Bad Intentions

CHAPTER 7

Reilly was standing in the doorway holding the kitten.

His pale skin was covered with thin, red claw marks.

‘Come on,’ Axel said. ‘We need to go and see Ingerid.’

‘Do we have to?’

‘Yes, we do. We can’t put it off any longer, she’s expecting us. She probably has a lot of questions, so we have to make up something which sounds plausible. About that evening. What Jon said and did, how he was, all the little details that she’ll want to know. How are you?’ he asked. ‘You’re not high, I hope?’

Reilly grunted a reply. He went back inside the flat, a tiny studio on the fourth floor. His bed was unmade.

‘I need to feed the kitten first,’ he said.

Axel followed. He slammed the door shut.

‘Forget about the kitten,’ he said. ‘Have you gone mad? We need to leave now. The situation is getting a bit tense,’ he added. ‘The police are all over this with a diligence I’ve never seen before. You would think it was our fault Jon ended up in the lake.’

‘Perhaps it was,’ Reilly said.

He went over to the kitchen counter. He filled the kitten’s bowl with fresh water and opened a tin of cat food. He mashed the food, which consisted of chunks of meat in gravy, with a fork until it turned into a smooth grey and brown mush. He carried out these simple tasks with great care and he did not permit Axel to interrupt him.

‘Now don’t pee on the carpet,’ he told the kitten. ‘Do your business in the litter tray.’

‘Snap out of it,’ Axel said. ‘We need to go.’

Reilly leaned against the kitchen counter. His long hair was unwashed and hung in thin strands over his shoulders.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said. ‘You go on your own. With your big mouth you can do the talking for both of us.’

Axel grunted irritably.

‘I can’t take care of everything,’ he said. ‘I’m exhausted. Now get a grip.’

Reilly put on his long coat. He threw a last, worried glance at the kitten and followed Axel. The old stairs creaked as they walked down to the ground floor. Shortly afterwards they were driving through the town in Axel’s Mercedes, scarab green with gorgeous white leather seats. As always it was newly washed and polished. Reilly watched the world through its windows and the people they passed. We’re not like them, he thought, we lack decency. We lack a normal sense of justice.

He pondered these things for a while.

‘What do you think it is about us?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’ Axel said.

‘I mean, that we did what we did. Does it mean that we’re not quite right?’

‘What are you on about now?’ Axel asked.

‘Well, you know, there’s something called emotional intelligence,’ Reilly elaborated. ‘Empathy. Understanding. Conscience. Remorse. The ability to comprehend the consequences of your actions. Some people have low emotional intelligence.’

This caused Axel to brake so abruptly that the tyres screeched. He pulled over and stopped the car.

‘Are you saying that there is something wrong with me?’ he said. ‘That I don’t have feelings like other people? Are you saying that I’m not grieving? That I have low emotional intelligence just because Jon threw himself into the lake?’

Reilly retreated slightly. ‘To be honest, I’m not really sure,’ he said.

‘There is nothing wrong with my emotional intelligence,’ Axel snapped. ‘Jesus, what an idea! You’ve got to quit that reading of yours, it’s doing your head in.’

‘But most people would not have acted the way we did,’ he wailed.

Axel checked his mirror and pulled out into the road again.

‘Most people don’t end up in that kind of situation,’ he said, ‘and I won’t listen to any more talk like that.’

‘But I’ve got such a bad conscience.’

‘I don’t understand this fuss about conscience,’ Axel said. ‘It’s not like you can take a clear conscience with you to your grave.’

Reilly felt like saying something about conscience. It stays behind after we die, he thought, like light or like shadow. And those who come after us grow up in that shadow. The sins of the fathers, he mused. But Axel would not understand these things. Axel would ask if he was thinking of getting married or having kids since he was going on about future generations. No one will want a scruffy old hippie like you, he would say. And he might be right.

‘Our society is based on important values,’ Reilly said out loud. He held up three fingers. ‘The rule of law, truth and justice. But we’ve made our own rules.’

‘There isn’t one set of rules which apply universally,’ Axel declared. ‘You understand that, don’t you? Such notions depend on culture. And history. And religion. And, not least, circumstances. By the way, why are you reading the Koran?’

‘It’s Nader from work,’ Reilly said. ‘Nader talks about the Koran the whole time. The most beautiful message about peace in the world.’

‘If you’re feeling that much guilt,’ Axel said, ‘then throw away the Koran and become a Catholic.’

