Awkwardly, they moved into the kitchen and sat before the laden table.
‘You’re a big girl, Dorcas, you can handle it,’ said Lars, biting into a pastry and sending crumbs everywhere.
‘Can I?’ She hadn’t drawn her eyebrows on and her face looked strangely naked, hostile.
‘Yeah, well, they got these pill things you just swallow now, ain’t they, it’s all nice and straightforward,’ said Lars, tucking in.
Dorcas wasn’t able to touch a thing. She took in the way that Lars was eating with relish. Ugly frown lines changed her face. This couldn’t go on. She’d needed to ask this for a long time. She took a deep breath, bit her lip.
‘Just tell me how it is. Do you fuck him too?’ Dorcas said, real anger in her voice. ‘Or does he fuck you, or how does it work?’ She looked at him scornfully.
Dead silence. Lars couldn’t look at her; his chin hung down. He looked like a naughty child who had been caught out. All the pleasantness had drained from his face. He put down his bread roll and faced her. For a second she didn’t know who he was. This was a taboo subject for them. They normally alluded to Hans rather than talking directly about him.
Lars played with his fingers. When he spoke, it was in a quiet voice as if he was afraid someone else might hear. He was finally letting his guard down.
‘We’ve had sex, many times,’ he said carefully, checking her reaction with watchful eyes. ‘And he does whatever I want.’ He looked defiant. As if he was ready to take anything she could throw at him. She’d never seen him look so odd.
Dorcas blinked furiously. She allowed a single tear to fall on to her nose. At that moment she hated Lars, her life and everyone in it. Her hands and knees shook. Every part of her body seethed and ached. She needed a hit. Now. Couldn’t wait; the emotions running through her body were lethal. She had to seriously calm down.
‘Fuck, can you please give me a line?’ she said, sniffing and rubbing her nose. ‘I need something.’
Lars plopped the bag on the table. Hurriedly, she opened it up and expertly cut some up with the back of a playing card until she’d got four neat lines. Dorcas handed Lars a straw. She leant over and snorted a line aggressively, as if the sucking up could get rid of all her frustration. She stuck a finger in her glass of mineral water and sniffed it to quell the burning effect. Instantly she felt as if she was being propelled to a cleaner, lighter place, all her worries weightless, as if they could be washed off with a gentle rinse. She allowed her mind to drift.
Dimly, she was aware of the fact of her pregnancy, but it was so far away it could be controlled. Something you could indulge yourself with, if you wished to. Coke did that, it changed your perspective so that you were somehow always on top.
She could hear Lars snorting alongside her. They both sat back, stupefied, taking huge breaths as if recovering from an underwater dive. Lars began talking again; alcohol zonked him out, but drugs always got him talking.
‘You’re a top girl, Dörchen, you should get away from all this,’ said Lars spreading out his hands as if planning a world invasion. ‘And, if it’s Hans’s, get rid of it. He’s no good.’
‘Why do you say that?’ she said, screwing her face up. ‘You seem to think he’s fine.’ She found herself sinking into melancholy, despite the line.
Lars stuck his chin out and spread his legs. ‘You may like the way he looks, but he’s not good enough for you,’ he said, taking out a cigarette and lighting it with gusto. He puffed at it as if it was something exotic and not an ordinary Marlboro. ‘You don’t know what he’s really like,’ he said.
‘And you do? Is it about Anna? You know something, don’t you?’ Dorcas leaned forward. ‘Her brother came looking for her; he doesn’t know where she is.’
Lars looked away as if he didn’t want her to even catch a glimpse of what he was thinking. His cheeks flushed red. He swallowed and gave a little cough. She caught him staring at her neck. It was the first time she’d felt uncomfortable with Lars.
‘Someone wanted her gone,’ he said, as if he were a little boy confessing some untruth to his mother.
Dorcas stared. ‘Who?’ she said.
‘Hans.’ He said the name with a little gasp, as if it hurt to tell it.
‘Hans?’ said Dorcas, her eyes widening with shock. ‘Did he send her away, or did she decide to leave?’
