Death By Water

1

Friday 28 November 2008

MAKE-UP OFF. RUBBING, revealing strips of pale red facial skin in the sharp light. The photographer had insisted she cover up with this thick white mask. Something he wanted to bring out. Something stiffened, in contrast to the almost naked body.

She unfastened the clip, let the hair tumble down her back. It looked darker than usual, but still reddish. She sat a moment, considering what she saw in the mirror. The arc of the forehead, the eyebrows she had allowed to grow out wide, the eyes that seemed to be too far apart. It had always looked odd, but a lot of the photographers obviously liked it. Wim, whom she was working with today, maintained with a grin that it made her look elfin. She began drawing a brush through her hair, slowly, following the waves; it got caught in a tug, a quick jerk which she felt at the base of her skull, a reminder that she mustn’t linger too long in this distant state. It was past eleven o’clock. Part of her was aware of the need to slip down into a dark hole, sleep there for a day or two, or more. But her pulse was too quick and too hard.

Her mobile phone vibrated on the mirrored shelf. She checked the number – no one she knew – put it down again, carried on brushing. Had never liked this thick, difficult hair, apparently inherited from her grandmother. Waves of fire, Zako might say, when he was feeling melodramatic. And against a white wall or a pale sky it shone and attracted the eye, which was then obliged to carry on and see the face with the greenish eyes. She straightened her back so that her breasts became visible in the mirror. They were too small, but Zako was firm about not having them enlarged, at least not yet; they suited her young girl image. Like something out of a Jane Austen novel, he said. Zako had never read Jane Austen. Nor had she, for that matter.

The mobile buzzed again. Message from Rikke. Liss, we’re in the Café Alto. Cool music, Zako’s asking about you.

A flash of anger passed through her. He’d started sending her messages via Rikke. Thought she still didn’t know he was sleeping with her. Rikke had let it slip one morning over a week ago. She could read Rikke. Could read most people. The look in Rikke’s eyes was different that morning. The laughter a note higher than usual. When Liss asked if she’d seen any more of Zako that night, she’d dropped the breadknife on the floor. Confessed immediately. As though there was anything to confess. So what,was Liss’s comment once she’d told the whole story. Rikke had been expecting her to flare up and make a scene. When that didn’t happen, she declared that Liss was the best friend she’d ever had, and that she was never going to let Zako feel her up any more. But how was she going to resist? Zako had done a thorough job on her. Taken her in such a way that she went around thinking about it for days afterwards, waiting to be taken again in exactly the same way. Walked around dreaming about him in a complete daze. He had her in his pocket. Literally, thought Liss, and noticed a smile in the now make-up-less face in the mirror.

She’d realised immediately once Rikke began doing little favours for him. Got him coke if he’d run out. Rang for a taxi when he was leaving. Rubbed her bulging arse up against his crotch every chance she got. Liss laughed at her on the quiet. To see Rikke as a panting bitch was liberating. Probably because she knew Zako would never get that kind of hold over her. Liss didn’t need him and wasn’t afraid to tell him that. Then he might talk nasty and be threatening. She owed him money, he might say. And didn’t he pay for the flat she shared with Rikke? He kept far too much of what she earned on her photo shoots, she might come back at him. Soon she’d have enough good contacts to run the show herself. She didn’t need a PhD in economics to make a few phone calls and read through a few contracts. She owed him for coke, he growled. Do you mean to say you’re making all this fuss over a few thousand kroner? she might shoot back. Do you want it now? Damn it, Liss, get a grip, he would hiss, but he’d already been driven back, way back inside his own territory.

One morning, this was in the little kitchen in the flat, he’d grabbed both her arms, twisted them behind her and pushed her up against the fridge. It hurt, she had bruises for several days after, but she looked him straight in the eye without showing the slightest sign of pain. He could have hit her, in the course of a few minutes destroyed her physically. But she wasn’t afraid of him. His threats aroused nothing but her contempt, and that made her different from all the other girls he had. She didn’t need him. He needed her. He’d realised that a long time ago, but he still laboured under the delusion that she hadn’t realised. He’d made a few connections for her. A lot of them were useless, because she had no intention of going into pornography. Only a handful of the photographers he knew had other ambitions. She’d try them. Not commit herself. Not be tempted by empty promises. Zako wanted her to stop taking the design classes, thought it took up too much time. She had no plans to stop. Had enough talent to get some use from it. The modelling jobs were just a series of tests: what sort of effect did her picture have on others, and why? What else could be done with that picture? How far could she get from what she was, or had once been?

She was finished with Zako. Had started looking for a new apartment. Wouldn’t have any problem paying back what she owed him. If the worst came to the worst, ask at home. Not Mother, obviously, but Mailin, who would send money immediately, no questions asked… The thought of her sister brought a stop to the long, flowing movements of the hairbrush. She sat there squeezing it in her hand. The eyes in the mirror held her. Something had happened. Three days ago. Yet again Zako had insisted that she escort some businessmen for an evening on the town. He had three or four girls who earned money for him that way. He provided the service, it brought in a lot of money, and he let them keep quite a bit for themselves. They didn’t have to sleep with anyone, just hang around at receptions and go to nightclubs. With unlimited access to champagne, coke and the best restaurants in town, in Zako’s tempting description. Rikke was just about hooked. Easy money, he promised. He sounded like a used-car salesman, and it started Liss off laughing. He asked what the big joke was. And that was when she dropped the hint, the thing she’d now made up her mind about, that she was going to break with him. His eyes darkened. Maybe you don’t give a damn about what happens to you,he hissed, but you’ve got someone you do give a damn about, just like everyone does. What do you mean? she had to ask, suddenly struggling to hide her uncertainty. Don’t you have a sister? Then something happened that hadn’t happened for a long time. The light in the room changed. It got brighter, and at the same time seemed to sort of withdraw. Aren’t I here? She felt the thought race through her, and a pounding began in her chest, so hard she had to take a hold of herself just to go on breathing. And at the same time, that other thought: he mustn’t see what’s happening to me. She held on tight to the edge of the table. He smirked. Didn’t say anything, just that smirk, as though to show her that he knew he had her now.

She put down the hairbrush, pulled on her jersey and trousers. Zako had no idea how idiotic it was of him to try to bring her sister into it. The final straw. She would make that blindingly clear to him next time they met.

She put her mascara on, a thin layer, took out her eyeshadow. Suddenly she saw Mailin in her mind’s eye. Standing in front of a bed. She’s wearing pyjamas, and even though the room is in darkness, Liss knows that they’re pale blue. Her sister’s hair is gathered in two long braids, the way she used to have it when she was a child. She’s standing there saying something or other.

