Then he sees her. On her way up from the sea in the bikini with the dark red hearts. She takes hold of her hair, twists it round a few times then tosses it like a tail on to her back. The little fair-haired one is waddling along behind her, like a tubby pet. Jo grins and keeps his eyes on Ylva. She walks up to a parasol on the second row down, picks up a towel, dries her face and her thighs, hangs it out, lies down in the sun.
Go over there now, Jo can hear Jacket saying. Or wait till she goes for another swim. Follow her into the water and get talking to her. Not difficult to find something to talk about with the breakers washing over them and just about tipping her over.
He chooses the first option, can’t be bothered to wait. Makes his way slowly towards the end of the beach where she is. Recognises the grown-ups she was sitting with in the dining room. The man, must be her father, has grey hair. And the mother is completely unlike Ylva, small and with a bigger belly bulge than Mother.
Arne sits two parasols away from them.
Jo freezes. Naturally, Mother is there too. And the couple they were dancing and necking with that first night. Mother is wearing her pink bikini and is lying flat on the sunbed with a straw hat over her face. In the sand next to her are two big green bottles of beer. Arne has his back turned and is talking to the other grown-ups. Hasn’t spotted him yet. Jo turns and runs away, reaches the shelter of a tree. Without stopping he carries on up the hill, past the apartments and down on to the other beach.
Fewer people there. In the middle of a crowd of boys he sees Daniel, heads towards him.
– Ready for football?
– Where?
– In the shade, of course. If you don’t want your legs to burn up under you.
Daniel always seems to have a crowd of friends around him. He’s cool, Jo has to admit it. And good looking. Last night he was sitting by the edge of the swimming pool talking to some girls who looked to be quite a bit older than him.
Others come along and join them as they measure out the pitch and put down towels for goalposts. There are seven of them. The Swedes they hammered at volleyball the other day, and some others whom Daniel speaks to in English.
– Just going to see if Daddy’ll play, then we’ll be four a side.
It makes Jo smirk to hear Daniel still calling his father Daddy, but he keeps the smirk to himself. Daniel sprints across to one of the parasols by the stone staircase. Jo sees the father lay down his newspaper and get up, ambling through the sand. When he arrives, he shakes hands with them all.
– Have to know whom I’m playing with, he says with a broad smile. He’s very tall and looks strong, and with his longish hair he reminds Jo of Obi-Wan in Star Wars.
One of the Swedes is on their team. His name is Pontus. Short and thin and with very quick feet. Typical winger. Jo prefers playing in the middle. He has a good shot, and the trainer is always praising him for his ability to read the game. It’s fine by him that Daniel wants to play up front. His father plays at the back and calls himself a roaming ’keeper.
Daniel of course is good. Frighteningly good. A neat swerve, and fantastic acceleration. Once he takes a shot on the volley. Keeper nowhere near it. Like Marco van Basten. But he’s no egomaniac. He centres, runs, plays one-twos.
– Good ball, he shouts to Jo, who’s threaded a pass through the sand. And after beating a defender and the keeper, he dribbles the ball over the goal line and then gives him the thumbs-up, as though to say it was the pass that was good, and not what he was able to make out of it.
His father is the same, always encouraging.
– Great work, Jo, he shouts when Jo intercepts a long through ball. – Saved me a lot of trouble there.
After the game Daniel says:
– Come on over with us, we’ve got a cooler bag with cold drinks. But no Coke. My mother’s a health freak. Much worse than Daddy, even though he’s a doctor.
Jo hesitates. What does it mean, the way he’s always being invited along? There must be something behind it, something that he doesn’t know about yet. The whole time he’s waiting for Daniel to give some kind of clue. Show that he’s laughing at him. But that’s not what happens. Is it possible that some people here didn’t see Mother legless on the dance floor?
Daniel gives the order: – We need ten litres of juice to put back what we sweated out. Jo ran twice as far as me.
His mother is wearing a white bikini with a big leaf pattern on one of the cheeks. She’s lying on her front reading a book and not wearing a top. She glances up at them.
