Splinter

40

Two minutes later, after Emma had narrowly escaped being shot because she hadn’t wanted to wait outside the door any longer, and after all three had calmed down a little, they were standing in the living room beside a long, handcrafted oak dining table. The fruit bowl on it was piled high with bananas, apples and grapes. Marc could detect no dust or glass rings on the freshly polished surface. Leana, the psychiatric nurse, had been telling the truth: Benny really had turned over a new leaf. His kid brother, who had been permanently broke and given to sleeping amid a clutter of pizza boxes and empty cans of Red Bull, seemed to have adopted a vitamin-rich diet and acquired a cleaning woman. Or a girlfriend, which was even more inconceivable. The only reminder of his former lifestyle was the stale air pervading his top-floor flat. It harboured a curious, rather cloying smell suggestive of windows long unopened or garbage that urgently needed taking outside.

Benny, who had pocketed the pistol, glanced nervously at his watch. ‘What do you want?’ he asked uncertainly, blinking as if someone had thrown sand in his eyes. The lids were puffy and he seemed totally stressed.

‘I need some information, Benny.’

‘What sort of information?’

‘You’ve got to check a licence-plate number for me.’

Benny blew out his lips incredulously and gave a forced laugh.

‘In the middle of the night? Are you crazy?’

Marc nodded. ‘Believe it or not, that’s precisely why I’m here: to find out if I am.’

He helped himself to an apple. Although he hadn’t eaten all day, he didn’t feel hungry in the least and put it back.

‘Well…’ Benny glanced at the window. ‘If you want my honest opinion, your fat girlfriend over there certainly has a screw loose.’

Emma had left them and gone over to the living-room window, where she was feeling the heavy linen curtain with one hand as if checking the quality of the material. The other hand was holding her mobile, into which she was whispering. The brothers could only catch snatches of what she was saying.

‘I’m now… Benjamin Lucas’s flat… near Kollwitz… fifth floor…’

‘What on earth is she doing?’

‘Leaving a message on her mobile.’

‘Huh?’

‘Forget it. It isn’t important.’

Marc prefaced his summary of the previous few hours by asking if Benny had heard about the car accident. Benny’s only response was an indifferent shrug. His resentment showed through for the first time, although he seemed to find it an effort to inject some indignation into his voice. ‘I’m sorry. As you’re probably aware, I was in a psychiatric hospital until recently. You don’t get to hear much about the outside world in there.’

He pulled up a chair. His reproachful undertone had gone the next time he spoke. ‘Look, I’m really sorry about Sandra, but I knew nothing about her death – I didn’t even know she was pregnant. It must be hell for you, Marc, but right now I’ve got other worries, honestly.’

‘Lovely,’ they heard Emma mutter to herself, and turned to look.

She had left the window and was examining an unframed canvas hanging just above the leather sofa.

‘I’d like to be there too.’ She went closer and bent over with her hands clasped behind her back like someone in a gallery trying to decipher an artist’s signature.

I’d like to be there too? Where?

The picture was a big white expanse with isolated patches of beige, coarse-grained canvas showing through it. From a distance it looked as if it had been sprayed with frothy milk.

‘Let me give you a brief account of all that’s happened to me today,’ Marc began, only to be interrupted once more.

‘Did you paint this?’ Emma asked.

To his boundless surprise, those few words of hers seemed to monopolize his brother’s attention. Benny went over to her. ‘Yes,’ he said, nodding wearily.

Yes? Marc was familiar with his brother’s passion for art. In the old days, Benny had even ventured to produce some roughs for the sleeve of their demo CD, though they’d had been far less abstract than this.

‘It’s wonderful. That house…’ Emma indicated the pallid expanse. ‘The deserted forest…’

House? Forest? thought Marc. He went over and peered at it. True, there seemed to be something indistinct in the background. The picture was on two planes, but he couldn’t make out a building of any kind. An ice-bound, snowy wasteland or a cloudscape at most, and even then with a lot of imagination.

‘Benny,’ Marc said, trying to pick up the thread again, ‘will you listen a minute?’

Although his brother nodded, he seemed to be as wholly engrossed in the painting as Emma. Marc launched into his account of the traumatic experiences he’d undergone in the last few hours, uncertain whether anyone in the room was listening to him. He was all the more surprised when Benny, having torn himself away from his handiwork, produced a complete and accurate summary of what he’d been told.

‘Well, if I’ve understood you correctly, it’s like this: having got me committed to that loony bin, you turn up here and announce that Sandra and her baby have died in a car crash. Someone has wiped your memory of the event and your wife has resurrected herself, the only evidence of that being a fuzzy photograph of a blonde sitting in a yellow Volvo. And now you need the address that matches the licence plate, right?’

Marc nodded. ‘B – Q 1371.’

Benny was about to go on when they heard a rhythmical humming sound that vaguely reminded Marc of his doorbell. Benny took his mobile from his jeans pocket, checked the incoming text message and grimaced as if he’d just extracted a filling with some chewing gum.

‘What is it?’

Puzzled, Marc watched his brother go over to a TV cabinet. He opened it and took out a brand-new, half-open sports bag. Marc wasn’t sure, but he thought he glimpsed a wad of banknotes before Benny zipped it up.

‘Who’s texting you at this time of night?

Benny stared at him blankly and put the bag on his shoulder. ‘We have to go,’ he said. He stopped short. ‘Where’s she gone?’

Marc didn’t know what he meant for a moment. Then he, too, saw that Emma wasn’t standing in front of the picture any more.

She wasn’t in the room at all.

‘No idea,’ he said, glancing at the living-room door.

Hadn’t it been ajar just now?

He knew the answer even before Emma started screaming outside in the passage.