magnus throws a party. It’s fun at first, and Magnus is on his best behaviour – introducing me around as his British pen pal. I get drunk quickly as the evening progresses, mostly on the bright-yellow home-brewed beer that Håkon brought, and end up passing out in the kitchen. When I wake, the party’s still going. Six a.m. passes. Then seven. Then eight. By nine a.m. I accept that people won’t be leaving, and resume drinking. But that’s just the beginning. Four whole days, the party lasts. Night and day, with fluctuating attendance and levels of intensity. At the time I don’t know it’s four days. The alcohol makes it hard to keep track. But the weekend takes its toll on me nevertheless. In the night-time I waver between laughter and tears, loneliness and claustrophobia, delight and frustration. In the daytime I fall asleep wherever I’m sitting, only to wake with a fresh set of people around me. It comes to a point where my hangover runs simultaneously with my drunkenness, and so many girls follow Magnus in and out of our bedroom that I can no longer find a place to recuperate. Several times I go to Magnus and beg him to end the party. But he never really listens. His friends seem bemused to find me still here. They ask when I’m going home, in a tone that suggests I’ve outstayed my welcome. Girls eye me suspiciously, particularly when I go to the bedroom.
‘What about your job?’ I ask Magnus, because he’s not been to work all week, and the people around us greet this with gales of laughter. Magnus quips a reply, and they crease up again. I leave the room in humiliation, but Magnus doesn’t follow.
#
The next time I wake, I am crushed beneath a killer headache. Around me, daylight. I push myself upright, upsetting a cup of water someone had placed on the floor. It pools coldly into my clothes.
My knuckles are skinned. How did that happen? I shift sideways, trying to steady myself against the wall, and as I do so a vague memory drifts back. Of me sitting on Håkon’s chest. Hands pushing me back. My fist swinging. And his face, laughing at me. I remember my fury. He’d called me something … A slut. One of Magnus’s sluts.
Wait. That’s the shoe rack beside me. Of course. I’m in the hallway, behind the front door. And there are only two pairs of shoes: Magnus’s and my own.
‘Hello?’ I call. My voice echoes.
Is the party over? God, I hope so. I stumble to my feet, but my balance betrays me and sends me crashing back onto the shoe rack. For several moments, I am winded.
Stupid girl. Get up …
I hobble into the living room. Empty. The spare room too. And the bedroom. I stand looking at the loft bed, delaying the climb to the top. But there’s no snoring. No breathing. He’s not up there, I reflect, with a pinch of bitterness. Of course not. He’d rather be with his friends than with me.
#
Magnus returns after seven, laden with waffle mix, and barely looks at me before whirling into action. He upends the coffee table, sending a pile of debris onto the floor. Then he dumps his shopping on the newly cleared tabletop and starts bagging up the rubbish. His eyes are unreadable behind his sunglasses. His mouth tense. Is he still drunk? It’s hard to tell. I stay on the sofa, cowed by this sudden activity. A rank smell fills the air. Cigarette butts marinated in beer. Magnus dumps them in the sink and carries on.
‘What’s the rush?’ I ask.
‘Visitors,’ he replies, without looking at me.
‘Who?’
‘Will you get dressed?’
‘I am dressed.’
‘You know what I mean. Get changed.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you smell bad!’
‘Fuck you!’
‘Come on! They’ll be here soon.’
‘Who will?’
Magnus stops, with his back to me. His shoulders rise up, then down, and despite my unease, I find myself hypnotised by the nape of his neck. I will love that neck till the day I die. Skin the colour of milk. Spine rising beneath like a lost mountain range.
‘Look, I know this is the wrong time to tell you. But … uh …’
Magnus turns round and takes off his sunglasses. With careful eyes, he probes my face. Then he comes over and crouches on the floor. My heart rushes as he takes my hands in his, and for a second I believe he will apologise. Proclaim his love for me, like he did in the beginning, and say everything’s going to be all right.
Mrs Brudvik …
With one thumb, Magnus strokes my hand. Briefly, his mouth softens. Then, in a quiet, confident voice he says, ‘Katherine … I am a father.’
Blankness.
Horror.
I gape at my beautiful true love. The enormity of his statement polluting the air between us. Expanding. Multiplying. Pressing on my skin, my lungs, my eardrums. Magnus holds my gaze. His mouth forms, then unforms, a tiny,
hopeful smile. I try to take my hands back, but cannot make them move.
‘You’re a … You’re … You’ve got …’
‘Kids.’