– Hey there, Jo, she says, in a rather deep voice, and then goes on reading.
This is the first time Jo sees Daniel’s mum up close. She has hardly any wrinkles and looks years younger than Mother.
– Help yourselves, she yawns. – I’m off duty now.
Daniel’s father has wrapped an enormous towel around himself and changed into swimming trunks. Jo can’t stop himself from taking a look between his legs. Fortunately the shorts are as big and wide as the ones he and Daniel are wearing.
They swim out breaststroke. Jo keeps his yellow T-shirt on in the water. He realises that he’s not going to go bare-chested for the duration of the holiday. Could have taken it off that first day. Now it’s too late. But Daniel doesn’t mention it.
– Don’t try to race him, he warns his father with a nod in Jo’s direction. – Especially not underwater.
– Oh really?
– He must have swum fifty metres yesterday. Against the current. Compleeetely craaazy. He repeats the phrase from the day before, in a thick accent, joking, but the respect he has for Jo is obvious.
– Is that right, Jo?
– Roughly.
– You must have a fantastic pair of lungs, Daniel’s father says. – I noticed that anyway when we were playing earlier. You ran the others into the ground, simple as that.
– Where do you get to if you keep on swimming out? Jo asks, to change the subject.
– Out? Daniel’s father peers towards the horizon. – Africa first.
– I mean, whereabouts in Africa?
– Egypt, maybe. Or Libya. If you can keep a steady course, that is. I suggest if we swim out to those buoys that’ll do us.
No more than twenty metres out there, thirty at the most. Jo dives, arrowing downwards until he reaches the sandy bottom. Follows it as it slopes into darkness. He feels a prickling in his ears, because he must be three metres below. Follows the depths outwards. Sees the others’ legs breaking the delicate surface high above him. There’s a throbbing in his head. As if someone’s standing there and keeps hitting it. If I don’t swim up and join them, he feels the thought race through him, if I just keep going along the bottom here until I disappear, then he’ll take over, the one standing in the dark with the sledgehammer.
At that moment he glimpses the buoy up in the light, spins round, cuts the surface and grabs it moments before Daniel and his father arrive.
The sun is half-hidden behind the peak in the west.
– Have you noticed how quickly it gets dark here? Jo observes. He sketches a falling arc in the air. – The sun is directly above you, and then it drops. Like that.
Daniel agrees. – But that’s nothing compared to what it’s like in Tanzania.
– Have you been to Africa?
– Yup. You have to hurry on home once it gets towards evening. There’s never a dusk. It’s like somebody suddenly turns off the light. Everything goes dark. Not a single street lamp. It’s dead cool.
The flagstones are still hot, but not burning hot, not hot enough to raise blisters under the soles of the feet. They’re walking barefoot, towels over their shoulders, shadows in front of them. If Jo stays half a pace ahead, it makes them the same height.
People are already on their way to the restaurant. He’s thinking he must get some food inside him. Avoid being seen with Mother and Arne. Have to make do with sweets.
– Just off to the kiosk.
– I’ll wait by the pool, sa
ys Daniel. – We usually meet there before we go for dinner.
When Jo returns, nibbling on a choc ice, there’s a gang sitting around the pool. She’s one of them. Half lying on a sunbed, her back turned. The fat fair-haired girl next to her.
– Pudding before dinner? Cool, says Daniel. – We thought we might do something afterwards.
Ylva turns and glances at Jo. He tosses the half-eaten choc ice into a bin.
– Where are you going?
– Up to the miniature golf. Daniel lowers his voice before continuing. – Maybe go to a café that’s a bit further up the street. You should come with us.
Ylva looks at the fat little girl, who giggles. They’re obviously up for it. Jo stands next to the end of her sunbed and from the corner of his eye, behind the sunglasses, he can see how she lifts her gaze and lets it wander over him. Suddenly he knows that it’s Ylva who has decided that they’re going to ask him along.
