The Last Fix

Chapter One

Therewas something special about this customer, she was aware of that at once, eventhough he wasn't doing very much – that is to say she noticed the door open,but as the person in question went to the holiday brochure shelf instead ofwalking straight to the counter, Elise continued to do what she was doingwithout an upward glance. She sat absorbed in the image on the screen, tryingto organize a trip to Copenhagen for a family of three while the mother on thetelephone dithered between flying there and back or squeezing their car on toStena Saga and taking the ferry crossing so that they were mobile when theyarrived.

Eliselooked at Katrine and established that she, too, was busy. The headphones withthe mike held Katrine's unruly hair in place, although a blonde lock had fallenover the slender bridge of her nose, and she was concentrating on the computerscreen. Katrine had that characteristic furrow in her forehead, which shealways had when she concentrated. Her eyes shifted from keyboard to screen, herlong dark eyelashes moving slowly up and down. Like an elegant fan, Elisethought, studying Katrine's face as she bent over her work, her profile withthe somewhat pronounced nose above reddened lips, and that top lip of herswhich had such an effect on men because, on one side, it was a little swollen.

Nowand then Elise felt she could have been Katrine's mother. Katrine reminded herof her eldest girl, except that Katrine was much more spontaneous. She wasquicker to laugh than her daughter. Nevertheless every so often Elise felt itwas her daughter sitting there, and Katrine was probably aware of this, shethought. The unnecessary attention might even have annoyed her.

Asthe customer approached the counter a few moments later Elise put down thetelephone, looked up and prepared to greet him. But when the man ignored her,preferring to stand in front of Katrine, Elise returned to what she had beendoing, noticing that Katrine had sent the customer a friendly peek and utteredan automatic 'Hello' long before finishing her on-screen work. Elise also hadtime to think that she would have a word with her about that bad habit. Sheformulated the admonition in her head: Don't say 'Hello' until you have eyecontact with the customer. The customer always feels important. The customerperceives himself as the centre of the universe. If one divides one'sattentions, the customer will become annoyed. This is quite a normal reaction.

Fromthe corner of her eye Elise could see Katrine taking off her headphones andsaying something she didn't quite catch. What happened afterwards is whatstayed in her mind. The customer was a relatively tall man, equipped with whatElise liked to call vulgar 'totem signals'. He was wearing a black leatherwaistcoat over a sunburned bare upper torso. His jeans were worn and had holesin the knees. Even though he must have been over forty his long, grizzled hairwas tied up in a tasteless ponytail; he wore a large gold earring in one earand when he went to grab Katrine Elise saw an enormous scar on the man's lowerarm. In short, this man was a thug.

Thethug launched himself over the counter and made a grab at Katrine, who,panic-stricken, kicked her chair away from the counter, rolled backwards andslammed into the wall. 'Call the police,' Katrine screamed as the chair tippedup and she crashed down on to the floor with her legs in the air. Elise alsohad time to think how ridiculous she seemed – lying on her back in the chairwith all her hair in front of her face and her legs thrashing wildly, like adumb blonde in a 1960s romantic comedy. While she was thinking the wordsridiculous and comedy, Elise jumped off her chair and stared at thethug, an authoritative expression on her face which, afterwards, she could hardlycredit herself with having had the wherewithal to muster in such a situation.She had never been robbed before, and that was the thought that went throughher mind now: My God, we're being robbed. How will we survive thepsychological repercussions?

Atthat moment the brutal man seemed to sense Elise's presence in the room. Heflashed her a quick glance and then re-focused his attention on the blonde onthe floor. He seemed to take a decision, seized the counter as if intending tojump over it. Then Elise broke the silence. In a loud, piercing voice she said:'I beg your pardon, young man!' She was to smile at that line many times later.But however incongruous it sounded at that moment, it worked. The thug staredat her again and hesitated. In the end – it must have been after a few seconds,though it seemed like several minutes – he changed his mind and headed for thedoor with a wild look in his eyes as he shouted to the blonde girl strugglingto her knees and holding her head. 'You do as I say, right? Have you got that?'

Thedoor slammed behind him.

Elisestood gaping at the door. It looked no different from how it had been a fewseconds ago, it was the same door in the same room, yet it was being seenthrough different eyes, judged by a different consciousness. 'What was that?'she managed to exclaim, bewildered, numb and not entirely sure what had in facthappened.

Katrinehad risen from the bizarre position she had been in, swept back her hair, puther hands on her hips, brushed down her skirt and limped around the counter.She had lost a sandal, and staggered over to the door with one sandal and onebare foot. She locked the door and turned to Elise. For a few seconds sheleaned against the door, breathing heavily. She was wide-eyed and her hairdishevelled. A button on her blouse had come loose and she held the two sidestogether with one hand. Standing like that, leaning against the door with ashort skirt and untidy hair, Katrine looked more like a bimbo from a TV soapopera than the daughter about whom Elise liked to daydream. Elise was standingstock still, motionless, petrified. Not a sound could be heard in the room,apart from Katrine's heavy breathing and the telephone that had started to ringbehind the counter.

'Aren'tyou going to answer the phone?' Katrine asked at last.

'Ofcourse not. Are you crazy?'

Atonce Elise saw the comical side of the remark. They exchanged looks and Katrinebegan to laugh. Elise smiled at herself and asked again: 'Who on earth was thatman?'

Katrine,too, lowered her shoulders in the changed atmosphere. 'Oh, crap, I've gone andhurt myself.' She grinned. 'My bum hurts.' She turned and looked out on to thebusy street, pressed down the door handle, opened the door and peered out. 'He'sgone anyway,' she said, closing the door and limping back behind the counter.She slipped on the other sandal and picked up the chair. 'It's stoppedringing,' she confirmed and pulled a face.

Elise,curious: 'Is he someone you knew from before?'

Katrineavoided her gaze. She breathed in, arranged her blouse, sat down and adjustedthe back of the chair. It was obvious she was thinking feverishly, and it wasalso obvious she was struggling to decide what to say.

Elisewaited patiently with a stern look on her face.

Inthe end, Katrine said: 'I think it frightened him when I shouted to you to callthe police – and I don't think he'll be back.' Her face became more impassionedand desperate the clearer it became that the other woman did not buy her story.'Elise,' she drawled. 'It's true. I thought he was just a normal customer.'

Elisedid not answer; she observed Katrine with suspicion, feeling like a scepticalschool teacher.

'Idon't know what else to say.'

'Whatdo you mean by that?'