Liss tossed her make-up into her bag, took her leather jacket down from its peg, let herself out of the dressing room. From the kitchen she could hear Wim talking to one of the other photographers he shared the studio with. She stole out so quietly they didn’t hear her.

Close on midnight. Packed at the Café Alto. The quartet on the stage in the innermost recess of the cramped premises began playing a tune announced by the pianist as ‘Before I Met You’. Liss knew him. He was American and had been out with a couple of the girls from her design class. Now he sat hunched over in the half-dark, staring in what looked like surprise at his own hands as they ran up and down the keyboard.

Rikke waved from a table over by the stairs, shuffled up the bench to make room. Zako had his back turned and was talking to a guy at the next table. Once Liss had wriggled her way in, Rikke leaned over to her. – Zako thinks you’re starting to avoid him, she said with her mouth pressed to Liss’s ear.

Liss had to laugh. Was Rikke doing his talking for him now? Only then did Zako turn round. His eyes were shining, and it might have looked as though he was having fun, but she knew him by now. He leaned across the table, put a hand on her arm, and looked very closely at her. – Been working right up till now? she made out through the music.

Zako was always on the alert, even when he was high. Always asking questions about what she’d been doing and who she’d been with.

She was hungry. Hadn’t eaten since the early afternoon. She picked up a Marlboro packet, lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. Zako still sat there studying her face as though he were seeing her for the first time. Up on stage, the bass player, whom Liss also knew through the school, was taking a solo. His head was in constant motion; he was playing with it. It looked as though he had a fishing line between his teeth with which he was pulling and drawing out notes from the massive instrument.

A clumpy, damp-smelling joint was passed across to their table. Liss passed it on to Rikke, who was resting her head on her shoulder, girlfriend-like.

– Need something completely different from camel shit.

– Agreed. Come with me.

Rikke went up the stairs first. Liss could feel Zako’s gaze on her back, at a point just below the neck.

They let themselves into the toilet. Rikke fished an envelope out of her handbag, a mirror and a straw. Handed it to Liss.

– Might as well have a pee while you do the honours, she said. She lifted her short skirt, yanked down her tights and slipped down on to the toilet seat.

Liss made a line ready. Kept her hair back out of the way with one hand. Rikke held it for her. Liss bent forward, inhaled as deeply as she could along the mirror, ended up with her mouth almost down in her cleavage. Another line in the other nostril.

– What would I have done without you? she snuffled once they had changed places.

Rikke took her two lines, leaned up against the toilet door and watched as she peed.

– Christ, Liss, have you any idea how pretty you are?

Liss enjoyed hearing her say this, even though she knew she would never actually be pretty. She stood up, kissed Rikke on the mouth. Just long enough, before pulling up her trousers.

Zako was standing there when they came out. – What’s happening?

He was looking straight at Liss as he said this. Rikke put a finger over her mouth and disappeared down the stairs.

– Why didn’t you come yesterday? he wanted to know.

– Did I say I would come?

He took her by the arm, not hard. – I know you’re pissed off about this thing with Rikke.

She raised her eyebrows. – Why should I be pissed off? You can fuck each other as much as you like for all I care. Be my guest.

Now he grinned. – You are pissed off. I know you.

– Wrong on both counts, she said, smiling back at him, pulling free from his grip.

He pressed her up against the wall, looked down into her face. His pupils were like pins, and still the eyes looked black. She wondered what he was on.

– I’m dumping her.

– Who?

– I’m dropping Rikke.

Liss couldn’t help laughing. – I thought there was nothing going on between you. And now suddenly you’re going to drop her?

He made a face that was perhaps intended to convey the comedy in the contradiction.

– Sorry, he said.

– For what?

– I haven’t treated you very well. I’ll try to improve.

She was surprised. Had never heard anything resembling an admission from Zako before. That pride had attracted her, the way he never needed to make himself small. And now here he was asking to be forgiven. Not that he meant it. But as a tactic it was doomed either way.

– It has nothing to do with Rikke, she said. – Or with any other girls. I don’t need you, Zako.

As she said it, a jolt went up from her chest, passed through her throat. Her head was filled with bubbling gas. Anything could happen. And she was stronger than anything.

– We have an agreement, he said calmly, but now there was an undertone of suppressed anger in his voice. She wasn’t the least bit afraid of it.

– Agreement?

– Listen here, Liss. He paused briefly, obviously so that what he was about to say would carry more weight. – All the photo shoots you’ve had, I got those for you. If you want any more of that, you need to know the right people. When it comes to fashion, Amsterdam is fucking nowhere. I know a whole heap of other people in other places. People who matter. You’re not going to end up with Wim and Ferdinand and all the other wannabes.

– I’m hugely grateful to you, she said, stressing the hugely. – But you don’t need to worry about the future. Not mine, at least. No more sleepless nights on my account.

His eyes grew harder. – The flat, he said. – You’re living in my flat.

That wasn’t true. He’d helped to get it, but he didn’t own it.

– I’m moving out next week, she said. – Found somewhere else.

Maybe he realised that not even that was true. But nothing could hurt her in the place where she was. She started walking down the stairs.

– Wait, he said hoarsely behind her. She stopped and turned; it cost nothing to hear what he had to say. He had one hand in his inside jacket pocket. For an instant she thought he had a weapon, a knife, a gun. Not even that thought frightened her.

It wasn’t a weapon he was holding. She saw it was a photograph. And knew instantly that there was a new twist to the game. He remained standing at the top of the stairs, but she wouldn’t climb back up to him, instead waited for him to come down the four steps.

– Recognise her? he asked, holding the photo at an angle so the light from the wall lamp fell on it.

Three days had passed since Zako had mentioned Liss having a sister. Afterwards she’d thought he’d just been taking a chance. Still, she couldn’t shake the thought of what he was hinting at.

The photo was taken at a bus stop. Mailin was leaning against a wall, looking at something just outside the frame of the picture. It was taken from the side, some distance away. She had clearly no idea she was being photographed.

Liss held on to the banister. The light changed, pulled away but became more intense. As though it wasn’t her who was standing there. And when it wasn’t her, anything at all might happen. Maybe she was holding her breath, because there was a pain low down in her lungs, and black dots began to appear through the bright, distant light. Mustn’t react now. This was what Zako was like. Went on and on and never realised when he’d gone too far… She knew about most of what he was capable of. It didn’t frighten her. She’d taken everything into account. But not that he would get someone to go and check on Mailin. Suddenly she felt nauseous. Hadn’t eaten all day. Must eat. Must come down. Get away.

