My gaze lingered on a display cabinet containing various medals.
The woman appeared to have noticed. “He’s an official darts champion. Every spare moment he has, he goes out for a game.”
She looked with compassion at the broken man, who was still gazing without any expression on his face at the streets where life was a constant hustle. “Or rather, he used to play darts. Ever since the accident, he won’t go out anymore. Doesn’t feel like doing anything but sit on the couch – all day long.”
The grief was almost tangible in the room and seemed to pass into my body, smothering me.
Her gaze returned to me. “Coffee?”
I gave a sigh. “That’d be lovely. With milk please.”
She gestured to have a seat on the couch. “Archie,” she said loudly and deliberately, as if he were deaf. “The doctor is here to see you.”
The poor man turned his head into my direction and only now seemed to realise there was a visitor for him. “What? Oh, right.”
I reached out my hand to introduce myself, but his gaze had already turned outside again. I retracted my hand and decided to sit down on the two-seater diagonally across from the man. The heating was presumably turned to its max, as it was almost tropically hot and stuffy in the room, and I felt little beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
I heard the antique clock ticking in the background while I was desperately searching for the right words to enter into dialogue, but as I was about to come up with something, the woman entered the room again, holding a tray in her hands containing two cups and saucers, a milk jug and a sugar bowl, all from the same floral china set. I wondered if she’d arranged this off the cuff, or whether it had been ready on the counter top, in the event of an unexpected guest showing up unannounced on their doorstep.
It was as if she’d read my mind. “It’s not every day we welcome important visitors.”
I gave her a smile.
She leaned over to place the tray on the glass coffee table and the brown fabric of her skirt stretched tight. She poured a cup for me and her husband. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
I gave her a nod as a thank you, then poured a dash of milk in my coffee and stirred it with the polished silver spoon, while the man was still staring outside mutely, his cup of coffee untouched.
I took a sip of the hot beverage that tasted bitter, and cleared my throat. “Mr van Daal, how are you doing?”
He turned his head and looked into my eyes. “I’m all right, thank you doctor,” he replied, but you didn’t have to have a medical degree to see this was anything but the truth.
I nodded and thought of the most common complaint after a trauma. “How have you been sleeping?”
The man leaned over to pick up his coffee – it was the first time since I’d arrived that I’d seen him move. “Since the doctor prescribed me some pills, it’s been better.”
He took a sip of his coffee, placed the cup back on the colourful saucer on the coffee table, and looked away again. The miserable tram driver seemed to have little need for visitors, so I decided to get to the point. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about the accident?”
The man jolted his head towards me, his green eyes suddenly alert. “Are you from the police?”
I laid my hand on my chest. ‘Me? Oh no,” I stammered. “I’m a doctor.”
The sudden level of vigilance had subsided and the man seemed to be lost in thought again. “I’m sure you are, love,” he mumbled.
“Could you describe for me how the day of the accident exactly …”
He interrupted me, a fierce look in his eyes. “Why have you come here?” There was a hint of irritation in his voice. “The police already asked me these questions.”
So the police had been here with him? They most likely performed a routine investigation, I concluded. “What kind of questions did they ask you?”
He shrugged and then spoke surly and cantankerously. “Things like whether I was paying attention at the time of the accident, what my speed was and if I obeyed the traffic rules.” It dawned on me that the tram driver seemed to be afraid I wanted to put the blame on him.
I tried to reassure him. “Don’t you worry, Archie. I’ve been informed that there is no blame attached to you,” I mouthed in breathy, soothing tones, trying to bring a confident expression to my face. “I’d simply like to hear how you experienced the day. If we go over it together, it might trigger new memories. It’s important for you to talk about the event with the people around you and with professionals so that you can work through this traumatic experience.” I felt ashamed of this superficial jibber-jabber solely for my own benefit, although it did contain a grain of truth.
He shrugged indifferently.
I interpreted the gesture as an agreement to carry on. “Can you describe what your day looked like on the day that Sandra …” I corrected myself. “I mean, the cyclist, got hit by the tram?
He sighed deeply and then blew out the air ever so slowly before starting his narrative. “I was working the evening shift, which means you start at four in the afternoon and work until the last tram. Everyone knows these are the crappy shifts. You take the full evening rush hour, crowded trams with people tired from a day in the office, who are getting in each other’s way. Just when things are getting quieter, around nine o’clock the scum come in. Cheeky bastards who intimidate each other, young kids who wanna ride the tram without paying the fare. Little blighters who should have been in bed long before, so they can go to school rested the next day. They’ve got weapons, knives, clubs, everything.” He looked at me with an intense expression of exasperation. “A colleague of mine even had a gun to his head once.”
I puffed out my cheeks and bulged my eyes to show I was both impressed and shocked.
The man looked away again and shook his head in cynicism. “A lot has changed in the thirty-eight years I’ve been a tram driver. The people these days just have no respect or manners.”
He stirred his coffee absentmindedly. “Did you know I’ve been doing this work for so long?”