Katrineturned to her, and it seemed to Elise she could read a kind of genuine despairin her expression. But it was never easy to say with Katrine. At this momentshe reminded her of one of her own children on Sunday mornings when lies weretold about how long they had been out. Slowly Elise rose to her feet and tookplodding steps to the front door. It was her turn to lock up now. Broad andplump, she stood with her back to the door and leaned back hard, her armscrossed in an authoritarian manner.

'Katrine.'

'Hm?'Her blue eyes were innocent-blue and glazed, a child's eyes, ready for a fight.

'Isit safe to work here?'

Katrinegave a slow nod.

'BecauseI'm over fifty and would like to imagine I will be here until I'm sixty-seven. Ilike travel agency work. I like the fringe benefits. I like flying to Sydneyfor next to nothing. And I'm not interested in taking early retirement becauseyou're incapable of distinguishing between old friends and old lovers.'

'Elise

'Ihate to have to say what I'm going to say now,' Elise continued. 'I don't knowif I can express myself in a befitting manner, either. I thought we were goingto be robbed. I'm all shaky and my stomach hurts.'

Katrinetilted her head. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'But I had no idea…'

'Theman who was here,' Elise interrupted with force. 'He's the nearest I have cometo what I would describe as a thug.' She didn't give Katrine, who had raisedboth palms in defence, a chance. 'You and I have never talked about the past,'Elise persisted, but she was full of regret when she saw the effect her wordswere having. 'We don't need to talk about the past, not even now, but I wouldlike to know whether I can feel safe working here. If not, I'll have to takefurther steps. Has this roughneck got anything to do with your past?'

Katrinesmiled with the same glazed, light blue, childlike eyes. And Elise could havebitten off her tongue. She should never have asked in that way. Katrine laugheda nervous, artificial laugh and reassured her: 'No, Elise, he has nothing to dowith my so-called past.' And Elise knew Katrine had lied. That was why sheblamed herself. Katrine had lied and now they were moving into terrain whereshe had no wish to be with this young woman. She felt she lacked words andcould see Katrine was aware of this shortcoming; from Katrine's face it wasclear she realized Elise had seen through the lie. Silence hung in the room.Katrine made no attempt to retract the lie, and Elise did not want to wait forthe sound of cars and trams to penetrate the window, making the situationworkaday and wearisome – for that reason she interposed: 'So next time he couldjust as easily come in and attack me?'

'Ofcourse not.'

Elisebreathed in. 'So he's only interested in you?'

Katrinelooked away. Elise waited.

'Yes.He is someone from my past,' she conceded at last.

Elisebreathed out and closed her eyes. In a way this admission was the mostimportant thing that had happened so far today; the admission was moreimportant than the incident with the man. The admission made it possible forthe balance between them to be re-established. More than that, the relationshipbetween them was no longer threatened by lies. 'Thank God,' she mumbled,unlocking the door and strolling back to her chair. 'Thank God.'

Thedoor jangled. The two women were startled. They looked at each other and Elisefelt her mouth go dry.

Butit was not the man returning. The customer who opened the door turned out to bea young woman wanting Mediterranean travel brochures.

Thenext few hours were hectic, and even though it was a quite normal Saturday withquite normal Saturday tasks, sluggish computers and indecisive customers, Elisefelt a little shudder go down her back every time the door opened. Every timethe familiar jangle sounded, she peered up at the customer and glanced over atKatrine who, irrespective of whether she was busy or not, was sitting ready tomeet her gaze with neutral, light blue eyes.

Itwas almost two o' clock before the room was quiet again. Elise swung her chairround to face Katrine, took a deep breath, but then paused.

'Iknow what you're going to say,' Katrine said, massaging her temples. 'You wantme to ring the police.'

'Don'tyou think you should?' Elise said in a low voice. 'He threatened you.'

Katrinenodded. 'I need to think a bit,' she said.

'Katrine…'Elise started.

'Please,'Katrine retorted. 'Let me have a think!'

'Whatdid he want?'

Katrinewent quiet.

'Ishe an ex-boyfriend?'

'Hemight have considered himself one once, a long time ago.'

'Sohe's jealous?'

'Believeme, this has nothing to do with love.' Katrine sighed. 'He and a load of otherpeople are just shadows for me now. It's funny, but until he walked throughthat door I had forgotten what he looked like.'

'What'shis name?'

Katrinehad to puzzle for a few seconds. 'Raymond,' she said at length. 'Just imagine,I had even forgotten that.'

'Butwhat did he want?'

Katrinestood up. 'I promise I'll tell you,' she said. 'But not this minute. I need tothink; I'll have to ask for some help to know how to tackle this. Then Ipromise I'll tell you.'

Elisenodded slowly. 'Fine,' she said. 'What are you going to do this evening?'

'I'mgoing to do something I have next to no interest in doing.'

Elisesmiled and at once pictured Katrine's skinhead boyfriend. 'Are you going tofinish with him?'

Katrinesmiled and shook her head. 'With Ole? It'll be him who does that with me, Isuppose. But he's accompanying me at any rate.'

'Whereto?'

'To aparty.'

'Itmust be quite a party if you're that keen to go.'

'That'sthe point,' Katrine said with a heavy sigh. 'I have absolutely no interest ingoing, but I have to.'

Chapter Two

Olehad eased his body from a recumbent into a sedentary position on the sofa. It wasa terrible sofa to sit on, one Katrine had bought at a flea market, a 70s sofabed, with a solid, uncomfortable pine frame and a seat that was so deep it wasimpossible to sit with your back supported; you either had to lie you had tosit with your legs beneath you. It irritated him that she had this sofa. Itirritated him to think that all her visitors had to confront the same problem:Shall I lie down or what? When Katrine sat on the sofa she always drew her legsup beneath her – she invited a physical intimacy in everything she did. Hecould feel his irritation growing as he thought about this too, that Katrinewas a woman who invited a physicality in all situations. A pling sounded on theTV. Someone had put Stavanger Viking ahead. But he was watching Molde playingagainst Stabæk. Crap match. Frode Olsen, the goalkeeper, might just aswell have started doing gymnastics on the crossbar, and the cameramen seemed tobe more interested in the trainers on the Molde bench than the ball. Katrinesauntered by, not wearing clothes of course, her hair wet from the shower. Sheturned down the volume without a word to him.

'Whatis it now?' he asked.

'Nothing.'

'Butwhy can't I watch TV?'

'MyGod, you can watch TV. But you can manage with the volume down can't you? Ihave to make a call.'

Withthat she was gone, slamming the hall door behind her. The contours of her bodybecame a blurred, pale shadow behind the door's frosted glass. He could see hersitting beside the telephone. This was Katrine in a nutshell: sitting naked,phoning and making sure he couldn't hear. A form of behaviour and secrecy hecould not stand. But now he didn't know what provoked him more, her nonchalantnakedness or her slamming the door, as though he had no right to know what shewas doing. He felt a sudden fury surge up inside him; he got up and tore openthe door. 'You're the one who's loud!'