– Where did you get that picture from?

He wasn’t smiling any more.

– Why are you showing it to me? she continued, her voice as controlled as she could make it.

Again he scrutinised her face. If she carried on standing there, for the very first time he would manage to strip it, layer by layer, until it was quite naked, and the slightest twitch would reveal what was going on in her thoughts.

She turned round, went down the stairs and sat close to Rikke, put an arm around her shoulder, as though to protect her.

She dreamed she was holding an electric drill. It wouldn’t work. She squeezed the trigger as hard as she could. Suddenly it roared into life with an explosive banging that made her hands jump. She released the trigger, but the machine wouldn’t stop.

When she woke up, the room was still vibrating, the bed she was lying in, the walls. Then it subsided. It was a tram passing. She remembered where she was. She’d left the Café Alto late last night. Couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the flat. Maybe Zako would tag along, or appear after she and Rikke had gone to bed. It was the sort of thing he could do if he felt like it. She’d left the place without a word and booked in for the night at a hotel in Leidsestraat.

Light seeped in through the gap below the curtains. She lay there studying the pattern on the wallpaper. Small apple blossoms moving upwards, a film that rolled and rolled up towards the ceiling. And somewhere between them the image of Mailin again. Standing by her bed in the blue pyjamas.

Liss sits up.

What is it?

Mailin puts a finger to her mouth. Then she turns and locks the door.

Tell me what it is, Mailin.

Her sister stands in the dark, listening. Then she creeps into bed, puts an arm around Liss.

I’ll look after you, Liss. Nothing bad will ever, ever happen to you.

She got up and went to the bathroom. Put her finger down her throat and emptied out the small amount that was in her stomach. Went back to bed. Wrapped the duvet around herself. The photo of Mailin at the bus stop. Must be Oslo. Looked to be quite recent. Who had taken it? She couldn’t ask Zako about it. He knew already that this was the weak spot he had been looking for. Did he realise just how weak it was? If she revealed that, she would lose control. If she gave in to fear, she would start to fear everything. She sat up suddenly, found the mobile in the bag that was hanging over the chair, slid down by the wall under the window, punched in the number. It rang three times before she got an answer.

– Liss? Mailin’s voice was full of sleep. – Has something happened?

Liss breathed deeply. – No, no… She glanced at the clock on the TV. It showed 6.20. – Sorry, I didn’t realise how early it was. I’ll call again later.

– Stop it, you’ve already woken me. Was going to get up early anyway. Looks like good skiing conditions out today.

Liss could imagine it. The ski trail emerging on to the marsh between the pine trees. The wind in the treetops. Otherwise still.

– Wish I could go with you.

Mailin yawned. – Coming home for Christmas after all?

– Don’t think so…

– Couldn’t you use a little break, Liss?

It was scary how often what Mailin said was exactly right.

– Break? That’s not exactly what I need.

She did need a break. But she had nowhere to go. At least not in Norway. That wasn’t home any more. Would never be again.

– Don’t try to change my mind, Mailin.

She heard a grunt in the background, a man. – Is he with you, your friend?

Mailin gave a quick laugh.

– Angling, are we? Trying to get me to admit there’s someone other than him here? A lover? A new man in my life?

– Is there?

– You know how boring I am. The man lying beside me is still called Viljam. Just as he has been these last two years…

– He’s been lying beside you for two years?

– Ha ha. Liss, you don’t call me at six thirty on a Saturday morning to make feeble jokes. Now please, tell me what’s the matter.

She’d lain awake half the night unable to shake off the thought that someone was threatening her sister. Something to do with Zako and that photo… Going to bed, exhausted and agitated, still wired like a high-tension cable, she had been certain something terrible had happened to Mailin. She’d wanted to ring immediately, but forced herself to wait.

– Just wanted to hear how things are. Hear your voice, she thought, but didn’t say. – That you’re okay.

– Any reason I shouldn’t be?

– Well, no… But maybe you’re taking on too much work. All those people you’re taking care of.

– Liss, there is something. Tell me what it is.

Before she could change her mind, Liss said:

– Why don’t I remember anything from when I was a child?

Mailin didn’t answer.

– Something crops up every now and then, she went on. – Pictures of some kind. Just now, for example, I saw you coming into my room. You lock the door and get into bed beside me and hold me. But I don’t know if that happened or if it’s something I imagined or dreamt.

– It did happen, said Mailin. – At home in Lørenskog.

– You never said anything about that, Liss exclaimed.

A few moments passed before Mailin answered.

– Maybe I was waiting till you asked. There’s no need to remember everything.

Liss felt nauseous. Had to go out and vomit again.

– Call you later, she managed to say before ending the call.

2

Saturday 6 December

LISS PADDED NAKED around the flat. Checked to see if the ivy on the windowsill needed water. Brewed herself another cup of espresso. Sat by the kitchen window and looked out. The Christmas decorations in Haarlemmerdijk were pine-bedecked bows with lights hanging beneath them. Like suckling nipples on a bitch’s belly, it struck her. A large six-pointed star hung across the middle of the street. Inside it was a heart with red light bulbs glowing.

She had the flat to herself. A girl in her class, someone she hardly knew, had said without a moment’s hesitation that she could stay with her till she found somewhere permanent. Now the girl had gone to Venlo to spend the weekend with her family. They had to be pretty well off if they could afford to pay for their daughter’s three-bedroomed flat in trendy Jordaan, a part of the old town where Huguenot refugees had once lived. Here the facades had been tastefully refurbished and there were no trams or heavy lorries thundering through at all hours of the day and night.

Liss took her coffee into the bathroom. Stood in front of the mirror. She didn’t need make-up. Her skin was soft and smooth, without blemishes. But it felt good to smear a mask on. If the whole of her naked body could be coated in thin film, something she could wrap around herself when she went out, pull off when she returned home, that would leave her skin untouched… If she could do the same thing with her eyes. Put something not just on the brows and the lashes but on the pupils themselves. Cover everything that could betray her. Buy contact lenses, though there was nothing wrong with her sight. In another colour, black or brown.

Two thin flutings from her mobile. Message from Mailin: Didn’t hear back from you. Something’s just happened that has to do with what you asked me about that morning.

