Stalker

47

Jackie and Madeleine are sitting together on the sofa eating popcorn while Erik tries to play his étude.

Madeleine says he’s very good every time he makes a mistake. She’s tired and her yawns are getting bigger and bigger.

Jackie tries to explain the quaver rests and the rhythmic pattern, and gets up and puts her right hand on top of his.

She asks him to start from the twenty-second bar with his left hand, then she suddenly falls silent, goes back to her daughter, and listens to her breathing.

‘Could you manage to carry her to bed?’ she asks. ‘My elbow isn’t up to it.’

Erik gets up from the piano and picks the child up. Jackie walks ahead of them, opens the door to the girl’s room, turns the light out and pulls the covers back for Erik.

Erik carefully lays Madeleine down on her bed, and brushes the hair from her face.

Jackie tucks her daughter in and kisses her on the cheek, whispers something in her ear, and turns on the little pink nightlight on the bedside table.

Only now does Erik see that the walls of the child’s bedroom are covered in rude words, curses and obscenities.

Some of the words are written in childish scribble in chalk, misspelled, whereas others are written in more confident handwriting. Erik presumes Madeleine must have been doing this for several years. Her mother is the only person unable to see what she’s done.

‘What is it?’ Jackie says, noticing his silence.

‘Nothing,’ he says, closing the door gently behind him.

As they walk through the hall, Erik wonders if he should tell Jackie about what he saw, or just let it go.

‘Should I leave?’ Erik asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Jackie replies.

She holds out her hands and feels his face, stroking his cheeks and chin.

‘I’m just going to get some water,’ she says hoarsely, then goes into the kitchen and opens a cupboard.

He helps her, standing close to her, filling the glass and passing it to her. She drinks, and then he kisses her cool mouth before she has time to wipe her chin.

They embrace, she stands on tiptoe and they kiss each other deeply, foreheads bumping together.

Erik’s hands slide over her back and hips. The fabric of her skirt has a peculiar texture, and rustles like thin paper.

She pulls away slightly, turns her face and puts one hand on his chest.

‘We don’t have to,’ he says to her.

She shakes her head and puts her hand behind his neck again, pulls him to her, kisses his neck, fumbles with the buttons of his trousers, then stops herself.

‘Are the curtains closed?’ she whispers.

‘Yes.’

She goes to the door and listens for any sound in the corridor, then closes it carefully.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t do this here, not now.’

‘OK,’ he says.

She stands with her back to the draining board, one hand on the counter, her mouth half-open.

‘Can you see me?’ she asks, taking her dark glasses off.

‘Yes,’ Erik replies.

Her clothes are disordered, her blouse hanging outside her skirt, and her short hair is rather messed up.

‘Sorry, I’m being difficult.’

‘There’s no rush,’ Erik mumbles, and walks up to her, takes hold of her shoulders and kisses her again.

‘Let’s take our clothes off. Shall we?’ she whispers.

They get undressed in the kitchen, and Jackie starts talking slowly about a radio report she heard about the persecution of Christians in Iraq.

‘Now France is offering asylum to all of them,’ she smiles.

He unbuttons his trousers and looks at her as she lays item after item on the chair, and undoes her bra.

Completely naked, Erik goes and stands beside her, thinking that he feels oddly natural. He doesn’t even try to hold his stomach in.

Jackie’s teeth glisten in the faint light as she pulls her underpants down, wriggles her legs and lets them fall.

‘I’m not a shy person,’ she says quietly.

Her nipples are pale brown, and in the darkness she looks luminous. A marbled tracery of veins is faintly visible beneath her pale skin. Her dark pubic hair makes her inner thighs look fragile.

Erik takes her outstretched hand and kisses her. She backs into the chair and sits down. He leans forward, kisses her on the lips again, then kneels down and kisses her breasts and stomach. He pulls her carefully to the edge of the chair and parts her legs. Her folded clothes fall to the floor.

She’s already wet, and tastes of warm sugar to Erik. Her thighs quiver against his cheeks and her breathing grows heavier.

The salt cellar topples over on the table and rolls in a semi-circle.