Lars rubbed his hands briskly. Relaying the gossip seemed to perk him up.
‘Let’s just say that you won’t be seeing her again.’ His eyes twinkled as if it were all some big joke. The men she loved and trusted weren’t what she thought. She shivered. He looked at her as if he could see right into her mind. She tried to brush away her unease. It was her Lars, but his face wore such a strange smile, it gave her the heebie-jeebies.
Evidently he was done talking about Anna. He handed her a straw for the next line. Dorcas’s mind was buzzing just trying to work out what was going on.
Dorcas was stupid about some things, but she was no fool. Her paranoia had been activated. Could have been the coke or the pregnancy making her feel off, but she hid her suspicion with drug buddy talk. She got loud and flirty and ridiculous. Acted for all the world like good old Dörchen, slapping his back and making wisecracks the whole time. But, through the haze of cigarette smoke and smears of coke dust, she was scrutinizing Lars. Although he didn’t mind talking about Anna’s past, he refused to talk about her in the present at all. It was as though he knew something.
Admittedly, although she was fighting it, Dorcas was high. She had the feeling of floating, as if everything was on water or just out of reach. Minutes just seemed to rush by, as if time were speeded up. Her head felt both light and heavy; her body might explode if she put anything more stimulating into it. Thinking about Lars and Hans overwhelmed her. Her brain seemed to be running a story in her mind. But she didn’t want to listen any more.
For some hours they went at it, making swift cups of coffee and snorting, occasionally downing schnapps. They made a real mess on the table, their discarded food and drug chaos wildly out of place. Nearly everything in Dorcas’s life breathed elegance and order, but, if she hadn’t been a coke addict, she wouldn’t have done a lot of the things she did.
It looked as though she was going to have to get her ass down the club, find out the score for herself. She was on edge about facing Hans right now, especially with all this Anna palaver hanging up in the air, but she needed to finally know the truth.
He must have been out of it when they’d come in. Because the metal he was lying on was so hard, it felt as if his spine was pinned like an insect specimen in a case. He seemed to be floating in and out of consciousness. He had no idea how badly his head was hurt, only that it ached so much he could barely move it from side to side.
With one finger he could feel an egg-shaped bump on his crown. Something wet was near to it. Could be blood or sweat. No way to tell. His whole body was one throb of agony. Thoughts of water tormented him. He could no longer tolerate his tongue in his mouth. He kept moving it around. There was no room for it now, he was so parched. He was beginning to wish he had fewer teeth. He just wanted the nagging thirst to stop.
He could hear them moving around the crate, doing something. There were two voices. One was meticulous, softly spoken. The other was brash. They both sounded cruel. He decided not to beg for help this time. If they didn’t let him out he was just going to piss himself and get it over and done with. He was fed up of the constant pressure on his bladder. He was almost beyond caring if he soiled himself or not.
There was a grating sound. They were moving something near his head. Suddenly, his world of dark was plunged into horrifying clarity. A white-hot light pierced his senses. It felt as though his eyes had been scorched. He screamed and snapped his eyelids shut. One of them laughed; it seemed they had shone a torch directly into his eyes. His body trapped, he could only wince and moan as they stood over him, laughing. He took it as a bad sign that they made no effort to disguise thei
r faces. He’d just have to see who was worse, the human gorilla or movie-star-face, the crazy one.
The gorilla one took something out of a case. It was a little device with the sharpest blade he’d seen. It was held inches away from his face. It shone wickedly like a diamond. He screamed.
Chapter
Twelve
When Frannie woke up, the full glare of the midday sun was remorseless. She ached from her chest to her feet. If she could stand up straight it would be a miracle. She could taste her tiredness on her teeth. She winced, tried to push herself up. Now she was eight months gone, it was a saga just to get out of bed. She waddled to the bathroom.
When she’d slept it had been fitfully. Every little fly had breached her consciousness. She was being haunted by Tomek. In her mind’s eye she saw him speeding along on his bike, talking, holding the photo of his sister keenly in his hands. She’d failed to do anything concrete to find him; just inflicted the long, ugly scratch on Kurt’s Audi.