Her sister had called the previous evening. Liss was in the middle of a photo shoot and said she would call back but didn’t. Regretted revealing to her sister that this memory had surfaced. Actually there was nothing wrong with her memory; on a daily and weekly basis she could remember things perfectly well. It was what lay far back that was gone. Other people, like Rikke, seemed to have a detailed overview of their entire lives, starting with the day they got their very first pair of shoes ever. Rikke could rewind; her memory was obviously a film that could be viewed over and over again. Liss’s didn’t work like that. She could remember a few things from the holiday cabin, but not from before she was ten or twelve. Every summer and winter they had lived in the forest cabin just outside Oslo for several weeks. Weekends and holidays. They drove to Bysetermosan and then hauled a fully loaded sledge along the path to Vangen and then on to Morr Water. Or went on skis from Losby. When they got to be old enough, she and Mailin used to go there on their own, without the grown-ups. Sometimes in the evenings. By the light of the moon over Geitsjø and Røiri Waters. Up through the dark forest with their rucksacks, laughing and reverent in the great silence.

She didn’t need to remember more than she did. Mailin perhaps thought that she mentioned that vague memory from the bedroom in Lørenskog because it bothered her. If so, she was wrong, and Liss decided to tell her next time she rang.

It was six months since she had last seen her sister. Mailin had visited her in Amsterdam in the early summer. She’d been attending a conference. Something about child abuse. Something she was researching and she delivered a paper on. She stayed on for a few days afterwards. Liss had shown her the town. Taken her along to the school and to one of the photographic studios where she’d done a few jobs. But most things she kept from her big sister. Nothing about the parties and the coke. And she’d been careful to keep Zako out of the way. Didn’t want him to meet Mailin. Two worlds that had to be kept separated. They didn’t belong together, couldn’t exist simultaneously. And yet still the question from Mailin as Liss was driving her to the airport.

What’s to become of you, Liss?

It hit her so hard she couldn’t even get angry. Nothing’s going to become of me, she could have answered. That was her victory over everything she’d run away from. Over the life she would never live.

Mailin didn’t give up.

Remember what I said to you last time I fetched you from Central Police Station?

Liss had been picked up several times in the last years before she left. Mailin agreed that the war in Iraq was repellent, and had shuffled about dutifully in a few of these lawful demonstrations where everything was very decorous and proper. That wasn’t enough for Liss. She was part of a group of activists that marched on the American embassy and objected to being headed off by the police. In their anger they threw bottles and stones. Several in the group were willing to go even further and give their attackers a taste of their own dirty medicine. D’you think it does any more good than peaceful protesting? Mailin wanted to know. The way she looked at it, she was working from the inside. It was one of the rare things that made Liss angry with her. If you were on the inside, you were on the side of power, or at the very best a useful idiot. Mailin wouldn’t budge: This business of fighting with the police is all about finding a superior power that is strong enough, then challenging it in order to get beaten up, which simply confirms how evil everything is. Time and again Liss demanded that she stop interferring and mind her own business. And yet, no matter what she got up to, she knew Mailin would never let her go.

In the car on the way out to Schiphol she said:

I worry that you’re still doing the same thing as when you sat down in the middle of the road and waited for the police to come charging at you. You find someone who is sufficiently brutal and ruthless, so you can fight and get beaten up.

You’ve never met him, Liss protested.

She’d managed to keep Zako away, but her sister had had a long talk with Rikke. And Mailin didn’t need much to form a picture.

Rikke’ll say just about anything at all, Liss insisted. She’ll do anything for the chance to go to bed with him.

Mailin didn’t say any more. Every week through the autumn they spoke on the phone, but she never asked about Zako or the life Liss was leading in Amsterdam. Probably waiting for Liss to bring it up. Mailin had always waited for her.

What’s to become of you, Liss?

It was quarter past four by the time Liss was finished in the bathroom. She went out without eating. Not that she had any food there anyway. Unlocked the bicycle in a corner behind the basement steps, carried it up and out on to the street. There was a smell of fresh bread from the bakery on the corner. The window was full of cheesecakes, doughnuts and pretzels. For a moment she stopped to inhale the smell, pleased that she didn’t feel tempted to buy something, give in to the need to fill her mouth with something soft and crumbly.

She followed Haarlemmerdijk, turned into Prinsengraacht. After days of rain whipping in from the sea in the north, the December afternoon was still raw, but colder, with light piercing through rifts in the clouds, making the fissures glow with a piercing blueness. The sky changed the whole time, still clearing, and smoke rose from the chimneys of the houseboats along the canal. Suddenly she was filled with a strange exhilaration. She pedalled harder. Could have stopped here, stopped time, frozen this picture of the withered flowers in their pots along the banks of the canal, the bright clouds overhead and the silhouette of Westerkerk forcing its way up into them. One day she might look back on this bike ride, this glimpse of something she was in the middle of yet which was also out of reach for her. But it was hard to see herself ever getting old enough to look back. She had long ago decided that she was made for a short life. Liked to joke about it. Rikke would say she was a melancholic, but that wasn’t true: she never remained in a mood long enough to warrant any particular description. All the same, she had a clear image of her own death. She goes out to the cabin. The only place in Norway she misses. Out in the forest, close to Morr Water. It’s winter. The snow is quite dry; it crackles under her boots. She passes the rock where they used to dive in the summer. Carries on round the bank of the frozen winter water. Turns away, heading down towards the moor. Finds the place where she is to lie down. The sky between the treetops is clear and dark like coloured glass as she lets go and drifts slowly down into the embracing cold… The thought comforted her when she needed it. She had made arrangements with herself about how the end would be. Felt a faint pang of grief at the thought of it. That was where her strength came from.

At Saloon, she dismounted, leaned the bike up against the wall and sat at the table closest to the canal. Several of the letters in the café sign had gone out since the last time she had been there.

Tobi appeared, carrying an empty tray. He bent and allowed himself to be kissed once on each cheek.

– Time for a coffee, he announced.

She could have used a drink, something to bring her down, but she ordered a double espresso and took out her mobile and a packet of Marlboros.

– Saw you on a poster at Nieuwe Zijde, he winked. – Gorgeous.

Rikke arrived in a taxi.

– Can’t sit out here, she shivered. – I’m no fairy snow queen like you.

They found a table inside.

– He doesn’t want me to see you, Rikke confided.

Liss raised her eyebrows. – And what are you going to do about that?

Rikke pulled a menu over. – No way I’m letting myself be controlled like that. There are limits.

– Have you been doing his escort stuff?

Rikke’s mobile gave off a long-drawn-out sigh, downloaded from a site offering tropical animal noises. She read the message and punched in an answer.

– Tried it at the weekend, she said once she was finished. – Arranged a party for these fantastically wealthy businessmen. Quite okay if it hadn’t been for the Russians.