Shepeered up at him with the telephone receiver tucked under her chin. He stoodfollowing the line of the cable coiled around one of her breasts. It lookedlike a pose for a men's magazine.

'Andwhy aren't you dressed?' he barked.

'Mydear Ole, I've just had a shower.'

'Butyou could get dressed, couldn't you?'

'Ole,I live here. I do as I like.'

'ButI'm here now.'

Sheput down the telephone and leered. 'You're not usually that bothered whetherI'm dressed or not.' She rose to her feet, took the towel hanging from a hookon the wall, made a big show of wrapping it around herself, so that it half-coveredher breasts and reached mid-thigh.

Shesat back down beside the telephone, held it and looked up. 'Happy?' 'No,' hesaid, irritated, still provoked and aggressive because she had put on her cooltone – she seemed to be sitting there and making a fool of him.

Thenher eyes flashed. 'I have to make a call. Would you please go away and let metalk in peace.'

'Whoare you ringing?'

'It'sgot nothing to do with you.'

OleEidesen felt the blood drain from his face. 'It's nothing to do with me?'

Katrinesighed and crossed her legs before adjusting the towel. 'Ole,' she said, 'dropit.' 'I want to know who you're ringing.'

'Why?'

'Because.'

'Ole,I never ask you who you ring.'

'ButI want to know who you're ringing.'

Shetook a deep breath and closed her eyes. 'Why?'

'Ihave a right.'

Hereyes narrowed. He hated it when her eyes narrowed, hated the determination thatlay behind her cold, hard blue eyes.

'Ole.Don't start. You have to respect my wishes.'

Heclosed his eyes for a second. He didn't want to feel this. But it came. He wasunable to stop: 'Closing the door on me is not right.'

'Whatdid you say?'

'Don'tclose the door on me.'

'Idecide if I want to be alone,' Katrine said in a low snarl. 'And everyone hasto respect that. You, too.'

'You'renot alone if you're talking to other people.'

Katrinedug deep. She stared at the wall as though counting to herself. Then shegroaned and said in a low, imploring voice: 'Ole, don't. I've had enough ofjealous men!'

'Iwant to know who you're ringing. You have no right to be so secretive.'

Katrine,cool, almost in a whisper, 'Don't I?'

Oletook a sudden step forward. Before he knew what he was doing, he had grabbedher plait and pulled her into a standing position.

'Ow,'she screamed, tottering forwards. She lost her towel; a soft breast fellagainst his arm. 'Let me go!' she gasped.

Justas suddenly as he had grabbed her, he let go, his innards cold as ice. 'Sorry,'he stammered and moved to embrace her. But she was juggling with the towel andshoved him away with tears in her eyes. 'Out,' she said.

'I'mso sorry.'

Sheput a hand to her hair. 'You're completely insane.'

'Isaid sorry, didn't I!'

'AndI'm asking you to go,' she screamed. 'Out. I have to make a call.'

Stupefied,Ole backed into the sitting room. 'You have no right to keep secrets from me,'he mumbled. 'You have no fucking right!'

'Out!'Katrine hissed. And slammed the door again.

Olesat staring at the outline of her body through the wavy glass. Watching herpull herself together, get up and stand in front of the mirror with her back tohim. She paced to and fro. He followed the silhouette of her body as she satdown beside the telephone and took the receiver. He saw how her body languagechanged, how she flicked her hair and brushed it with long, casual strokes. Hervoice was low and tender, a voice talking to another person, a voicearticulating words he could not distinguish. He could hear her laughter,though. In the pit of his stomach, the embers of jealousy smouldered. He wantedto know who she was calling. She couldn't bloody do this. She would soonfucking see what happened if she went on like this.

Thecrowd cheered. Ole Eidesen watched the slow-motion replay. Frode Olsen,horizontal in the air, got three finger tips to the ball and pushed it over thebar. A blue Molde player clenched both fists in a demonstration to thespectators of how disappointed he was. Ole wasn't interested. He couldn't gethis mind off Katrine, who had now cradled the receiver and was about to callanother number. In his heart he was cold. She was cheating on him. She wassitting three metres away from him and cheating on him. Before his very eyes.

Chapter Three

Annabethand Bjørn had set the table in the large L-shaped room. The table wasL-shaped, too. The longest part of the table had been placed in-the longestpart of the room. There was a neatly written place card on every plate. Katrinehad been given a seat at the rectangle forming the short end of the letter L.Most of the guests were unknown to her. The only ones Katrine knew were thosefrom the rehab centre; from where she sat, she could see just Sigrid andAnnabeth. Annabeth's husband, Bjørn Gerhardsen, was opposite her. Thiscould become tricky, she had thought as for a few brief minutes they stoodfacing each other. This could become very tricky. But Ole was there too, in thechair next to him as it happened. Ole and a plump guy she knew from sight at thecentre; she had no idea what his name was – he may have had some function onthe administrative board. In addition, she had an inkling that he was gay. Hehad all the buffoonery and the feminine movements. Between Ole and the gay mansat a woman in her late twenties. She didn't know her, either, although Oleseemed quite taken by her; he was indulging in furtive sidelong glances. Thewoman for her part was encouraging him by playing coy. That didn't bode well,thought Katrine, who had been able to study the woman's figure for the briefmoments they had stood before taking a seat – she was not that tall, yet shehad endlessly long, nylon-clad legs. The legs took the focus off other details,such as lifeless hair with split ends and stubby fingers with nails chewed downto the stumps. However, the face, despite a few irregular features, bore a deepsensuality with two sensitive eyes and wonderful, golden skin. The fact thatthe chemistry between Ole and the unknown woman seemed to be working so wellled Katrine to examine her own feelings. She wondered whether Ole's undisguisedinterest in the other woman ought to have made her feel jealous. The strangething was that it did not. All she felt was irritation; she was irritated byhis clumsiness, irritated that he wasn't better at chatting her up. And thislack of jealousy frightened her. It made her think of her therapy sessions,what she had gone through with respect to her emotional life and the dangersignals. She speculated on how she should interpret this. In a way the factthat Ole only irritated her by showing interest in another woman made BjørnGerhardsen loom larger, seem more powerful and dangerous. It became harder toavoid his gaze. For this reason conversation around the table seemed to bedesperately sluggish. And, worst of all, she felt she was responsible for thissluggishness. Her irritability was putting a damper on others. The idea wassilly. She knew that, but was still unable to stop herself thinking it. She wassweating and wished she were anywhere but here. The hushed lethargy was brokenat various junctures by Annabeth standing up at the corner of the L-shapedtable and shouting 'Skеl'. They were doing a lot of toasting over wherethe table joined the second room. Katrine toasted with mineral water and heldher hand over her glass when Bjørn Gerhardsen tried to fill it with redwine.