The room feels like it is moving. I am vaguely aware that I’m on my feet. Shuddering backwards, as far as I can go.
‘How old?’ I hear my voice say.
‘Seven. And nine.’
‘Who’s the … mother?’
‘Mathilde. You don’t know her.’
I scowl in an effort to hold my face together. Several teardrops spill onto the carpet.
‘Are you married?’ I manage.
‘Yes,’ says Magnus, after a pause. ‘But it’s over.’
The shaking in my arms is unstoppable now. Magnus stands somewhere between me and the light. His hand touches mine, but this time I manage to withdraw.
‘Does she know it’s over?’ I ask stiffly.
‘She is still in love with me, but …’
A sob gushes out of me. I can’t hold it in any more.
‘I’m with you now,’ Magnus insists.
I shake my head from side to side, blinded by tears. ‘If you’re with me, why won’t you tell anyone? Why do you let your friends think I’m some … stalker?’
‘Fy faen … Are you still complaining about Håkon?’
‘It’s like you’re embarrassed to be with me!’
‘It’s not that easy! Mathilde’s crazy! She’ll take the kids away if she thinks—’
‘So you’ll just have me and her? Is that it? Oh God …’ – I swing my eyes up to his – ‘That’s where you went, isn’t it? That first night, when you were gone for hours?’
Magnus doesn’t answer. But the look in his eyes is all the proof I need. He holds my gaze for a moment, then clears his throat and grabs the rubbish bag.
‘There’s no time for this,’ he snaps. ‘The kids are coming.’
My stomach lurches. I back away, and the sudden movement makes me light-headed.
‘Here?’ I gasp.
‘Yes. For the night.’
‘When?’
‘Now.’
‘But … Do they know about me? What … What am I supposed to—’
‘Look, I would have liked more time to tell you. I didn’t want it to be this way. But you’ve been drunk. I didn’t have a chance.’
‘What?’
Magnus grabs the bag of empties, feverishly ties it and starts filling a second one. When that’s done he fills another, and another. He dumps them in the hallway and flounces into the bedroom. Banging ensues. I go to the door and find him on the loft bed, chucking cans onto the floor. On the back of a chair, there’s a sky-blue bra that doesn’t belong to me.
‘What’s that?’ I ask, pointing at the bra.
Magnus freezes, then scoffs and carries on. On his way back down the ladder he jabs, ‘If you won’t help me, get out of the way.’
For a moment I am so filled with rage I think I might throw up. Then his words unravel in my brain, and I realise Mathilde will be coming here as well as the kids. In an instant, my anger turns to fear. I look to the window and want to run. But where could I go? It’s minus twenty out there, and the only public building in town closes at five. The other indoor places will only shelter paying customers. Money is something I no longer have.
Swallowing hard, I pick up a can. It’s wet and disgustingly sticky.
‘Don’t crush that!’ orders Magnus. ‘We can’t … uh … pant it if you crush it.’
I squint at him, momentarily distracted.
‘Pant?’
‘Pant. Money. You know.’
‘Recycling?’
Magnus drags the rubbish bags to the door, taking care not to get dirt on his clothing. Suddenly I realise I’ve never seen that outfit before. A perfect crease runs down each sleeve, and this proves that the shirt at least must be brand new, because Magnus never irons anything. Did he dress up nicely for Mathilde?
Bristling, I clear my throat. Magnus turns around.
‘You mean, don’t do … this?’ I say, and pulverise the can in my fist.
Magnus stands up straight, and a shadow falls across his face. I draw a breath. The change in him happens so quickly and so completely that it’s hard to make sense of at once. It happens in the eyes. A complete transformation from the inside out, as if a malevolent spirit has commandeered his body. I look into those eyes and meet a part of Magnus I’ve never noticed before. A brutal, inhumane part, more than capable of striking me. I wait for the fist to come up. An elbow, or at least the palm of his hand. Deep inside, I almost believe I deserve this.
Magnus tilts his head back and regards me from beyond his nostrils. For a second, neither of us seems to breathe. His eyes have never looked so beautiful, and this makes the moment even harder to bear.
But already the blackness is leaving him. Wisp after wisp, like ink diffusing into an ocean, and as it does so, the tension of the moment drains away. Magnus makes a dismissive sound – something similar to Pah. Then he pushes past me and returns to his work.
I stay where I am, closing my eyes to keep the tears in. Is this actually happening? The whole thing feels like a practical joke. Banging sounds filter through from the hall. Brusque footsteps, swishing bin bags and the clatter of beer cans. Backwards and forwards he goes, no longer bothering to acknowledge my presence, and during this time I remain rooted to my spot below the bed. The metal ladder grows painful in my fists. It takes Magnus ten minutes to clean the flat, and another ten to do his hair.