I shook my head as I took a sip of my coffee.
“I was twenty-one when I started. Was the youngest tram driver in the company,” he boasted, puffing out his chest. “I was nearing forty years of loyal service. But that’s all out of the window,” he said, spitting out the words. “I’m never setting foot on one of those rotten trams ever again.
I felt a lump in my throat. “So you started your shift at four o’clock. What happened thereafter?”
“I was stationed on the number twelve, which starts its route at the train station. Rush hour came by as usual, lots of those overly-inflated-self-important desk jockeys leaving their offices by tram, heading to the station to take the train home, out of the city. Around half past seven it started to die down. All in all, everything was business as usual.”
I felt my heartbeat accelerate. “Then what?”
Archie mentioned the name of the street on which I knew Sandra had been hit by the tram. “We were riding on this street, which is long and winding. We turned the corner – it’s a rather dangerous part of the route as you can’t see far ahead at this particular point. And right there …”
He broke off, stiffening before my eyes. The poor man needed a moment to compose himself.
“A woman on a green bicycle suddenly darted across the track,” he said, rocking his body back and forth as if to console himself. “Just like that. It all happened in the briefest of moments. I hit the brakes hard – I kept pumping them with all my might.” He looked at me pleadingly. “Believe me, I was doing everything I could to slow that beast down.”
I gave a reassuring nod, my eyes fixated on the man, seated on the edge of the couch.
The tram driver shook his head violently. “But there was no stopping. She was so incredibly close and I simply had too much speed, too much momentum – I went straight for her. Before I knew it, my cabin had smashed into that poor, wretched wom
an. The look in her bulging eyes,” he began, but the words died on his lips, as he brought his hands to his mouth. “It was utter, deathly fear. I’ll never be able to erase that image from my mind.”
I nodded, completely lost for words upon hearing this vivid description of Sandra’s final moments.
“And the noise of the crash … it was beyond imagination. That thumping sound at the moment of impact mixed with the screeching of the brakes that were scraping the wheels. Every night that clash haunts me in my sleep.” He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fist to his forehead as if to drive the gruesome sound out of his memory. “Immediately after, it felt like we were going over a bump. Poor lassie. That must have been …” Tears welled up in his eyes. “It must have been her body.”
My head felt woozy and a wave of nausea washed over me. I turned my face away, struggling to draw in air. My voice sounded hoarse when I spoke. “You said she was riding a bicycle. Can you describe what happened? Did she intend to cross the track and simply made an error of judgement? Or perhaps the bicycle tire got stuck in the rails?” I asked, trying to keep my hands from shaking. “What happened?”
“I’ve gone over and over the order of events in my mind, but I haven’t worked it out. I know for sure that the bicycle tyre didn’t get stuck in the rails. She came out of nowhere from the right and scooted onto the track. Just like that, she was in my way,” he muttered with anguish on his face and in his voice.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. The heat in the room had become nearly unbearable. “Did you notice anything else?”
He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It all went so fast.” He pondered the question for a while before speaking again. “There’s one thing that stayed with me. That poor woman’s back was arched in an odd way, her body just seemed contorted.”
I presumed that was a result of the impact of the vehicle. “You mean after the tram slammed into her?”
He shook his head. “See, that’s the weird thing. This happened just before she hurtled across the track. She was unexpectedly accelerating, causing her upper body to bend backwards, as if at the very last moment she was pedalling with extra force. Or rather, as if someone else had given her an extra push.”
The room started spinning violently, I could feel the blood rushing through my veins. The dizziness made me grab the couch and hold onto it tightly.
“Ah well … What’s the point in going over all of this again?” a voice from far away sounded. “We won’t ever be able to change anything.”
I slowly came to my senses. “Thank you,” I stammered. “You explained everything very well.”
I couldn’t endure the suffocating heat in here for one more minute. “I need to leave. All the best to you, Archie,” I said and quickly rose to my feet.
“But wait,” the man yelled. “What about my sick report and all that?” he asked.
I could have kicked myself when I realised I had completely broken character. “Right. Don’t you worry about that for the time being,” I said and managed to muster up a reassuring smile. “My colleague will contact you in due time about a reintegration plan,” I added, praying to god I wasn’t too far off.
I once again wished the man all the best and then left the living room.
In the hallway, I said goodbye to the woman who seemed to be preparing lunch in the kitchen and pulled my coat off the rack.
I dashed down the stairs until I reached the pavement where I halted, took a deep breath of fresh air and slowly began to calm down.
As the traffic rushed by, I let my mind go over what the tram driver had just shared with me – Sandra had been arching her back in a strange way just before the moment of impact. Was it possible that someone might have intentionally pushed Sandra onto the track as the tram advanced around the corner?
Maybe I was becoming delusional and this was just an unfortunate, fatal accident after all. I had to entertain the possibility that Sandra herself had been pedalling extra hard as she saw the tram approach her, in a final and failed attempt to go past it. It seemed pretty unlikely for someone who lived in the city and had a great deal of experience with trams, but I couldn’t rule out this benign explanation.