Ingerid Moreno came to the door immediately to greet them. She no longer looked like the Ingerid they knew. Despair controlled her body like pain in every joint, and she moved around like an old woman. Axel got a cautious hug, but she was more reserved towards Reilly. As per usual Axel was sincere in his compassion. Why is that man not on the stage? Reilly thought, he’s a born actor. But perhaps life itself was his stage and everyone he met his devoted audience. Ingerid invited them in. Reilly watched her large, heavy breasts undulate beneath her blouse. Jon used to lie at those breasts, Reilly thought, it must have been a good place to be. Jon did not take after his mother, he thought next. Jon was thin and slight, while Ingerid was plump and broad-shouldered. But the Italian Moreno, who was Jon’s father, had been slight, too, he recalled. A small, slender guy who had left them when Jon was a little boy.

‘I know he found things difficult,’ Ingerid said. ‘Young people often do. But he was getting help.’

She looked at them across the table.

‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘Tell me what you think. You were with him that last evening.’

Reilly was unable to utter a single word, but Axel spoke freely, as he always did.

‘I suppose he was a bit gloomy,’ he said, ‘a little low. He did not say much, you know what he was like. He didn’t drink much either, Jon was quite restrained like that. He didn’t do much crazy stuff, you need to know that, Ingerid.’

He opened his arms helplessly.

‘Anxiety is impossible,’ he said. ‘An enemy you can’t see or hear.’

Ingerid Moreno started wringing her hands in her lap.

‘But when did it start?’ she asked. ‘Did you notice when he first started to feel anxious? Did he talk about it? Was it last winter?’

Axel and Reilly exchanged glances.

‘Did something happen? I’ve tried thinking back,’ she said, ‘but I can’t put my finger on anything. Could it have been to do with a girl? Girlfriend trouble can get very bad, I know all about that, I was married to an Italian.’

Axel smiled a kind smile.

‘Jon wasn’t involved with girls,’ he said. ‘Jon was very shy, you know that. If a girl even so much as looked at him, his ears would go bright red.’

‘Yes,’ Ingerid remembered. ‘His ears used to go very red.’

She gave them a look of resignation.

‘When the hospital told me he was going on this trip, I was very sceptical. But when they explained he was going with you two, I didn’t mind. Then I knew he would be in safe hands.’

Reilly felt a lump in his throat. He thought about their safe hands which had not managed to save Jon. His eyes sought the window; they lingered on a treetop where a crow made a branch sway, slowly, like a child on a swing.

‘Shy or not,’ Ingerid said, ‘he did have a friend at Ladegården. Her name is Molly and she was in the same ward. Jon doesn’t get close to people very easily so it made me happy. Because it’s so important to have friends, and of course, a girlfriend. I had hoped that Molly might become his girlfriend. That he would finally have had someone to confide in.’

Her lower lip started to quiver.

‘I know he was holding something back,’ she hiccuped. ‘Mothers always know. But whenever I asked, he would draw back. It must have been something serious since he was too scared to tell me. That’s what I thought. Something really serious.’

At this point Axel and Reilly both chose to nod emphatically.

‘His funeral is next Friday,’ Ingerid said. ‘At one o’clock. The vicar is coming tomorrow. I hope he is a considerate man and that he can find something to say, something meaningful. Please would you help me choose some music?’ she asked. ‘What did Jon like to listen to? Please tell me.’

‘Madrugada,’ Axel said.

‘Madrugada, definitely,’ Reilly said. ‘Jon wouldn’t have settled for anything less.’

‘I see. Is that a band?’

‘Yes. Jon liked Madrugada more than anything else. We can sort that out for you. We’ll find something suitable.’

‘We can’t have rock music in a church,’ she said.

‘We’ll pick something quiet,’ Axel said. ‘Trust us.’

‘“Highway of Light,”’ Reilly suggested.

‘Yes, “Highway of Light”, definitely,’ Axel agreed. ‘It will raise the roof of the church. It is grand and symphonic. It always used to send shivers down Jon’s spine when he listened to it.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re so kind.’

She leaned forward across the table as if to crawl over to them.

‘I wish he had left behind a letter,’ she said. ‘A last message. I have spoken to Hanna Wigert. She said he might have been struck by an acute psychosis, but we’ll never know for sure.’

She wrung her hands on the table. Reilly grew scared that the joints of her fingers would snap.

‘And then I need to talk to Molly. If she wants to see me. And his things need to be collected. I’m dreading it. Entering the room where he slept, taking his toothbrush out of the glass. His clothes and everything.’

‘Let us do that, please,’ Axel said. ‘Then you won’t have to.’

Again she smiled with gratitude.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘You’re so kind. Thank you for everything you have been for Jon, you meant so much to him. I’ll never forget you two.’

She clasped their hands on the table.

‘And now there’s something I need to tell you,’ she said.

She looked earnestly at them both.

‘What happened must be difficult for you and perhaps you feel responsible, but you’re not. I don’t blame you for anything. Promise me, please, that you will put this behind you and move on.’