Afterthe main course the long-legged woman took out a cigarette. Gerhardsen fumbledin his jacket pockets. Ole didn't notice anything. But the plump gay man wasfirst out of the blocks and lit her cigarette with a gallant bow.

'Iwon,' he grinned at Bjørn Gerhardsen.

Everyonelaughed. The childish outburst relaxed the atmosphere. Even Katrine laughed.The laughter was liberating.

Annabethsquealed from the corner with a raised glass. 'Skеl, Georg!'

'Goggen,'shouted the gay man. 'Everyone calls me Goggen…To the young woman with the longlegs he said: 'Did you see the new guy on TV on Saturday night? Do you rememberthe joke he told about the psychologist?'

Thelong-legged woman was already laughing. Cigarette smoke got caught in herthroat and she started coughing. Ole was staring down the gap between herpitching breasts.

Idon't belong here, thought Katrine.

'Sothe patient said: I'm not the one.…' Goggen sat up in his chair, puffedout his cheeks and put on a stupid face. Katrine realized this was meant to bean imitation. Goggen, in a lumberjack voice:'… he said to the psychologist.You're the one who's obsessed about sex. After all, you're the one doing theasking.'

Thewoman with the long legs screamed with laughter. Ole did, too. But Katrine felticy tremors run up her spine because a foot was stroking hers under the table.It couldn't be Ole's. She didn't dare to look up. Don't let it be Bjørn's,she thought. Bjørn could not be so revolting. There was no one else itcould be, though. It had to be Bjørn Gerhardsen. She shivered andflushed; she was sweating. The foot caressed her leg higher up. Up and down, upand down, slowly.

Katrineclosed her eyes and kicked the foot away. And then there he was. The moment sheopened her eyes he was there, Bjørn Gerhardsen, with a gentle,provocative smile.

Shefelt someone's gaze burning on her cheek and twisted her head. It was Annabeth.There was no mistaking where Annabeth was looking. For some reason Annabethmust have guessed something. The knot Katrine felt in her stomach went icecold. Annabeth knows, she thought. The bloody bitch. She knows. And Bjørnknows she knows. So he must have told her. She turned her head and focused onAnnabeth's husband again. He smiled; he had been following her eyes and now hewinked at her without the slightest attempt at concealment. Who noticedanything? Annabeth, of course, and Goggen. The fat homosexual scented themagnetism in the air like a deer scents watchful eyes in the gloaming. Georgstudied her with renewed interest. And Gerhardsen kept smiling. She lowered hereyes and, at the same time, despised herself for having lost the battle. Shestared down at the table cloth and felt the perspiration trickling down herneck.

'It'sso smoky in here,' she exclaimed. 'I could do with a bit of air.' So saying,she got up and stumbled towards the veranda. A woman's hand opened the door forher. As she staggered on to the terrace she heard the company at the tablebreaking up. Annabeth's voice boomed: 'Coffee with liqueurs in the lounge!Please help yourselves! I have just put it out, and I don't have the energy toserve you… self-service!' The voice cracked on the last word.

Katrinebreathed in the fresh air. It was a grey June evening and she leaned againstthe terrace railing. She looked down at an illuminated swimming pool. Youcould dive in from here, she thought. The blue, luminous water formed thecentrepiece of what looked like a tiled courtyard. And beyond the tiles grew afew fruit trees.

Shecould make out a lit street lamp between the trees; it cast an orange light onthe pavement outside the fence. She let her eyes wander further afield andnoticed that the view of Oslo was blocked by a large canopy of trees in thedistance.

Sheknew he was there before he spoke. Knowing he was standing behind her causedperspiration to break out again.

'Isthis where you are?' the smooth voice whispered.

Thesound of his heels on the slate tiles was repugnant. She didn't turn. Shedidn't answer.

Hisreflection appeared in the pool below. 'Cognac?' he asked, putting a glass downon the broad balustrade. A square reflection of the light yellow veranda doorformed on the glass containing the brown liquid. His fingers were rough, theskin around his wedding ring seemed swollen. His wristwatch was a bluish watchface inside a thick metal chain; it was naff, something that would not look outof place in a James Bond film.

'No,thank you,' she said. 'Have you seen Ole?'

'Doyou like our garden?' Gerhardsen asked as though he had not heard the question.She observed her own reflection in the blue water beneath her. And she observedGerhardsen's. Naff man in naff clothes beside a blonde wearing make-up. Shit,it was just like a James Bond film. 'Big garden,' she said politely. 'Must needa lot of work.'

Hewas leaning back against the balustrade sipping from his glass. 'Couldn't youcome and help us from time to time?' he said with a smile. 'You're so good withyour hands, aren't you?'

Shestiffened. His smile was macho, self-assured.

Butthat didn't matter. These looks, these blatant advances were familiar territoryto her. I can overcome this, she thought; she concentrated, looked him in theeye without any emotion and felt her nerves relax.

'Youhave a good memory,' she said, regretting the words at once, they could havebeen easily misunderstood. It was like giving him rope which, of course, hegrabbed greedily.

'You,too,' he said.

Thesilence was transfixing. The sound of laughter and the usual drunken revelrycarried from inside the house.

'Ifyou want, I can show you round the garden now,' he said with a crooked smile.

Herface was numb. She could feel her mouth distorting into an artificial,transparent smile as she tried to stare him down. 'You are one big arsehole,'she said slowly and clearly so that he caught every single syllable. But itdidn't help. She saw that. This was his arena. His home. She was here at theirinvitation. She was a part of the decoration for the evening, something exoticAnnabeth and Bjørn could show off: Would you like to see the house -the African vase, the carved masks on the wall, the Italian table and the poordrug addict Annabeth managed to get back on an even keel. Which one is she, doyou think? Yes, her over there, the blonde, and she's so good- looking, isn'tshe?

Atthat moment she felt his hand stroking her backside. 'Don't touch me,' shehissed as tears welled up, forming a humiliating, misty film across her vision.

Hecleared his throat. His hand slid between her thighs.

'I'llscream,' she said, despising herself even more for these stupid words. Had itbeen anywhere else, in the street, on the staircase in a block of flats, anyother place except for here, she would have kicked him in the balls and spat athim into the bargain. But she was a stranger here, and paralyzed.