Liss lit up a cigarette and clouded the space between them with smoke.

– Do they expect you to have sex with them?

Rikke thought about it. – No one makes you.

Liss leaned across to her. – I’ve known Zako over a year, she said. – First off he tried to persuade me it was about love and relationships and all that. Nothing was too much trouble for him. It took a while for me to realise what his real game is.

– You’re exaggerating, said Rikke. – He lets you have the choice.

Liss laughed mirthlessly. – As long as it’s the same as his.

– You’re saying that because you’re angry with him.

– Get a grip, Rikke. He’s got you where he wants you. Soon you won’t be able to break out any more. Do you owe him money?

– Not a lot.

– More than a thousand?

Rikke looked round. – Less than ten. I think.

– Christ, you’re so naïve, Liss sighed.

Rikke twisted the remains of her cigarette in the bottom of the ashtray. The sound was like footsteps through wet snow.

– He still talks about you, she said. – Wants you back. Seems completely obsessed.

Two things were obvious to Liss. One was that Rikke was there on behalf of Zako. The other was that every bloody word would be reported back to him. That was why she replied: – I’m sure you’re right about that. Types like Zako get like rabid dogs when someone denies them something they think is rightfully theirs. I had to tell him that I don’t give a shit about his whole act.

Without hesitation she added: – That’s the only language he understands.

3

Friday 12 December

IT WAS COLD in the studio. She’d mentioned it as soon as she arrived, but Wim said it was supposed to be like that. So that her nipples would be stiff under the soft material of the bra. He was well wrapped up in a padded combat jacket.

Liss crossed her legs and leant in towards the camera.

– Not like that, Wim groaned. – It looks like you need a piss.

– That’s exactly what I need, she answered without changing her expression.

– Hold that. Right there, the hip out to the side. Let the bra strap slip down your shoulder… shit, that’s it… nearly.

Her trousers were tossed away over by the wall, but for the third time since arriving she heard the phone vibrating in her pocket. Wim had insisted she turn off the ringtone before they started. A real artist, she thought meanly.

– Hello, Wim yelled. – Planet earth calling Miss Liss. You look totally vacant. Get that hip out to the side, let’s see the elastic of your knickers. Yes, that’s exactly what I told you, not your hip bone, the edge of your knickers, that’s what I want, come over here, yes, arms by your sides, follow me, imagine you’re going to stamp on me, like that, yes. Piss, you said; imagine you’re trampling on me and pissing on me, yes, there’s the look I’ve been waiting for all day. Follow me now, hate me, imagine you’ve got me on the ground, do what you want with me.

She shuddered at the thought of having Wim lying on the floor beneath her. Of him wriggling out of his leather trousers and lying there with his dick in the air. And she was supposed to try to look as if this was an image that would make her feel horny. The only thing she felt was how badly she needed a piss.

– I really just have to have one minute on the toilet, she said, and straightened up.

– Can’t you hold on? You must have a bladder the size of a mouse’s.

He sniggered; he liked to talk about her body, mostly what was inside it. But he was the best she’d worked with. And he wouldn’t start groping her. Even if she never met Zako again, Wim knew he’d get his liver punched up into his throat if he ever tried it on.

She grabbed her jeans, slipped into the toilet and groaned with relief when she was able to open up and let it flow freely. At least three litres.

Afterwards she took the phone out of her pocket. She was startled when it vibrated again, like a little animal that woke at her touch. For the third time that day the unknown number showed up in her display. It started with the Norwegian prefix: 0047. She gave in and answered.

– Liss? This is Viljam.

– Viljam? she said, almost dismissively, even though she knew who he was.

– I’ve never met you, he explained. – But I’m sure Mailin has talked about us.

Of course Mailin had talked about him. They’d been a couple for more than two years. Liss had heard his name mentioned many times but had never taken the trouble to remember it. For some reason or other she didn’t like the thought of her sister living with someone.

– Are you in Amsterdam?

He was well spoken. Liss knew he’d studied law and was about the same age as her.

– Why do you ask? She didn’t want to continue the conversation, but understood there had to be a reason why the guy was calling. Why he’d called three times. The first time at six in the morning. Suddenly she felt a damp chill across her whole body. She looked in the mirror; her pupils were distended. You are not afraid, she thought. You are never afraid, Liss Bjerke.

– Did you call early this morning? Is it about Mailin?

Viljam didn’t answer at first, and that cold chill fastened itself tighter around her. She slumped down on to the toilet seat. She’d had a message from her sister the previous afternoon, one she didn’t understand, or didn’t want to understand. She had deliberately not called back.

– I don’t know, he said finally. – She talked about getting in touch with you yesterday. There was something she wanted to ask about.

– What do you mean?

Liss could hear the anger in her voice. She started to shiver. She didn’t want to hear what was about to be said. Anything else she could stand. Just not this.

– She hasn’t come home, he said. He was still hesitant. – She’s been gone since yesterday evening.

So she’s probably broken up with you, Liss might have said, but Mailin wasn’t like that. Liss could do it, suddenly do a runner if she got fed up with someone, and say nothing. But not Mailin.

– We didn’t quarrel, Viljam said, perhaps guessing the direction of her thoughts. She could hear that he was struggling to keep his voice calm. – We’ve been getting on better than ever.

Liss clicked to the message from her sister the day before. On my way from the cabin. Always think of you when I’m out there. And then, rather cryptically: Keep Midsummer’s Day free next year. Call you tomorrow.

– She was out at the cabin, she said. – She may well have gone back out there.

Liss could see her sister sitting on the cabin steps and looking down towards Morr Water. It was their place, they owned it jointly. Their father had wanted the two of them to have it, and no one else. It was all they had to remind them of him.

– We went out there and looked for her, Viljam answered. – She wasn’t there. She was supposed to be on a TV programme yesterday but never showed up, and no one’s seen her…

Zako is a shit; it flashed through Liss. He can’t have done something like this. I’ll kill him.

– What can I do? she managed to say. – I’m over a thousand miles away.

She fumbled at the keys to cut off the call; she had to find somewhere she could be on her own.

At the other end, her sister’s partner was breathing heavily. – We called the police last night. They asked me to come in and make a statement. I wanted to talk to you first. Find out if she called you. She said she was going to.

The light in the tiny space around Liss changed, began to force its way into things, the mirror, the basin, pulling away from her. – If Mailin disappears, then I disappear too, she murmured.