But then Kurt wouldn’t even dream she could be responsible. With cars he knew she was a frightened rabbit who couldn’t even fuel up. She was racked with guilt, but, because he’d forbidden her to drive, she couldn’t explain herself or ask for his help. She kept checking her phone. But there was nothing.
Perfunctorily she went about her morning. She drank tea after tea, wishing it were coffee. While she bathed, her mind obsessed. Although she was tired – fertig, as the Germans said – she felt a little gush of excitement thinking about Tomek. She smiled wryly as she soaped her naked body dutifully. He wouldn’t be interested in her in this pregnant state. But still, there was no harm in fantasising about him. In her mind’s eye they exchanged sensuous words and long, deep kisses. She’d seen him in action on his bike, wanted him to ride her with that cowboy hunger. For a moment she played with her hardened nipples and smiled. Her breasts felt as if they belonged to someone else. They were massive. Her nipples had mysteriously darkened. She sighed: unbelievably, she was horny. She looked hard at a piece of wallpaper near to the ceiling that was falling off.
It was already gone one, but the day passed slowly with a series of little rituals. She put off the boring household chores that needed doing. Told herself she was too shattered, even though she knew she should get everything perfect, as Kurt would be steaming as soon as he found out about his car. Every few minutes her eyes glanced at her mobile, which lay in front of her on the coffee table. Normally she didn’t even have it switched on, but she had to know the second Tomek or Dorcas made contact. She’d tried phoning Tomek, but she always got the sound of dead air. Must be broken. She didn’t want to think about that, if the phone was kaputt, perhaps something violent had happened to him too.
Her thoughts turned to last night’s weird encounter. When she thought of the car she gave a little shiver. What she’d done was so terrible. Any second she expected an angry Kurt on the line. Thank God Dorcas had reversed the car out in the end. She was a strange one alright. Turned green at the mention of Hans, was obviously intimate with him, but had offered to help. She was a real looker in a thin, poky sort of way. Frannie was sorry she was a prostitute. She wanted more for her than that.
Frannie whiled away the hours. It was more restful chilling out when Kurt was not there, although she could hear his voice in her ear, nagging. The front room was in need of attention. But she wasn’t up to it just now. She was resting, gathering her strength.
She checked her phone again for missed calls and texts. Nothing. Finally, she went to Kurt’s computer and did a google search for the Moonlights Club. A gothic-looking German language site came up with lots of glossy pages, but she could just about figure it out. The club looked vast, with lots of nooks and crannies. A scene photographer had taken dozens of smiling photos, everybody looking narcissistically chic for the camera. She looked to see if there was a picture of Anna there. There was one with a glamorous blonde in a funny dress who could be her.
What she really wanted to check out was this Hans Grans. She clicked on the staff contacts and found his photo. The second it loaded, she got a tingle of recognition. His face was so exquisite, with his perfect chin and wide cheekbones, that he looked familiar. His youthful face gazed back at her, a mask of serenity.
No wonder Dorcas was mad about him. He was the perfect specimen of an alpha male who scrubbed up well. But, despite his clean-cut looks, one glance at his eyes told her the truth. He looked like a beautiful snake, smooth but treacherous.
From the map it looked as though the club was located just on the outskirts of Hannover. She’d have no choice but to drive on the Autobahn to get there. She frowned. She could take the B6 Schnellstrasse most of the way, then she’d only have to drive on the Autobahn for one junction.
Without realising it, she was planning a route. If she got up earlier, as soon as Kurt was snoring, it was theoretically possible. There was a telephone number on the site. Her hands itched to punch it through. But the image of Dorcas’s worried face flashed up. She’d told her to keep away.
But she thought about the way Tomek had flashed around the photo of his sister. Both of them seemed to be missing now. Dorcas seemed to work for Hans too. Could she really trust her?
Her mobile phone started ringing. She rushed to get it, hoping it was Tomek or Dorcas. To her surprise it was her gynaecologist’s office.