Heremoved his hand. 'Just wait before you scream,' he said in a cool voice.

Sheturned and saw Annabeth through the glass door searching for her husband.

'Yourwife's looking for you,' she said.

'No,'he said with a sardonic smile. 'She's looking for us.' He raised his glass andsought her eyes. Katrine stared into space and heard herself say from a long wayoff:

'Youare nothing, nothing to me.' And sick of this game, sick of playing the role ofan idiot, she stormed towards the door and into the smoke-filled room.

Asshe made her way between the people she could feel their gazes burning into herbody. From the corner of her eye she saw heads huddled together. She lumberedacross the floor feeling like an orangutan on a stage set for a ballet. She wascompletely numb. At the other end of the room she saw Ole bending over thewoman with the long legs. He was whispering something in her ear. She wasgiggling and tossing back her hair. Apart from them, she recognized only thefaces of Sigrid from the rehab centre and Bjørn Gerhardsen.

Sheappeared at Ole's side and he immediately lost his composure. He coughed andmumbled a forced 'Hi'. The stork woman fumbled for a cigarette. Katrine stoodher ground. The stork woman was professional, turned away and moved on.

Oletook her arm. 'Shall we mingle?' They entered the room with a piano whereGeorg, alias Goggen, was sitting. Ole held her back. 'Not that man,' hewhispered into her ear. 'He's a poof.' She sent Ole a weary smile and feltalienated, even by him. She said: 'Shout for me if he tries anything on you.'

Theytook their place in the circle around Goggen, who was talking about himself andan ex-lover – a waiter – and some fun they had had with a female TV celebrity.According to Goggen, the woman had thought it exciting to have been left alonewith two gay men. They had been drinking hard all night, all three of them. Inthe daylight hours they had become very intimate, and during a guided tourthrough her flat all three of them fell on to her large four-poster bed and'did it'. 'We had her, both of us,' Goggen wheezed. 'And I mean at the sametime.' He winked at Katrine and said to Ole: 'You know, he parked himself wherepricks prefer… (pause for effect, audience cheering) while I found a spot alittle further back.' (More cheering.)

Goggencontinued with a raised voice, at one level below shouting: 'I was very arousedbecause we could feel our pricks rubbing against each other all the time. Afterall, there was just a thin membrane between them!'

Katrinepeered up at Ole. Either he was embarrassed or he was furious. At any rate, hisface was red. As red as Goggen's. You're all the same, she thought, and hereyes wandered back to Goggen, who was now employing body language. He wasmiming, leaning backwards, overweight, flushed. With his face distorted into asick grimace, he puffed out both cheeks as though blowing a trumpet. Then hesat with his mouth open and revealed the white spots on his tongue. His eyes,dead and vacant, staring into empty space, Goggen said: 'She was screaming allthe time.' Saliva dripped from his full bottom lip as he imitated her. 'Aah…aaahhh.'

Olewanted to leave and grabbed her arm. She felt her alienation tip over intoaggression. A sudden fury that had been building up. But now it was beingreleased by Ole's smug self-righteousness. She stayed where she was. From thecorner of her eye she could see that he, too, had chosen to stay.

Thelaughter among the listeners died away, and the long-legged woman, who in somemysterious way had also appeared among them, whispered to the man next to herso that everyone could hear: 'Now that was a bit vulgar, don't you think?'

'Ohdear!' he said, miming a stifled yawn and patting his mouth with his hand.'Just so long as he doesn't tell the story about the piano stool. Whoops.' Herecoiled and added, 'Too late!'

'Iwas in Hotel Bristol,' Goggen said.'… I went in and saw a quite magnificentpiano stool in the bar, and I simply could not resist. I sat down and played alight sonata and I hardly noticed that I was playing until I sensed the silencearound me. But, by God, it was too late to stop then – so I kept going, andwhen

Ifinished I could feel there was a man standing next to me…'

'Aman!' Stork woman shouted in an affected voice. 'So exciting!'

Herneighbour: 'Yes, talking about piano stools and women, have you heard about thefat woman who's so good at playing she breaks two stools every concert!'

Olegrinned. He didn't mind joining in when Goggen was the victim. Ole's eyesshone.

Thestork woman winked at Ole. 'Breaks the piano stool?'

'Yes,of course, they're very fragile affairs!'

'Ifelt…' Goggen screamed with annoyance. 'I felt a hand…'

Avoice from the crowd: 'It's not mine!'

Laughter.

Goggenwas offended. 'Very droll, very droll. Well,' he continued with everyone'sattention back on him again. 'I was sitting there playing and I felt a hand onmy shoulder,' his voice entranced, his eyes half- closed, the pale whitesgleaming. 'I turned,' he said with dramatic emphasis, 'and I looked up… and wasstartled to hear a voice say: Nice!

Goggen,who had the audience with him now, paused. 'A beautiful, rounded, warm voice,'Goggen placed a hand on his own shoulder as though trying to feel the samepressure as he had long ago; he twisted in the chair pretending to hold thehand and turn to see who owned it… That was very nice, the voice saidand then this man let go and gave me…'

'Comeon,' one of the women at the table shouted. She turned round to make sure theothers were with her. 'What did he give you?'

Avoice from the table: 'Goodness me! With a hand, too!'

'Theman,' Goggen, undeterred, continued. 'The man was a venerable man of thetheatre. Per Aabel!'

Thewords had an impact. A wave of deep rapturous sighs passed around the table.Goggen surveyed those around him with a nod of triumph and repeated, 'PerAabel!'

Katrinenoticed Annabeth standing in the doorway. She was drunk as was everyone else.All those self-righteous people who dealt with others' drug abuse problems werepissed. Pissed and horny and old. She felt nauseous.

A manwho had not quite got the point of Goggen's story looked at the others with alittle grin. 'Christ, Goggen, isn't he the same age as you?'

Everyoneburst into laughter.

'Whosaid that?' Goggen stood up, raising an arm in the air, his bloated cheeksquivering with rage. 'Who said that? I challenge whoever it was to a duel.'

'Sitdown, you old goat,' a woman shouted. 'Sit down and tighten the truss!'

Morelaughter and raised glasses. Katrine turned because she sensed a movement bythe door. Annabeth was staggering towards her, and Katrine squeezed Ole's handand let him take her in tow.

Annabethblocked their way. She was swaying and struggling to keep her balance.'Katrine,' she called with warmth in her voice. 'I hope you're having a goodtime,' cutting off the ends of her words, because she was drunk. Katrine smiledbut felt sick. 'The food was lovely, Annabeth. Very nice.'