#
Mathilde doesn’t enter the house, but the kids’ arrival is no less dreadful for this. I perch on the end of the sofa and try to make my mouth smile. The youngest one, Isak, will not come near me. The older, Tor Olav, just scowls. Magnus bustles around. Making dinner. Being a dad. Beneath the lemon-scented bleach I can still smell remnants of the party, and I wonder if the kids can smell it too. Maybe that’s why they’re acting strangely. I wrack my brains for conversational phrases, but none seem suited to the occasion. Anyway, I’ve never been good with kids. It’s hard enough to talk to them in my own language.
When waffles have been eaten and cartoons watched and teeth brushed, Magnus makes a bed for the boys on the sofa. They talk in quiet voices. Then Magnus kisses them goodnight and turns off the living-room light. Gravely, we go to the bedroom.
‘We need to talk,’ Magnus says, as he shuts the door behind him.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I say.
‘Come on.’
Magnus climbs the ladder in two big steps and settles himself on the bed. Methodically, I follow. The sheets up here are freshly changed, which confuses me, as I didn’t notice Magnus doing that. Then I realise he must have done it while I was hiding from Mathilde in the bathroom.
Magnus positions himself at the opposite end of the bed to me and, cross-legged, we face each other. The smile he used for the kids has disappeared. Silence rings out as I wait for him to apologise.
‘This is not working,’ I whisper. ‘I’m not … happy.’
‘Pfffff!’ exclaims Magnus, and laughs. His eyes dart to me, and desperately I search them for compassion, but find none. Magnus says something in Norwegian.
‘What?’ I ask, and he says it again.
‘That’s not fair! Talk in English!’
‘You’re never happy!’ he blares.
The force of his scorn takes me aback. For a moment I can think of nothing to say. Magnus puts both hands to his head, and says, ‘It’s true, though. Things have to change.’
‘What?’
‘I need a wife, Kathy. Not a … third child. You don’t try to get a job. You don’t like my friends. You don’t like my kids. I don’t think you even like me.’
‘How can you say that?’ I gasp.
Magnus looks away.
‘Look. I sorted it out. There’s a place you can live, near Oslo. I’ll buy your train ticket.’
A jolt goes through me.
‘Please! Don’t!’
I move for
wards, but Magnus pushes me back.
‘You changed, these last weeks. I don’t know who you are any more,’ he says in a quieter voice.
‘I’m me! I’m the same!’
‘This guy, near Oslo. You can live with him for a while.’
Tears bleed down my cheeks.
‘Please,’ I say. Then the pain kicks in for real, and I can no longer keep my body from reacting. When the first howl comes out of me, Magnus jumps. His hands fly out. But instead of offering comfort, they shake me. For some time, the real world leaves my side. Then a hand slams across my mouth and I resurface to find Magnus’s face inches from mine.
‘Stop it,’ he hisses. ‘The boys!’
I gulp and shake. Magnus watches awhile. Then he says, ‘It’s for the best. Living with Hans. Making money of your own—’
‘Doing what?’
‘Working!’
Gravity overwhelms me and I wilt head first into the pillow. Fizziness. Darkness. When I speak again, my voice does not sound like my own.
‘I don’t even know him! Why should he give me a job?’
‘He’s a friend of Kolbeinn’s.’
‘Who’s Kolbeinn?’
‘A guy I know. Look, you can still visit me … On weekends …’
I pull down the pillow and look at Magnus. At first he doesn’t see, and I catch him with a bored expression on his face.
‘We need a break from each other,’ he says. ‘Lots of couples do.’
‘I came here to be with you! Not hundreds of miles away!’
‘Grow up, Kathy. You’ll wake the boys.’
Darkness and death bleed into my heart, obliterating his face.
‘How can you treat me like this?’ I blubber.
‘Pfff. Pain is a part of love. Haven’t you learnt that by now?’
I feel my eyes grow dull, though the tears keep coming and coming. They course down my face and throat. Down the front of my body. Into the sheets. Into the floor. I am melting. The world glazes over.
Game over. Game over. Game over.
‘Where’s that girl I met?’ Magnus asks. ‘That happy girl … What happened to her?’
‘I love you,’ I whisper, and the ghostliness of my voice horrifies me. I am not really here any more. I gaze beyond the pillows. Seeing nothing. Feeling nothing.