– I’m in, he says to Daniel, and watches to see how she reacts. She smiles and looks pleased …
All day the heat has been gathering in him. He hates it being so hot. He could bend down, take her head between his hands, do something or other with it. He takes a quick look at his watch, mutters something about having to get home, heads for the steps with easy strides. Not until he’s past the bar and they can’t see him any more does he start running. Passes the apartment, on round the last house, down to the beach, not stopping until he reaches the water’s edge and the one who stands in the shadows with the sledgehammer raised above his head is drowned out by the breakers that foam in over his feet.
He bumps into Arne in the apartment doorway.
– What have we here? His lordship deigns to put in an appearance.
– I’ve been with a pal, Jo offers.
– Tell people where you are. What sort of holiday is it going to be for us if we’re running round looking for you the whole time?
The question lingers for a few moments.
– Nini’s sick, Arne growls, as though there’s any need to say that. Nini is always sick. Earache and difficulty breathing. She’s always eaten something or other that doesn’t agree with her, or it’s the heat and the air-conditioning that makes her breathing so heavy. Or the kids’ pool hasn’t been properly cleaned. All the things Mother complains about without doing a damned shit about it. – You keep an eye on her while we go and get something to eat.
– Okay, says Jo, relieved not to have to sit with them, and the fact that he agrees at once puts Arne in a better mood.
– We’ll bring some food back for you. Unless you want to pop out afterwards and get something to eat on your own.
– Okay, Jo says again.
– There’s a Coke in the fridge, says Arne, almost friendly now. – But don’t touch any of the other bottles, he adds with a guffaw, giving Jo a friendly punch on the shoulder.
He sits Nini up with cushions on the sofa. She is so short of breath it’s an effort to say anything at all. But there’s a cartoon on one of the TV channels and she’s able to follow that. Mother has left the nebuliser ready. And he can run and fetch her at any time if Nini gets worse … Does she think he’s going to let himself be seen in the dining room with them? Better to go to reception and get hold of a doctor. Or Daniel’s father.
Truls returns after half an hour. He’s carrying two plastic cartons in a bag. Lasagne, and meatballs in sauce.
– Mother and Father will be back shortly, he announces.
Jo snorts. – And you believe that?
– They’re just finishing eating.
Truls is eight and doesn’t understand a thing about the world yet. Jo laughs his head off. Is about to tell him what he thinks. Checks himself. Let him go on believing in Santa Claus a while longer, he thinks, and it makes him feel like a good big brother. Again that thought of taking Truls and Nini somewhere else. Him and Ylva, because she might well come along, after they’ve been to that cave she’s going to show him. Suddenly he’s filled with a furious rage towards Mother and Arne, mostly towards Mother. No one asked him if he would mind sitting the whole evening in the apartment. And he’s no intention of doing that either. Get Nini to sleep, maybe wait for Truls to drop off too, because that never takes long. He intends to go out, no matter how bad Nini is. If she stops breathing and they find her early next morning, lifeless and blue in the face, then it’s their own fault.
He undresses in the bathroom. Stands a moment in front of the mirror, bends forward and looks down his body, down to the navel. If he closes his eyes, he can see Ylva. She’s wearing her bikini, and her bare shoulders are warm. If he wants, he can get her to put her hand on the front of his shorts. I know a place, she says very quietly, because no one else is to hear her. They come to the end of the beach and climb over the jagged rock. No, they walk round it, wade out into the warm water and in towards a bay on the other side. I know a cave, says Ylva, and she feels what has happened down in his shorts and stops and turns towards him, and then they kiss.
He hears the front door open. He freezes, slips in behind the shower curtain, turns it on. The boiling-hot water makes him groan in pain.
– Jo?
– I’m in the shower, he explains, and twists the tap over down to blue.
– Don’t you think it’s a liddle bit late? Mother snuffles. – I thought you’d gone to bed.
He can hear her sitting down on the toilet seat. Can see her outline through the thin curtain.
– Aren’t you going out again? he asks.
– Not while Nini isn’t well, of course not.
She finishes and flushes. He can tell from her voice that soon she’ll be asleep. He turns towards the wall, lets the cold water cascade down. Hears the curtain being pulled aside.