Wim was using his mobile when she returned. He pointed to a spot below the skylight where he obviously wanted her to pose. She remained standing outside the toilet door, fiddling with her own phone. No calls from Mailin. Just three from her mother she hadn’t answered. She slid down the wall, the rough surface scraping her naked back. Sat there chewing on a cigarette. There were two messages from her mother. She called voicemail. The first: Hi, Liss, it’s Mum. It’s Thursday evening, twenty-three forty-three. Can you ring me as soon as you get this message. It’s important. To the point, as always. But the voice sounded frail. Liss could hardly face listening to the next message, but she had to. It was from this morning. Liss, it’s Mum again. You must call me. It’s about Mailin.

She had bitten straight through the filter. Wim was standing over her, talking. Something about time passing, something about a meter; he wasn’t cheap, and here she sat helping herself to his time as though he was a nigger eunuch. She got dressed and muttered something about an accident. Obviously he believed her, because suddenly he stopped talking and contented himself with a shake of the head.

– Tomorrow you be here clean and focused, he called after her as she disappeared out the door.

The December day was filled to the brim with a cold damp that gusted along Lijnbaansgracht and froze around her, layer upon layer of floating ice. The roads were slippery, but she cycled alongside the canal as fast as she could. A woman wearing a coat and a broad-brimmed hat who stood smoking by the railing of one of the houseboats turned and waved as she rode by. She pedalled harder. Two old men were fishing from a canal bridge. One was wearing a flat hat; he spat in the water. Suddenly she stopped. Leaned the cycle up against the railings and pulled out her phone.

– It’s me. Liss.

A sound at the other end. At first she didn’t understand what it was.

Her mother was crying. Liss had never heard her crying before. She could disconnect now. Knew all she needed to know. That something had happened to Mailin. That something had changed, that things would never be the same again. And deep down, inside all the haziness she didn’t dare to touch, something like relief.

– How long has she been missing? she heard herself ask.

From the disjointed answer she gathered that it was almost twenty-four hours. That fitted with what Mailin’s partner had said.

– What are we going to do, Liss?

Her mother never asked questions like that. At least she never asked her. She was the one who answered them. Told people what was to be done. Always clear headed. Always a step ahead, prepared down to the last detail. Now here she was not even able to speak properly, just repeating the same words over and over again, what are we going to do? what are we going to do?

– I’ll call you later, Liss said, and ended the conversation. It hadn’t been a conversation, but a hole opening up in broad daylight.

She came back to her senses at the sound of a car horn tooting. She cycled along Marnixstraat, the traffic denser now. It was colder; her breath billowed out in a frosty cloud in front of her. She dived into it, out again.

Passing a Jamin shop, she stopped and went in. Avoid speaking to anyone, just get what she needed. No thoughts, following a pattern she had worked out but not used for a while. Bought ice cream. A litre and a half. Pure vanilla. No bits of nut or chocolate. Grabbed a Pepsi Max and a plastic spoon. It was getting dark. She’d been riding round. Been to Vondelpark. Didn’t know what had become of the day. Knew only that it was the end of something. And the start of something else. She bowled along Marnixkade with the Pepsi and the ice cream in a bag. Suddenly she found herself by the flat she had shared with Rikke. An obscure notion to go up and see her, get her to find Zako and trick him into saying what had happened. Find out if he knew anything about Mailin going missing. But Rikke wouldn’t be able to manage a job like that.

She passed the asphalt playground where some boys were playing basketball in the dark. They shouted out to her. How about a ride, then? She carried on out to the point, to the little park with the bench, sank down beneath the pale light of the lamp. She’d sat there many times before. The bench was coated with a layer of ice. The cold seeped up from the ground and into her back. It helped, to be freezing. The frost slowed down her thoughts. She could focus on the metallic jangling that reached her ears every time a car rattled across the joint on the bridge on the far side of the canal. She could let her gaze follow the distant trains that passed on their way to and from Centraal Station.

The picture came again. Mailin in the pale blue pyjamas. She turns and locks the door. Creeping into bed, putting her arms around her. There’s a sound too, it’s part of the picture. Footsteps stopping outside. The latch on the door moving. Knocking that gets louder and louder, becomes beating, and Mailin holding her close and tight. Nothing bad will ever, ever happen to you, Liss.

Abruptly she pulled the box out of the bag, broke open the lid. The ice cream was so hard the spoon snapped. She hacked away at it with the handle, gobbled down the pieces that she worked loose. The cold spread to her stomach too. She got out her lighter and moved it back and forth under the base. Soon she was able to dig out larger chunks of the vanilla-sweet mass. Hungry even as she was eating. It only took a few minutes to get the whole lot down. She squeezed the sides of the empty carton and squashed it into a rubbish bin on the other side of the gravel path. Ducked into the bushes and emptied herself. The taste of vanilla as it ran out of her was still just as strong. She couldn’t vacate herself completely; the remains of something were still down in her stomach somewhere, something she was unable to get up. She rested a while with her forehead against a tree. Maybe it was an oak; the bark was full of sharp ridges she could press herself against.

Her thoughts no longer whirled around in disarray. They began to gather. Separable, one from the next. Mailin gone. Find Mailin, before it’s too late. Zako got someone to take that photo of her… Liss stood up again. Knew what she had to do. She was still freezing. The cold streaming from her stomach kept her thinking calm. She cycled back along Lijnbaansgracht. It had to be past midnight. Houseboat windows all in darkness. A few swans drifting on the black canal.

Dark in his kitchen window too, the one facing Bloemstraat. She could ring him, or send a text message. Decided to wait. Positioned herself in a doorway on the other side. Even colder now. She needed this cold. The thought of Mailin being missing kept slipping away from her. Only the imprint of it remained. Her mother’s voice breaking up. She, Liss, was the one who should have gone missing. Anything could happen to her. The ground beneath her feet was always on the point of giving way. She lived in places where people disappeared. They ran off, or they gave up. If someone had called Mother and told her that her daughter Liss had disappeared it would have grieved her, but the grief would not have been unexpected. She was already half mourned. If something happened to Mailin, it would tear her apart.

An hour, perhaps more, had passed when she heard a motorcycle turn up from the bridge at Prinsengracht. A few seconds later he pulled up outside the entrance. He was alone. She resisted the impulse to race across the street and grab hold of his jacket. Waited till he’d gone in. Waited till the kitchen light went on. Waited a while longer, and then called him.

– What do you want? he asked, not even offering a greeting.

– Was just in the neighbourhood. On my way home. Thought I’d call in.

Zako grunted and ended the call. Two and a half minutes later, she rang the bell. He let her in. The fourth-floor door was ajar. The hallway smelt as though it had been freshly washed. He always got girls to come and clean up for him and never paid them a cent.

