Death In Oslo

VII

Little Ragnhild had fallen asleep in the car. Johanne drove past an empty parking place just by the gate in the low stone wall. A block further down, in Lille Frogner Allé, she found another one and slipped into the space vacated by a lorry with a broken exhaust pipe. Ragnhild whimpered a bit as she braked, but didn’t wake up.

Johanne felt sure and unsure at the same time.

She would be welcome here. She knew that. The flat was pervaded by a peculiar atmosphere of friendliness and isolation, like a sun-soaked island that lies far from the shore. The family generally seemed to stay at home. The funny old housekeeper in fact never went out, and Johanne was sure she had heard groceries and goods being delivered to the door. She had been there quite often over the past six months, every third week or so. To begin with, she came because she needed help. But then gradually her visits to Krusesgate became a pleasant habit. The flat and everyone in it was hers, and hers alone, an oasis, somewhere without Adam and the rest of the family. The housekeeper always looked after Ragnhild and the two women were left in peace.

They sat there and talked openly and sincerely, like two old friends.

Johanne had never felt anything other than welcome. And yet she hesitated. She could leave the bags in the car. That way she wouldn’t seem so obtrusive. Maybe she should test the waters first. Act as if she was just dropping by and see how the land lay. If it was appropriate. If it was all right to turn up with a baby in tow looking for refuge with someone she had only recently got to know.

Johanne made a snap decision.

She turned off the engine and took out the ignition key. Ragnhild woke up, as she always did when it suddenly went quiet. She was delighted when her mother got her out of the child seat.

‘Agni sthleep,’ she piped happily as she was picked up.

Johanne walked briskly along the stone wall, in through the gate and up to the front door. She looked up at the top floor. The curtains in the sitting room were half drawn. No lights were on; after all, it was the middle of the day. The large oak trees cast sharp shadows on the asphalt, and as she approached the building she was blinded for a moment by the flashing reflection of the sun in one of the windows.

She took the lift up and rang the doorbell without any hesitation.

It was a long time before anyone came. Finally Johanne heard someone rattling with the security locks. The door opened.

‘Well, if it’s no’ my wee darlin’!’

The housekeeper didn’t even say hallo to Johanne. She picked Ragnhild up in a firm grasp and sat her on her hip while she babbled away. The little girl reached up and grabbed the necklace of extremely large colourful wooden beads that the housekeeper was wearing. Mary then limped into the kitchen and closed the door, still without having said a word to Johanne.

The wall at the end of the hall was glass. The woman in the wheelchair had come out of the sitting room, and was now a black silhouette against the sunlight that streamed in through the bare window panes.

‘Hi,’ Johanne said.

‘Hello,’ said the other woman, and rolled her chair nearer.

‘Is it all right if I stay here for a while?’

‘Yes, come in.’

‘I mean,’ Johanne swallowed, ‘can I… Could Ragnhild and I… could we stay here… for a few days only?’

The woman came closer. Her wheels squeaked slightly, but it was perhaps only the rubber against the parquet. Her fingers fumbled on a panel on the wall and then there was a low humming sound as the curtains closed in front of the window and the hall darkened into a comforting half-light.

‘Of course you can,’ she said. ‘Come in. Shut the door.’

‘Just for a couple of days.’

‘You’re always welcome here.’

‘Thank you.’ Johanne felt something catch in her throat and she didn’t move. The woman in the wheelchair came even closer and held out her hand.

‘I take it no one’s died,’ she said calmly. ‘Because then you wouldn’t have come here.’

‘No one’s died,’ Johanne sobbed. ‘No one has died.’

‘You can stay as long as you like,’ the woman said. ‘But first you should come in and shut the door. I’m quite hungry, so I’d thought of getting something to eat.’

Hanne Wilhelmsen retracted her hand, turned the wheelchair round and steered slowly towards the kitchen, from where they could hear Ragnhild’s bubbling, happy laugh.