Annabethtook her hand. Katrine looked down at Annabeth's hand. It was the hand of anageing woman, pale brown skin, wrinkled fingers covered in rings. She lookedup. There was a lot of blusher on her cheeks. And dark shadows under thepowder.

'Welove you so much, Katrine,' Annabeth said and began to cry.

'Areyou crying, Annabeth?'

Eventhough Katrine wished she were many miles away, she managed to find the rightnote of sympathy. In front of her stood Annabeth, the director of the rehabcentre, completely pissed. The stab of discomfort she had felt in her stomachfrom the first moment she had set foot in the house, the little stab she hadbeen fighting to keep down freed itself now from the claws in her stomach.Katrine could feel the discomfort and disgust spreading through her body likewildfire, a numbing hot pain that started in her stomach and spread outwards.As her body gradually surrendered to the pain and repulsion, her mind was clearenough to remember the many times she had seen more wretched gatherings thanthis. She closed her eyes, opened them again and saw Ole. He was standingbehind Annabeth and staring at her, rapt. For a few seconds Katrine experienceddeep, violent contempt for him and all the people around her: Annabeth and hersmug acquaintances knocking back wine, beer and spirits to find the courage totell each other secrets, to slag each other off, to smooth the path forinfidelities and other hypocrisies. And there was Annabeth whispering secretsto her she didn't have the energy to hear. But the painful stabbing in herstomach also numbed her thinking. There was a rushing noise in her ears and shediscovered she could not hear what was going on in the room. Annabeth wasswaying and her lips were moving. Her teeth were long with black joins. Theywere the teeth of an old person. A person who has smoked too many cigarettesand uttered too many empty words. Annabeth's eyes were red, wet with tears,swimming with water. In her hand she was holding what looked like an openbottle of red wine. She waved the bottle and teetered again, took an unsteadystep to the side and the bottle exploded as it hit the door frame. In slowmotion a shower of red wine enveloped Annabeth; it was as though someone hadtorn off her skin, as though blood were spraying out, wetting her hair,streaming down her face and neck, a naked red wound that had once been a face.At that moment Katrine's hearing returned; it returned as the old woman let outa hoarse scream. The sound was just an undefined rush in Katrine's ears. Forone second she gazed into Annabeth's eyes; she stared into two dark, emptytunnels in a brain which was no brain, just a pulsating mass of white worms.Katrine's stomach heaved. She knew she was going to throw up, there was nodoubt in her mind; the contents of her stomach were on their way up right now.Her vision became even hazier. The white worms came closer, and the red liquidstreamed down Annabeth's neck, like blood, as though from a fountain of blood.

Someonewas supporting her. Katrine felt the cool tiles against her knees and knew shewas throwing up. She vomited into a toilet bowl. Sounds from the partypenetrated the lavatory door. She peered up. Ole was standing over her. Hisexpression was anxious. 'I want you out,' she groaned.

'Youfainted,' he said. 'The bitch smashed the bottle of wine and you passed out.Great party. You shouldn't drink so much.'

Shelooked up at him. 'I don't drink. I haven't touched a drop all evening.'

'Whywere you sick then?'

Shewas unable to answer before the cramps in her stomach started again. This timeit wasn't food; it felt like she was disgorging burning hot tea. She groped fortoilet paper. Her fingers grabbed some cloth. Ole had passed her a towel.

'Don'tknow,' she groaned. 'May have been the food.'

Heflushed the toilet. The noise drowned out the sounds of the party. She driedthe mucus, the snot and the tears from her face. 'Why are you still here?' sheasked. 'I want to be alone. I don't want you to see me like this.'

Hemumbled: 'Do you think I want to be on my own with that lot outside?'

Shenodded and had another violent retch. She brought nothing up. Yes, she did, adrop of caustic bile rolled off her tongue. She felt the draught of the door ashe opened and left. That was a relief. She felt better.

Olewas full of lies, too. This place suited him. He slotted in among these people.Ole could make conversation, he could drop small compliments to the ladies andengage in small talk with other men. Ole was at home. Only she was at sea. Shehad no business being here. And she wanted to go home. She should be withpeople who made her feel good. That was the solution. Go home. If home existed.

Sherecovered a little and dragged herself up by the toilet seat. She sat on thebowl staring at herself in a large mirror. In this house you could sit on thetoilet and admire yourself. Annabeth's husband, Bjørn Gerhardsen, too.Perhaps he stood here in front of the mirror, jacking himself off before hewent to bed. She shook her head to remove the sight from her consciousness. Herstomach was empty. She was not nauseous any longer. But her stomach musclesached after the attack. She sat like a teenage prostitute after her first OD,before the darkness came. Knees together, mucus running down her chin, wateryeyes, sickly pale skin and vomit-stained hair hanging down in two big tanglesover her forehead. The tears that had been forced out as she spewed had madeher mascara run. She thought about the insane sight of Annabeth spattered withwine. And instantly felt sick again. She swallowed. Sat there with closed eyes,swallowing until the nausea subsided. Now she knew what she should not thinkabout. Slowly she opened her eyes and regarded herself in the mirror. Thesounds of music, laughter and screaming carried through the door.

Ifshe had not been a conversation topic for that lot outside before, she was now.Have you ever heard anything like it? The poor welfare case feels unwell andthrows up at Annabeth's party – have you ever heard anything like it?

Therewas a knock at the door.

Shewanted to be alone, quite alone. There was another knock. Banging,social-worker-type- banging. I-will-never-give-up-banging. Shall-we-talk-about-it-banging. Old-woman-banging. 'Katrine?' It was Sigrid. 'Katrine? Areyou OK?'

Katrinewanted to be alone. No, she wanted to be with Henning, to sit and drink teawith Henning and not to feel the quiver of expectation in the air, or thelooks.

'Katrine!'Sigrid kept on banging.

Katrinestood up and opened the door a fraction.

'MyGod, what do you look like, my little girl!' Sigrid was caring, as always. Shepushed her way into the room and began to wash Katrine's face. 'There we are,yes, are you better now?'

'Ithink I'm going home,' Katrine said, pulling a face at herself in the mirror.'Could you ask Ole to ring for a taxi?'

'I'lldo it for you. Ole's gone into the garden.'

'Inthe garden?'

'Yes,Annabeth wanted people to swim in the pool. And she has a new fish pond shewants to show off. Just wait and I'll find you a car or see if anyone can takeyou.'

'Thereisn't a soul here left sober.'

Sigrid,her brow furrowed: 'It might seem like that, but there are quite a few peoplewho don't touch a drop.'

'Justforget it,' Katrine sighed.