She stopped in the middle of the room. He was sitting on the sofa with a can of Amstel in his hand, looked up from the screen where a bunch of footballers were running round yelling at each other. Without waiting to be asked, she sat down. He didn’t bother asking what she was doing in his place. Had obviously taken it for granted that she would show up again.

– I’ve come here because there’s something I need you to tell me. Two weeks ago you showed me that picture, at the Café Alto. Of my sister.

He leaned back in the sofa, put his feet on the table. Finally he turned his gaze to her. The small lips twitched, as though suppressing a smile.

– Your sister, he repeated up into the air.

She might have run out to the kitchen, grabbed a breadknife, held it to his throat, threatened it out of him. She forced herself back to her calmness, the calmness that came from the cold still occupying her empty stomach. Don’t let him get the upper hand now. If Zako gets the upper hand, he’ll never let you go again.

– Have you… any more pictures of her?

– Sure have, he grinned.

– Who took them?

He whistled between his teeth.

– You don’t want to know that, Liss. You want to know as little as possible.

– You’re bluffing me, Zako. You’ve always been like that. Want people to believe you know everything.

He jerked slightly. – I can hear you haven’t had it for a while. Is that why you’re here?

– Could be. She acted as though she was thinking it over. – But first you’ve got to tell me about those pictures.

He sat up and dug a packet out of his jacket pocket. – A line each. And we’ll make things good again.

She forced a smile. A line and a fuck. How simple the world could be. She took off her jacket and pullover. Let the skirt drop, stood there in black tights and a thin blouse, knew he liked to see her like that.

– You’re as stubborn as a goat, he growled.

– Didn’t know you had anything against goats.

Now he laughed.

– Who took that picture? she tried again.

– Someone I know. He sprinkled the white power on to the glass table. – Someone who owed me a favour.

– Does he live in Oslo?

He made three lines with a Visa card. – Nope.

A word he usually used when he was lying.

– Why do you send people to Oslo to take pictures of my sister?

He glanced up at her. – Is this an interrogation?

– I don’t believe you, Mr Bluff.

He took a note from his cardholder, rolled it into a cylinder. – It’s up to you what you believe.

– Give me some proof that you got someone to take those pictures and I’ll never doubt you again.

He looked at her for a long time. She could have screamed it out now, that Mailin had gone missing, that he had to tell her what he knew, otherwise she’d report him. Instead she closed her eyes, shook her head, acting exasperated.

– You always have these big plans, Zako. Why should I believe you’ll ever amount to anything?

He stood up suddenly, took out his phone. Punched a key and held it up for her.

– The pictures were sent to me from Oslo. Understand? I mean what I say.

Liss turned towards the window, bit her lip. I know him well, she told herself again. He could go to great lengths to make her feel insecure. But abduct Mailin?… What did she actually know about him? Did she in fact understand anything of what went on around her? Had she ever understood anything of this world she was living in? This picture: go out into the forest, it’s night, lie down in the snow, look up at the sky between the tops of the fir trees, glide into the grey-black, give up and sleep for ever.

– Why did you do it? she asked without turning round.

She heard Zako put his beer bottle down on the glass table. – You need me, Liss, he said, almost friendly. – Fuck, think what we could do together, the two of us.

He snorted. Twice.

– The third one is yours.

She sat down beside him. Picked up the note and breathed in, saw how the last grains got sucked in, felt the burning high up in her nostrils. Clear your thoughts, she told herself. Stay calm a little longer.

Zako took hold of her hand and pushed it down towards his flies. She could feel the movement beneath the smooth material of the trousers. Like pastry swelling, she thought.

– I need to go to the toilet.

– Be quick, he growled. – And bring me an Amstel from the fridge.

She dried herself and flushed, let the cold tap run, put both hands there and held them under. – Liss, she murmured to herself. It sounded sad. Same sound as in missing. Occasionally the kids at school would call after her: Liss, Liss, piss, piss.

She opened the cupboard above the basin. In an envelope she found dozens of small light blue pills. She tore off a sheet of toilet paper, wrapped six of them inside, picked up the tumbler with the toothbrush and toothpaste in and pressed the base of it against the pills, ground them into a fine powder against the basin, packed it inside the paper. In the kitchen she took a beer and opened it. Emptied the powder into it, cleaned off the grains that clung to the neck of the bottle. Shook it carefully.

– What’s keeping you?

She slipped back into the living room, put the bottle down on the table in front of him.

– This game is shit. He scowled at the screen.

– Feel like one too, she said and fetched another Amstel from the kitchen, sat down close to him. He opened his flies and showed her what he had to offer.

– Cheers, she said, and pressed the ice-cold bottle against the strutting penis.

– Think doing that’ll make it collapse, he grinned as he picked up his own bottle and half emptied it in one swig. Within a few minutes his head began to droop. He pulled at the top of her tights, tried to get them down past her thighs.

– Let me help you, she said and slowly peeled them off. Then she unbuttoned her blouse. Stood in front of him wearing nothing but her G-string. He lifted his arm to take it off.

– What’s going on? he mumbled, and had to give up, sank back down into the sofa, eyes closed.

She picked up his phone, unlocked it, navigated to the photos of Mailin. In the first one she was on her way out of a gate. There was someone with her, a guy she presumed was Viljam. He was tall and well built, fair haired and with slightly slanted eyes. Then a series of eleven other pictures, including the one Zako had shown her at the Café Alto. The same fair-haired guy was in a couple of these two. The photos had been sent from a number that began with 0047. Funny that Zako didn’t delete the message, she thought. If he really had put someone on Mailin’s trail, he probably wouldn’t leave their number on his phone. Zako was a shit, but he wasn’t an idiot. She noted the number down on a newspaper lying on the table, ripped off the strip, put it in her jacket pocket, pulled it out again, wrote down the date the message was sent. Quickly searched the drawers in his desk. In the bottom one she found what she was looking for: the photo of Mailin. She stuffed this into her jacket pocket too, didn’t find any more that had been printed out.

She pulled her clothes on as fast as she could. Zako was lying with his head against the arm of the sofa. She grabbed him under the arms and pulled him into a position that looked a bit safer. She took the almost empty bottle out to the kitchen, poured away the remains and rinsed it thoroughly. No need for him to wake up and find out what had happened. She rinsed her own out too and then dried it. Why? she asked herself without bothering to look for an answer.

Zako was still slumped like a sack on the sofa, snoring. Before leaving, she lifted his head backwards, put his tackle back inside his trousers and zipped up his flies.

