Hell Fire

11 December 2004

Bonnie was due to go to Kristine that morning, but she went to the office first to talk to Ragnhild. She handed over the receipt for the bedding she had bought for Ingemar, and Ragnhild promised to have the money transferred. They sat for some time talking about the situation; Ragnhild had been in contact with the family and they seemed to understand how serious it was.

“We’ll try to find a quick solution,” she promised, “because it can’t go on like this. Who’s first on your list today?”

“Kristine.”

“Grit your teeth.”

Kristine lived in Reistad with her husband and two children. The house was luxurious and well positioned, with a big double garage and pillars by the front door with decorative hop vines climbing up them. There was an iron horseshoe under the nameplate. Every time Bonnie went there, she was struck by all the wealth, which was so unlike her own world. She went up to the door — a carved oak door — and when she put her finger on the bell, she heard a quiet ding-dong inside. She opened the door and went in, standing for a moment in the hall. It was almost as big as her living room. The stone floors were covered with what Kristine had told her were Persian Hamadan rugs. Bonnie didn’t really know what that meant; she had a rug from IKEA with a deep pepper-colored shag that cost nine hundred kroner. No doubt knotted by children with tiny fingers.

She went upstairs to the main floor and found Kristine and the children in the kitchen. The children, who were eight and nine, were eating sandwiches. They both suffered from allergies and were oversensitive in every way to food and pollen and dust — and animals, of course. So it was Bonnie’s job to keep the dust at bay. Kristine was only thirty-two, but she had still been given a home health aide for an indefinite period. Following a visit to a chiropractor, she had suffered temporary paralysis in her legs and she moved slowly and with great difficulty around the huge house. She couldn’t do housework, so she spent most of her time making food that Thomas and Tale could eat. She was a flight attendant for Scandinavian Airlines and her husband was a pilot.

“Daddy’s in Bangkok,” Thomas told her.

“How exciting,” Bonnie replied. “Maybe he’ll bring you back a present; I’m sure you’d like that.”

“When you’ve eaten, you can go and tidy your rooms,” Kristine said.

“The home health aide can do that,” Tale said, chewing her chocolate spread sandwich.

Her mother didn’t correct her. Bonnie went into the little girl’s room and stood there, gathering her thoughts and her energy. Tale had hoards of cuddly toys on her bed. Bonnie had once counted them and there were nineteen in all, big and small. She thought about the one teddy bear she had given Simon. She got the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard and set to work. When she had finished, she went into Thomas’s room. There were no cuddly toys here, but he had shelves and shelves of model planes, cars, and ships that his father had bought him on his long journeys. When she was finished there, she put the vacuum cleaner away and went back to the kitchen.

“I’ve thought of something,” Kristine said. She was standing by the countertop, hands on her hips. “Maybe we could go through the bookshelves today; I’ve had an idea.”

Bonnie accepted the order without saying anything.

“All the books have got covers,” Kristine explained, “and as a rule they’re pretty awful. But underneath they’re faux leather — some are even real leather — and they’re mostly black or red. So if you take down all the books, take off the covers, and then put them back according to colors, that would be rather smart, wouldn’t it?”

Bonnie nodded mechanically. As so often before, she thought that it wasn’t strictly speaking a job for the home health aide, but she always went that little bit further for her clients. And who knows, sorting the books might be nicer than cleaning the floor. Even though that was probably what she should be doing, given all their allergies. She went into the spacious living room and looked at the bookshelves. They were also made of oak, three of them along one wall, and they were relatively low. At least she wouldn’t need to stand on a chair. She took all the books out of the shelves. The Price of Love, she read, and Hunger of the Heart. Death of a Swallow and Rebecca’s Choice. Bonnie stacked the books in piles on the floor, not too high as she was scared they might topple over. It was better to have a good system, just in case. Her back got tired from bending over to reach the lowest shelves, and sometimes she got down on her knees. She could hear the children quarreling in the kitchen. She continued taking the books out, and when the shelves were empty, she went to get the polish for the shelves. Just like Kristine had said, most of the spines were either black or red. There were a few brown and green too, which she put back on the bottom shelves. Then the black ones and finally the red books on top. She worked slowly and systematically, putting the books back one by one. All the covers lay in a big heap on the floor. Kristine came in when she was almost done. She had a black garbage bag with her and asked if Bonnie could go down and throw it all away in the garbage can by the road. She stepped back and admired the shelves from a distance, pointing with a red-polished fingernail.