– I am showering, he repeats, quite angry now.
– I can see that, Jo. It certainly doesn’t bother me at all. We always used to shower together before. She steps in and stands behind him. He realises she’s taken off all her clothes.
– Hey, this is ice cold. Are you trying to fweeze to death?
She turns the water back up. It takes a while for it to get warmer.
– There’s no need to be shy with me, Jo. I’m your mother after all, aren’t I? I’ve always given you a good soaping and then rinsened you off and dried you, haven’t I?
She fills her palm with shower oil and begins to rub his shoulders.
– Don’t be shy, Jo. Being naked together is quite natural.
She’s still standing behind him; she puts her arms around his chest and rubs down towards his stomach. Suddenly she bends forward and kisses his neck.
– Jo, she says, as she goes on rubbing with that slippery oil that smells of lilac. He can’t stand lilac. There’s someone else standing somewhere in the shadows, beating away with a hammer, someone who appears whenever this happens, who makes him feel like it isn’t Jo who’s there, but this other boy, who goes along with everything.
– You’re a nice boy, Jo. You’re so nice … so nice.
– I’m not Jo, he murmurs as he lifts his face to the stream of water.
It’s approaching 10.30 when he puts on his shoes. Mother’s in the bedroom and lies there whimpering in her sleep, naked and still wet, because she wasn’t able to dry herself properly. Jo creeps back into the bathroom. Wipes himself clean with a towel yet again. Takes the bottle of aftershave from the shelf. It smells of Arne, and he wrinkles his nose but fills his fist and rubs it over both sides of his neck. He feels it burning, ice cold. He takes a swig of the pale blue liquid. Tastes of soap and flowers. It wants to come back up again. He forces it to stay down. On his way towards the front door, he remembers something, opens the kitchen drawer and finds what he borrowed from Ylva. The combination corkscrew, tin opener and bottle opener. Take it along and give it to her now. Because it’s still not too late to find her. She’s in a café somewhere up near the main road. Good way to get a conversation going. Joke about the opener. That it was beer he was going to open y
esterday morning, or a bottle of wine. At any rate, not tuna. And she’ll laugh about the can of tuna, laugh at how he forgot to give it back to her, laugh while she pinches his arm, and then he can wrap himself around her. Pretty much the way Jacket said it would happen.
Daniel and the others aren’t at the pool any more. No grown-ups either, but from the terrace comes the sound of shouting and laughter. Jo thinks he can hear Arne’s voice, Arne telling jokes, and the skinny old bird laughing. He withdraws into the shadow, over to the steps, runs towards the miniature golf. The course is lit up. He sees the Swedish boy – Pontus – who was on their team when they played football. His hair is almost white and he has a ring in one ear. Pontius Pilate, thinks Jo … She isn’t there. Not her friend either, nor Daniel. He ambles over. Two other boys, both Swedes, watch as Pontus concentrates on the ninth hole. They give Jo a quick glance. Doesn’t seem like they want to talk to him, and that’s not why he’s there anyway.
– Where are the others?
Pontus Pilate thinks about it. – A café somewhere.
He nods in the direction of the world outside the hotel area.
Jo hurries along the main road. Suddenly furious with Arne, who made him look after the kids when he should have been out with Ylva. With Mother, who had to come home before he could leave. Two mopeds buzz by. Music from a bar. That kind of strumming on a Greek guitar that gets faster and faster, like a carousel. He curses again, this time because he didn’t ask Daniel the name of the café they were going to. Turns and heads back again. Decides to wait at the entrance to the hotel area. Sooner or later they’ll have to come this way. Passes a park on the other side of the street. Catches a glimpse of movement between the bushes. It’s them. Is about to call to them, but the shout never comes out. Daniel is holding her by the hand. There are no others with them. They disappear into the darkness.
He staggers on, round the next corner. He stops behind the building, supports himself against a container. He has to check to see if he’s made a mistake. Climbs over a fence, approaches the park from the lower side. Creeps bent double along the hedge.
Death By Water Page 4