Theyobserved each other in the mirror. Sigrid, middle-aged, slim and grey-haired,attractive and educated, with soft, caring hands. Katrine, young with asomewhat weary expression in her eyes. 'You should have been a nurse,' Katrinesaid and put Sigrid's arm around her shoulder. Portrait of girlfriends in thereflection. 'I can see it now as large as life.'

'What?'

'Youwalking round in a white uniform on the night shift with several male clientswaiting for you in the dark, waiting for a glimpse of their dream womantiptoeing through the door.'

Sigridsmiled at Katrine in the mirror, flattered but still with a caring, concernedfurrow on her forehead. 'I'm old,' she said.

'Mature,'corrected Katrine, freeing herself, 'but I'm young and don't have the energyfor any more tonight. I'll ring someone to pick me up. You go back to theparty.'

Katrinefelt a sudden desire to have Ole with her, to have him holding her. She wantedOle to say: Stay here, with me. She stood in the doorway looking. Firstof all for Sigrid, who had disappeared into the crowd. She stood and watchedOle come in from the terrace. Ole and the long-legged lady from the dinnertable. Their intimacy had become more open. Katrine closed her eyes and couldsee them before her, naked in bed. She could imagine it quite clearly, but feltno jealousy, just a leaden despondency.

Whatdid she want Ole to say? I'm sick of this place. He could say that. Hecould come here, hold her and say he would take her home and stay with her. Shecould feel herself becoming angry. Why didn't he do that? Why wasn't he theperson she wanted him to be?

Atthat moment her eyes met his. He was walking towards her. She closed her eyes.She saw it vividly. The row that was coming. All the nasty things she wouldsay; all the nasty things he would say. She opened her eyes again. For everystep that Ole took, she wished it were Henning. Henning and no one else.

'How'sit going?' he asked.

'Better,'she mumbled. 'You're enjoying yourself too, I can see.'

Hefollowed her gaze, to the woman with the legs watching them. As soon as Oleturned, the long- legged woman left and was lost from view.

'Somepeople are going to hit town,' Ole said after a pause. 'Smuget. The queer and afew others. Do you feel like joining them?'

'No,'she said. 'Do you?'

'Notsure. Maybe.'

'I'mgoing home,' she said.

'Home?'

Shegave a tired smile. 'You don't need to join me. Relax, stay here. Or go withthe others to town.'

Hebrightened up. 'Quite sure?'

Shenodded.

Acrowd of noisy guests forced their way between them. Goggen patted Ole on thebottom. 'You going to join us, sweetie?'

Olegrinned.

Goggengrabbed his waist and swung him round in a slow waltz. Katrine retreated to thetoilet, locked the door and waited until she was sure the hall was empty.Voices and strident yells penetrated the walls. Someone was mistreating the piano.When she was sure that all those in the corridor had gone, she crept out,lifted the receiver of the telephone hanging on the wall and called Henning'snumber. She checked her watch. It was not midnight yet. At last she heard asleepy hello at the other end. 'Katrine here,' she said quickly. 'Are you inbed?' She couldn't restrain herself from asking, and then grimaced, as thoughfrightened he would say yes and be grumpy.

'Me?No.' Henning yawned aloud. So he had been asleep.

'Haveyou got a car?' she asked.

'Mybrother's, the big old crate.'

'Canyou pick me up? I'm at Annabeth's. Now?'

ThankGod for Henning, who never asked any questions. 'Start walking now,' he said.'And I'll meet you.'

Chapter Four

Twentyminutes later the house was a hundred metres away and she was alone in thedarkness. She strolled down the quiet road. It was grey rather than darkoutside, the murky gloom of a summer night. She felt a lot better, but herstomach and diaphragm were still taut. The fresh air caressed her face. Shepassed under a lamp post. The electric lamp buzzed and projected a pallidgleam, unable to illuminate better than the night itself. She continued on downthe road. Her heels echoed on the tarmac. The electric buzz was gone, soon tobe replaced by a mosquito next to her ear. Shortly afterwards she heard thedrone of a car. Next she saw the beam of headlamps behind the massive treesalongside the road. Oslo opened up far beneath her. The whole town smoulderedwith lights, like the embers of an enormous dying bonfire. The black sea of theinner Oslo fjord reflected and amplified the glow. The drone of the engineincreased in volume and soon she saw the reflection of car headlamps on thetrees and a line of cars rounded the bend. The first car was low with an opentop. Henning's long hair blew in the gusting side wind, and he had to brush itaway from his face. He pulled up and she jumped in.

Theysat looking at each other, smiling. 'What's up?' he asked.

Hersmile became broader. 'What do you think?'

'Haveyou won loads of money?'

Shegrinned. 'No.'

'Tellme what it is!'

Shecollected herself and closed her eyes.

'Somethingwonderful has happened to you,' he said.

Shenodded, unable to restrain her smile.

'Areyou going to tell me what?'

'Later,'she said, squeezing his hand. 'Later,' she repeated, stroking the dashboardwith her hand, and asked, 'Where did you find this?'

'It'smy brother's,' he said. 'I look after his car while he's abroad.'

'Doyou mean that? You've got a brother who just lends you this kind of car?'

Hegave a lop-sided smile and cocked his head. 'He is my brother after all.'

'Tired?'she asked.

'Notany more.'

'Whatdo you feel like doing?'

Heshrugged. 'How much time have you got?'

'Allnight.'

Heleaned his head back so that the little goatee stuck up like a tuft of moss onthe end of his pointed chin. 'Then it's as clear as the stars in the sky,' hemumbled. 'I know what we can do.'

'ButI want to eat first,' Katrine said. 'I feel like some really greasy, unhealthyfood.'

Herhair fluttered in the wind in the open-top car. Henning accelerated pastHolmenkollen hill which loomed up in the night like a huge mysterious shadow.They bumped into each other in the hairpin bends going down the ridge, and herhair became tangled and lashed at her eyes. Without hesitating for a second sheremoved her blouse and tied it around her head like a scarf. Henning glancedacross. 'This is like Fellini,' he shouted through the rushing of the air. 'Idrive my convertible through the night with a babe in a black bra!'

Sheleaned forward and turned on the car stereo. The music boomed out as thoughthey were sitting in a concert hall. Leonard Cohen first took Manhattan bystorm and then Berlin. They exchanged glances. She turned the volume up louder.