“Super.”

Afterward Bonnie drove to the By the Way Café, where she bought a cheese-and-ham roll and a cup of coffee. She sat at a table by the window and planned the evening in her mind. Britt, who had been such a good friend over the past few years — especially since she had been alone with Simon — was coming to visit and she was looking forward to it. Whenever she visited, they sat for hours chatting; and once Simon had gone to sleep, they would swap secrets. She watched the traffic outside as she ate her roll. There were a lot of trucks. Rows of tractor trailers were always parked outside By the Way, many of them foreign: from Germany and Poland, the Netherlands and Denmark. When she had finished, she got up from the table and drove over to Gjertrud’s.

Gjertrud was the highlight of the week. The kind-hearted old lady made Bonnie’s job worthwhile, despite all the other hard work. She was by no means her oldest client: Jørgen was one hundred and one, whereas Gjertrud had just turned eighty-five. She was bright and lively for her age but suffered terribly from arthritis; her fingers were bent like claws and she was in a lot of pain. But she never complained. When she stood in the doorway and greeted Bonnie, her face lit up. Her white hair looked unkempt and Bonnie decided to do it for her today. They sat for a while in the comfortable armchairs in her living room, and Gjertrud raised a glass of eau de vie and took a sip.

“I have a little glass every day,” she said. “Do you think that matters?”

“No,” Bonnie replied firmly. “I’m sure it’s good for you.”

The old woman smiled gratefully. She only just managed to hold the glass with her arthritic fingers. Bonnie leaned back in the chair. All she wanted to do was close her eyes, but she knew that she couldn’t because then she would fall asleep. Still she allowed herself a few moments of peace and quiet.

“Well, I better get started,” she said and pushed herself up.

“No, sit awhile longer,” Gjertrud protested. “It’s so nice to have some company, and you’re not much company when you’re busy washing — all I can see is your behind.”

Bonnie burst out laughing. They both laughed, and outside the old house the snow fell silently. Gjertrud’s cat was lying in front of the stove.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Bonnie asked. “Have you got people coming?”

“I’m going to Edith’s next door. She helps me with everything, with shopping and the mail.”

Gjertrud didn’t have any children and Bonnie had never asked why; it was none of her business. She knew the old woman had been widowed early and had lived alone for many years. She only had the white cat and worried whenever he went out for a prowl because there was a lot of traffic on the road. Eventually Bonnie got up and went to look for the bucket. But Gjertrud wasn’t concerned about the dust; she was simply glad that Bonnie came once a week. When she had finished cleaning, Bonnie helped the old woman into the bathroom, sat her down in a chair, and washed her soft white hair in the sink. Gjertrud had to sit with her back to the sink and tilt her head over the edge, which was not a good position for an old body. So Bonnie worked as quickly as she could. She rinsed her hair well and dried it with a towel, and then they went into the kitchen for the rollers. Gjertrud’s lovely white hair was very thin, so Bonnie tried not to roll it too tight. When it was done, she put a thin scarf over the rollers and tied it at the neck.

“My messy little friend,” Bonnie said affectionately. “You’ll be beautiful now.”

When she finally got ready to leave, they stood out in the hall and Gjertrud put a trembling hand on her shoulder.

“You are coming back, aren’t you?” she said hopefully. Her eyes were watery.

“Of course I am,” Bonnie said. “I’ll be back next week.”

She opened the door and the cold blasted in. The cat ran past them, wanting to get out.