The Drowned Boy

23

Afterward Nicolai drove back home to Granfoss in the blue Golf. He found Carmen in the kitchen. She was cutting up some meat; her movements were fast and efficient and the knife was sharp. She was wearing a denim miniskirt and a pink T-shirt with writing across the front: I HAVE THE PUSSY, SO I’M IN CHARGE.

She turned and looked at him, standing expectantly with the knife in her hand.

“Well, what did you talk about?” she asked. “What did he ask you? My God, they don’t quit.”

“Whatever,” Nicolai said and shrugged. “I can’t be bothered to tell you everything. We talked about a few things and I actually quite like him. He’s decent and fair.”

“But what did he ask you? Come on, tell me. We’re both part of this; the least I can expect is for you to be open.”

“Open? You’re telling me to be open?”

That would give her something to think about, he mused. He didn’t need to tell her anything. So she gave up and started talking manically about something else.

“I had a thought,” she said. “Shall we plant some ivy on Tommy’s grave? It looks after itself and it doesn’t wither like other plants, so it’s always lush and green.”

She turned back to the meat and put the first pieces in the pan. It started to sizzle and seconds later he could smell it.

Nicolai thought about her suggestion. He tried to imagine the gravestone covered in leaves. He kicked off his shoes and sat down in a chair. Looking up at her expectant face, he suddenly had an irrepressible urge to be difficult. Because he was hurting. And because he didn’t understand how she could behave as if nothing had happened. She was standing there cutting up meat like before, with quick, efficient, and determined movements.

“No,” he said firmly. “Not ivy. It takes over everything. The name and everything will disappear,” he objected. “It grows like a weed. Ivy is better for old people.”

She sighed and looked slightly irritated. “You never agree with anything, do you?” she snapped. “You’re just a grump. Ivy is beautiful, with red and green leaves. It’s like a fairy tale. Did you know it’s got loads of tiny suckers? That’s why it climbs everything, over glass and stone and trees. I really can’t see why you’d say no, because ivy is beautiful.”

He swallowed his exasperation, stood up again, and went over to the kitchen cupboard. He took out plates and glasses and put them on the table. Then he got out the cutlery and napkins and filled a jug of water. He stole secret glances at her slim back over by the stove.

“What do you reckon the police are thinking after your new statement?” he asked. “What if they don’t believe you?”

She turned around again and looked straight at him. “They haven’t decided whether to prosecute yet or not,” she said. “That’s what he said, the inspector, and he knows about things like that. And I wasn’t remanded in custody. It was an accident and you know how muddled I can be after a major fit. So don’t go on about it. I don’t want to hear any more, OK?”

She brushed her hair back from her eyes, put some more meat in the pan, and started to chop the onion. Her eyes immediately started to sting and smart.

“No matter what you think, I loved Tommy just as much as you,” she said after a pause. “Don’t go thinking you had something special; I was his mother. And I can’t help the fact that I’m stronger than you. You know that I get it from Dad, so you just have to deal with it. You can wallow as much as you like, but I want to move on. We have to. I know that you need me to carry the load, and that’s fine. But I get tired too sometimes, so there.”

He started to feel guilty. Yes, she did have to carry the load, because he was barely capable of a clear thought. And the guilt engulfed him with great force. That he hadn’t taken more responsibility. That he had fled the heat of the kitchen and escaped to the cool cellar. Away from the heat and Carmen and the child, down to the peace and quiet. Was that really what he wanted, to get away? From the responsibility and obligations? He took the salt and pepper from the spice rack and put them on the table. Her words cut him to the quick. Because he did have something special with Tommy. A devotion that was now lost forever. It wouldn’t have been like that with any other kid, he was sure of it. He couldn’t even imagine another situation like that.

“Before,” he started, and had to clear his throat. “Before Tommy was born and it was just the two of us, we used to have lots of parties. The house was full of people and music and laughter. Then suddenly you didn’t want people to come here anymore. You didn’t want people to see him. You might as well tell the truth, because I know anyway.”

Carmen dropped the knife and looked at him. “Stop talking like that! You have no idea what it’s like when people stare; I couldn’t stand it! Having to explain the whole time and answer questions. Can he do this and can he do that and what about the future — so just stop it! Things are bad enough as they are, and you’re making them worse.”

She collapsed into a chair by the kitchen table and hid her face in her hands. He couldn’t bring himself to comfort her, so he went over to the stove and took the pan off the burner.

“You didn’t like it either,” she said and dried her tears. “You didn’t really like the fact he was the way he was. You just didn’t want to admit it. Whatever you think, you’re no better than me.”

She got up again and added the chopped onion to the pan.

She turned around and looked him straight in the eye one last time. “You’ve been behaving like you’re the only victim the whole time,” she snapped. “So may I remind you that there are two of us. I’ve lost my little boy as well and I’ll never get over it. You can sit down now,” she added. “Supper is almost ready. That’s if you’re going to allow yourself to have food at all.”