She holds his head between her legs, gasping faster, the chair slides backwards and she slips gently on to the floor with a smile.

‘I’m not sure I’m any good at relationships,’ she says, resting the back of her head uncomfortably against the seat of the chair.

‘I’m just a pupil,’ he whispers.

She rolls over on to her stomach and starts to crawl under the table. He follows her and grabs hold of her behind just as she rolls on to her back.

She pulls him gently to her, between her thighs, hears him hit his head on the table and feels the heat of his bare skin against hers.

Jackie holds his back hard and gasps for breath as he slowly slides into her and then pauses.

‘Don’t stop,’ she whispers.

Her heart is pounding and the torrent of thoughts has finally fallen silent. She moves her hips, presses herself towards him and feels the silky heat from her crotch.

The hard floor disappears behind her, her thighs tremble and stretch, and Erik moves faster. She tenses her buttocks and toes and whimpers against his shoulder as her orgasm pulsates through her body.

Erik wakes up in the darkness to the sound of gentle piano music. It sounds strangely muted, like a piano buried under the ground. At first he thinks he’s dreaming. He reaches out his hand but can’t feel Jackie. Moonlight filters through the fabric of the curtains, casting strange, long shadows across the room. With a shiver he creeps out of bed and into the flat. Jackie is sitting naked on the piano stool in the living room. She’s placed a thin blanket over the piano to muffle the sound.

Through the gloom he sees her body swaying gently, her hands seem to be slipping through water. Her bare feet move over the brass pedals. She is sitting on the edge of the stool, and he can see her slender waist and the shadowy groove down the centre of her upright back.

‘Nam et si ambulavero in medio umbrae mortis,’ she murmurs to herself.

He thinks she knows that he’s there, but she still plays to the end of the piece before turning towards him.

‘The neighbours have complained,’ she says quietly. ‘But I need to learn a fairly hard piece for a wedding tomorrow.’

‘It sounded wonderful.’

‘Go back to bed,’ she whispers.

He returns to the bed and is just about to fall asleep when he finds himself thinking of Björn Kern. The police still don’t know that the dead woman was sitting with her hand to her ear. The thought snaps Erik awake when he realises that he could be hindering the police investigation.

After an hour the music falls silent and Jackie comes back to the bedroom. It’s already light outside by the time he falls asleep again.

In the morning the bed is empty. Erik goes to the bathroom, showers, then gets dressed. When he emerges he can hear Jackie and Madeleine in the kitchen.

He walks in and gets a cup of coffee. Madeleine is eating breakfast cereal with milk and fresh raspberries.

Jackie explains that she has to be in Adolf Fredrik Church in a little while to rehearse for the wedding.

As soon as she leaves the kitchen to get changed, Madeleine puts her spoon down and turns towards Erik.

‘Mum says you carried me to bed,’ she says.

‘She asked me to help her.’

‘Was it dark in my room?’ she asks, looking at him with bottomless eyes.

‘I haven’t said anything to your mum… that would be better coming from you.’

The girl shakes her head, and tears start to run down her cheeks.

‘It’s not as bad as you think,’ Erik says.

‘Mum will be really sad,’ she hiccoughs.

‘It’ll be all right.’

‘I don’t know why I have to ruin everything,’ she sobs.

‘You don’t.’

‘Yes I do, I can’t get rid of that,’ she says, wiping her cheeks.

‘I did far worse things…’

‘No,’ she sobs.

‘Maddy, it’s not a problem… Listen, now,’ he says. ‘We can… Why don’t you and I paint your walls?’

‘Can you do that?’

‘Yes.’

She looks at him with a trembling chin and nods several times.

‘What colour would you like?’

‘Blue… blue, like Mum’s nightie,’ she smiles.

‘Is that light blue?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Jackie asks.

She’s standing in the doorway, already dressed in her black skirt and jacket, a pale pink blouse, round sunglasses and pink lipstick.

‘Maddy thinks it’s time to repaint her room, and I said I’d be happy to help.’

‘OK,’ Jackie says, with a slightly bemused expression.