‘Frau Snell? Frau Doktor asked me to call to find out if you are OK. Have you had your baby?’ said the receptionist; it sounded like Frau Engel.
‘What? Sorry, nein.’ Frannie was flustered. She’d become so immersed in her fantasy life, she’d forgotten all about her usual schedule.
‘It’s just that you missed your appointment today. Do you want to come tomorrow at eight a.m.?’
‘Eight? Er, do you have something later?’
‘Then only next week Thursday, but you have to come twice a week now. It is important that the baby is regularly checked.’ The receptionist’s voice was firm. ‘Since your accident, we have to be more careful with your pregnancy.’
‘OK, I’ll be there.’
Frannie put down the phone despondently. Her two separate worlds were colliding. Both were important, but she couldn’t go to the club if she had to get up at God knew what time to get to her appointment. Shit! She couldn’t decide what to do.
Suddenly the door banged open. Kurt was shouting before he was even through the door.
‘Fran? Fran! FRAN!’ he shouted in a voice like thunder. She gave a little shiver. He must know. She composed herself to face him. Quickly she pushed the clutter under the table.
‘Someone’s scratched my car and done a hit and run,’ he shouted, his eyes two dark staring holes of anguish. ‘No note, nothing.’
If someone had cut his legs off and stuffed them under his arm sockets, it couldn’t have been more personal.
Frannie abstractedly patted his shoulder. ‘When did it happen?’ she said, trying not to look red in the face. She often blushed if she tried to lie, and Kurt knew it.
‘When?’ said Kurt as if it was a stupid question. ‘The police don’t know. I guess between when I parked it this morning and when I picked it up.’
‘The police?’ she said in a little voice. She tried not to look too surprised.
‘Well, obviously,’ said Kurt staring into her face. ‘You’re meant to report an accident or leave a note on the car.’ The muscles in his neck were standing out like wire. ‘They could easily have come into the building and got reception to put a message out on the loudspeaker.’
Frannie tried to look sympathetic. ‘Can I get you a beer?’ she said.
‘Don’t you want to see the damage?’ screamed Kurt. His huge hands slapped his sides as if they wanted to punch someone. ‘Or is it just too much hassle to go ten steps?’
Frannie just blinked. It was happening again: the belittling, the strained shouting, his neck getting redder and bigger. He was a bully. She could never do anything right. A little part of her was glad she’d knocked the c
ar. Serve the sod right! He didn’t really know what was going on. She shivered. And now she’d scratched his car, what would he do if he found out she was responsible?
She let him take her hand, drag her outside. As if she was in a pantomime, she oohhed over the long scratch, delicately fingered the deep wound in the metal. Kurt spoke at the top of his voice without stopping. She blanked it out. When men turned bad, the thing was to avoid their eyes. The scratch seemed to stare back at her. It was her fault and she was sorry.
She was even sorrier she’d married Kurt in the first place. She’d got to that certain age when all the most interesting guys went for someone younger, and Kurt with his little-kid affection had bowled her over. He had seemed so sweet, but somehow he’d hidden his true nature until he had his feet under the table, and then there was no need to pretend any more.
After thirty minutes of steady moaning, Kurt eventually took a shower.
Frannie ran to the bedroom and closed the door. Quickly, she dialled the number of Moonlights which she’d written down earlier. With bated breath she waited for someone to answer the other end.
‘Er, I’d like to speak to Hans Grans, please,’ she said in a low, hushed voice that was nearly a whisper.
‘Pardon?’ said an efficient woman. ‘Can you speak up?’
Frannie repeated the words.
‘One moment please.’ She heard the click of the phone being connected.
The man who answered spoke in a soft, melodious German.
‘Is that Herr Grans?’ she said.
‘It is he,’ the wonderful voice answered. Silence, she imagined him inhaling breath.
‘I have a friend who came to look for you, a Polish man called Tomek.’ Frannie spoke in a little gush. ‘He was looking for a blonde girl called Anna who worked for you.’
She stopped. Waited. The voice said nothing.
Night Driver Page 9