I remembered the words Lindsey had said during our drinks with the girls. If Sandra had indeed been bumped off by the firm for what she’d discovered, then I could very well be in danger too. The letter I’d received might after all have been an intentional warning directed at me. And what about Tim, who claimed to have been lured by a man with cookies – was there a direct connection to all of this or was that just a figment of a toddler’s imagination? Finally, the man in the playground, who so eagerly engaged in a conversation with me, was this stranger dispatched to keep an eye on me or was it just an ordinary flirt? All these events could be dismissed with an innocent explanation, but I felt increasingly nervous about the whole situation.
I reached into my pocket and found the card with the well-known logo that the man had handed me. I hadn’t ever intended to reach out to him, but perhaps I should give him a call, if only to confirm that his intentions were harmless and genuine, so I could rule out any foul play. Besides, as he worked for Mason & McGant, he might be able to be of assistance and provide me with more leads.
I grabbed my phone and entered the digits.
He answered in a brisk, business-like tone. “Daniel Bernstein.”
“Er …” I stammered. “Hi. This is Jennifer Smits.”
There was a pause and I started pondering how many women this guy dished out his card to. “We recently met in the playground?”
The tone in his voice changed. “Right, of course. I remember now. So sorry. How nice of you to give me a call, Jennifer.”
“I was wondering how you’d feel about having a cup of coffee together?”
“Sounds marvellous. I’m not available during the day though, I’m swamped at the firm. How about we grab a bite together instead? My treat.”
I was surprised by his thorough approach. “Oh … okay then, sure.”
“How about tomorrow evening?”
I wasn’t sure if I felt comfortable bringing Tim to my parents again – he’d been on more sleepovers in the last few months than over the previous two years combined, although both he and my parents seemed to take pleasure in it. Perhaps Oliver’s death had indirectly made space for a deepening of other relationships Tim had with the people around him.
“Sounds great.”
“How would eight o’clock at ‘Home’ suit you? It’s a restaurant in the city centre.”
“That works for me. I’ll see you then.”
As we hung up, I felt the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach and a surge of adrenaline racing through my body. For the first time since my relationship with Oliver I was going on a date again. I let out a whoop of excitement and watched a passer-by look at me in wonderment.
I called myself to order – it was imperative I stayed focused and vigilant.
22
The doorbell rang. I put the dishcloth on the counter, walked towards the hallway and opened the door.
“Hello Mum,” I said with a smile and stepped aside to make room.
My mother entered the hallway, rubbing her hands. “Hello darling,” she said, gave me a peck on the cheek and slid her arms out of her grey woollen coat. Just when everyone thought we wouldn’t have a proper winter this year, a cold front had suddenly crossed the country. Her eyes widened. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
My father, who followed in her wake, mumbled something similar.
I smoothed the black silk dress that I’d immediately ordered after the phone call with Dan yesterday. “Thank you,” I responded and closed the door.
We entered the warm living room, where Tim sat, eyes fixed on the television screen.
“How wonderful you’re going on a date,” my mother said and squeezed my arm.
I smiled and walked around the kitchen island to the sink where I’d just cleaned up the remain
s of the diner I’d prepared for Tim. My mother followed me and sat down on a kitchen chair.
“So tell me. How long have you known this man for?”
I wiped down the luxuriously thick granite countertop with a dishcloth. I’d have liked a more industrial look using concrete, but Oliver preferred the classic look and I’d acquiesced. I popped a tablet in the dispenser of the dishwasher and turned it on. “I only just met him,” I said casually, but as I uttered the words, I realised what the implications were. Was I making a huge mistake meeting up with this Dan, because, in all fairness – what did I really know about the guy?
“We recently met in the playground,” I continued and omitted on purpose where he worked.
My father had taken a seat next to Tim on the couch and seemed to have developed a sudden interest in children’s programmes.
“Lovely,” my mother responded, oblivious to my sudden disquietude about the whole thing. “Who would have thought you could meet someone there. I suppose he also has a child then?”
“Yes. He’s divorced and has a daughter.” I held up the kettle, trying to steer the exchange onto an easier subject. “Tea?”
“No, thank you darling. We won’t be staying long, otherwise it will become too late for Timmy,” she said and I smiled at her concern.
My father had apparently overheard more of the conversation than I was aware of, given the alarmed look he shot at me from the other side of the room. “Will you be careful, love? There are so many crazy people nowadays. Just look out for yourself and stay alert.”
Under normal circumstances I’d have given an inaudible sigh, smiled and uttered, ‘Yes, dad,’ but the threatening events of the past few weeks suddenly made me nervous.
I bit my lip. “Will you keep an eagle eye on Tim while he’s at your place?”
My mother looked up completely nonplussed. “Yes of course. We always do, you know that, right darling?”
Double Deceit Page 18