Back in the flat in Haarlemmerdijk. Still high. It would soon pass. She had some coke in an envelope in her bedside table. Take it now, hang on to this feeling of being invulnerable, make it last. She was alone. It was night. Silent in the street below. Mailin was missing. You must come down, Liss.

She sat down at her computer. Googled the Norwegian telephone directory and ran a search for the number she’d noted down on the strip of newspaper. Judith van Ravens was the name that came up. An address in Ekeberg Way in Oslo. It was now 2.30. She decided not to call until morning. Pulled her clothes off in two movements, dropped them to the floor and curled up in the bed.

She’s at the cabin. Mailin is there too. They walk down to the water. It’s summer; they’ve both got bathing towels with them. Liss runs up on to the rock she usually dives off. The water’s very deep there. As she’s about to dive in, she notices the water is covered in ice.

She woke up cold. A grey, muted light crept in through the window facing the back yard. She picked up her phone. Had slept for twelve hours. Sat upright with a jerk. Thirsty. Staggered out to the bathroom, put her mouth under the tap, took a long drink. Sank down on to the toilet, let it all run out again. Sat there looking at her face in the mirror. – Mailin, she murmured. I’ll look after you, Liss.

Afterwards, she rang Viljam. Certain for a moment that everything was as it should be, that her sister had come back.

She had not come back.

– She’s been missing for almost forty-eight hours.

– What is everyone doing? Liss wailed. – The police?

– They’ve put out a missing persons report. They’ve been here a couple of times. And I’ve been down to talk to the crime response unit. They keep on and on asking if we had a quarrel and all that kind of stuff. If she was depressed and had talked about killing herself.

– Mailin kill herself?

– None of us believe anything like that.

– But somebody has to do something!

– It doesn’t look as if they have any leads to go on. Tage and I went to the cabin at Morr Water. The police have been out there too. That’s all I know.

Liss stood looking down on Haarlemmerdijk. The café owner on the other side was hanging a Christmas decoration above the entrance. – Someone has to do something, she repeated. Said it aloud. Stood there without moving. Remembered just then about the telephone number.

She reached an answering service, a woman’s voice speaking in Dutch and then English: This is Judith van Raven’s telephone, please leave a message…

She showered. Dressed. Put on her make-up. Everything she normally did. Ran down the stairs and let herself out, cut across the street and into the café. From the top of a rickety stepladder the owner beamed at her. He looked to be somewhere in his fifties, with a pink dome framed by a pretzel-shaped rim of grey curls. The steps were up on a table, and a ghostly blonde wearing black was holding them while he hung gold and silver balls from the ceiling. There was music coming from behind the bar. It’s gonna be a cold, cold Christmas.

She ordered a double espresso and sat by the window. By the time it was finished, she had made up her mind. Ring Zako. Meet him one last time. Ask him straight out if he knew that Mailin was missing. She’d be able to tell if he was lying to her.

She called his number. It rang four times, five times. A deep male voice answered.

– Is Zako there?

– Who’s calling? the voice asked.

She hesitated before saying: – A friend.

– A friend? What is your business with him?

– I asked to speak to Zako, she exclaimed. – Is he there?

– Zako is dead.

She almost dropped her phone. – Don’t mess me about. Who the hell are you?

– Detective Inspector Wouters. Will you please answer the question I asked you?

She couldn’t remember what he had asked her. Out in Haarlemmerdijk the lights were being turned on. The six-pointed star with the red heart inside. A cyclist went by. A man with a child on a seat in front of him.

The voice on the phone: – When was the last time you saw Zako?

From very far away she heard her own answer: – A few days ago. Maybe a week.

There were more questions. About her relationship to him. About the drugs he used. If they had taken drugs together. She had to provide her full name and address. Tell him what she did in Amsterdam.

– We may need you to come in for a further talk with us.

– Of course, she muttered. – I’ll come in.

Afterwards she sat and stared at her phone. The skin around her mouth prickled. The sensation spread up into her cheeks.

The proprietor of the café had hung up all his balls and surrounded them with green garlands. He tottered down the rickety stepladder, gave her a smile. – There now. Now Christmas can come.

From the bar came the sound of John Lennon’s voice: War is over, if you want it. She felt her nose running. Fumbled out a handkerchief. When she took it away, it was full of blood. She pressed it to her nose again, hurried to the toilet.

– Everything all right? the proprietor asked as she passed him.

She locked the door. Held the handkerchief under the ice-cold water, used it to press her nostrils together. The diluted blood ran down over her chin and dripped on to the white porcelain.

Back at her table, she called Rikke. Rikke answered, but couldn’t get a word out.

– It’s not true, is it? Liss wailed. – Please tell me it isn’t true.

Rikke ended the call.

A few minutes later she called back.

– They found him this morning… two of his cousins… On the sofa… choked on his own vomit.

Then she was gone again. Liss pushed a note under her coffee cup and struggled out into the street.

The picture appeared again as she hurried along through the streets of Jordaan: disappear into the forest, down to the spot by the marsh, between the pines, a place only she, not even Mailin, knew about. For as long as she could remember she had thought of it as the last place, and it always used to calm her down to think of it. Nothing could calm her down now.

At Haarlemmerplein she hailed a taxi. Huddled up in the back seat. The driver was shaven headed and wearing a grey suit, reeked of a type of aftershave Zako sometimes used. She grabbed the door handle to get out again.

– Where does the young lady want taking to?

She slumped back. Thought she’d told him where she was going.

– Schiphol, she murmured, and pulled the thin leather jacket around herself.

The taxi driver turned again, winked at her in the mirror. – Travelling light, he observed as he offered her a cigarette.

AS I WRITE this, I think of all the things I would have said to you, dear Liss, if only you had let me tell you. Everything that happened that spring.And how I got through that summer, how I found myself on Crete in the autumn, under a different sun, but with the same black light shining inside me. Among people gorging themselves, drinking, coupling. They argued and vomited and left the kids to look after themselves. That’s where I got to know Jo. In the evening I sat and read on the terrace outside the restaurant, the same poem over and over again, by the light of a candle. It’s about the end time, I think, or at least it felt to me as though it was about my end time; roaming through a waste land, no water, no meaning, blindness, emptiness, death. What are you reading? Jo asked when he came up to me. He was suspicious, as he no doubt was of everyone he met; what he needed more than anyone else was someone he could trust. I told him about the poem, recited the section called ‘Death by Water’, told him about the image of the dead Phoenician at the bottom of the sea.

Jo was twelve years old and left completely on his own. He knew what I felt like.