Henningchanged down and accelerated. The speedometer showed 130 km as the roadlevelled out. As the yellow street lamps flashed by like disco lights onHenning's face Katrine felt like they were in a tunnel. The wind against herbody, rock 'n' roll and the urge to cleanse yourself of educated manners, ofsocial graces, of double entendres and hidden agendas, of clammy hands andmiddle- class arrogance. If this party had taken place more than three yearsago, she thought to herself, she would already have been sitting on the floorwith a needle in her arm. She felt a faint yen for that kind of kick even now.But it was faint, like the longing for a particular kind of sweet you ate whenyou were young. And so it will ever be, she thought, but three years ago I hadno control over things, three years ago I wasn't even able to enjoy thepleasures of rejecting a man I didn't like, of not caring whether people saw meleaving a party alone, of not caring what others thought or of not caring whatclothes I wore, especially when sitting in an open car.

Threeyears ago the great secret was just a black, impenetrable void. If she thoughtenough about the great secret she might be re-born.

Shesmiled to herself. Re-born. Henning would call that kitsch. But then Henninghad never wished he had not been born.

Henningparked at the bottom of Cort Adelers gate. Aker Brygge, a shopping precinct,lay like a fortress in front of Honnor wharf, the City Hall square and AkershusCastle on the other side. Although it was around midnight, it didn't seem likenight. They strolled down the tramlines, passed a taxi rank, and two youngertaxi drivers whistled after Katrine who was walking by the broad displaywindows in Aker Brygge. She glanced at her reflection. It felt good to seeherself. It felt good to make faces at her reflection: to be saucy but nottarty. Confident, but not cheap. This is me, she thought. This is how I am. Notnaked, not dressed; not hungry, not satiated.

Theymade friends with a drunk in the queue at McDonald's. He grabbed Katrine's handand winked at Henning. 'Christ,' he said. 'I wish I was young like you.'Katrine bummed cigarettes off him. A street musician sitting on one of thebenches in front of the ferries to Nesodden began to play Neil Young's 'Heartof Gold'. The drunk asked Katrine to dance. She did. The guests at the cafetables along the promenade sat like dark shadows in the summer night, shadowswho might be friends, who might be enemies. She didn't care about the shadowsscowling at her, not understanding what was going on. Tourists in shorts andwhite trainers with purses on strings around their necks strutted past them inthe dark.

Afterwardsshe feasted on a double cheeseburger, chips with a dollop of ketchup and alarge Coke. Henning had a milkshake as always, a vanilla milkshake. That wasHenning.

'Didn'tyou get any food up on Holmenkollen?' he asked once they were back in the car.

'Ispewed it up. Guess why.'

'MrNice Guy?'

Shenodded.

'Hetried it on?'

'Asalways.'

Henningproduced a small joint from his shirt pocket, lit it and took a noisy suck.'It's what I've always said,' he gasped, holding his breath for a few secondsbefore continuing, 'The guy is enough to make anyone spew.' He was breathingnormally again. The smell of marijuana spread around them. Henning said: 'But Iwouldn't have thought you would chuck up. I thought you were normal.'

'Shit,I hate being normal.' Katrine grinned through a mouthful of chips and ketchup.

Henningtook another noisy suck on the joint.

'Wouldyou like to be normal?' he asked with tears in his eyes.

Shetossed back her head and screamed: 'No! And it's wonderful!'

Theydrove along Mosseveien to the sounds of a gentle night-time voice speakingthrough the car's speakers. Henning turned off on the old Mossevei by Mastemyr,passed Hvervenbukta beach and drove at a leisurely speed along the night-stillroad. Katrine switched off the radio and stretched her arms in the air. Thewind tried to flatten her arms; the verdant tops of the trees formed shadowsagainst the sky; there was a smell of grass, of camomile. The smell of summercame streaming towards them. Henning turned right, down the road toIngierstrand.

Hestopped and parked in a kind of gravel parking area, under some large pinetrees, with the bonnet facing the calm Bunnefjord and a narrow beach furtherdown.

Bothof them turned at the sound of another car. They were not alone. A light cameround the bend, a car braked and came to a halt further back.

Henningsmiled and started the engine again. 'Never any peace. I want us to be alone.'

Shesaid nothing. She was considering what he said and wondered whether to sayanything.

Henningreversed and drove back the way he had come. But at the crossing with the oldMossevei he took a right. They drove carefully round the bends and parked byLake Gjer. It was a wonderful undisturbed area. A table and bench and a fewbushes. Henning drove in between the trees. They could see across the lake; afew hundred metres away they could make out the silhouette of the gigantic cartyre marking Hjulet caravan site.

Henningswitched off the engine. For a few moments they heard the chirping of acricket. Soon it too was quiet. The quietness around them made them feel as ifthey had entered a void.

Shewanted to tell him how she felt, to communicate to him the trembling sensationshe had which was making her skin nubble, here and now. But she could not findthe words. They gazed at each other. In the end the silence was broken by theclick of the electric lighter. Henning's face glowed red as he lit hiscigarette.

Theleather seat creaked as she leaned back and peered up at the blue-black skywhere the stars sparkled, like the gleam from a lamp covered with a blacksieve. She said aloud 'Like the gleam from a lamp covered with a damn greatblack sieve.'

Theylooked into each other's eyes again, so long that she almost felt part of herwas drowning in his dark eyes. She wondered whether it would always be likethis for her, whether the boundary between friendship and love would always beconfused.

Hesaid: 'If we can move away, step back far enough, here on earth, we see a kindof system in what is only fiery chaos. We can see two stars, one may have diedyears ago, and been extinguished, and the other may be in the process ofexploding right now. We consider it a system, but everything is in constantflux. The earth falls, the sun falls, stars explode in the beyond and createtime!'

Thecigarette bobbed up and down in the corner of his mouth and his eyes shone withenthusiasm. He is a little boy, she thought, taking the cigarette from his drylips. She held it between her long fingers and kissed him tentatively. Hetasted of smoke and lozenges. The stubble of his beard rasped against her chin.He said something she didn't catch; the words caressed her face like silentbreaths of wind between fine beach grass. She opened her mouth as he went on,parted her lips to blow at the whispering voice.

'Imaginea woman,' he whispered. 'A beautiful woman a long time ago, one who is a bitwild…'

'Wild?'

'It'sa long time ago anyway, and one day she is walking along a path and comes to ariver. There's a bridge over the river, one of those old-fashioned ones madewith tree trunks, with no railing…'

'Isit spring or autumn?' she asked.

'It'sspring, and the river is running high and she stops to look down, into thefoaming torrent. She stands there playing with her ring, but drops it in thewater…'

'Whatsort of ring is it?'

'I'mcoming to that. The ring has been passed down through generations. And the ringfalls in the water and is lost. Many years later she meets a man. He's fromCanada…'

'Whereis she from?'

'Hm?'

Shesmiled at the bewildered expression on his face. 'You said he was from Canada.Where is she from?'

Hethrust out his hands. 'She's from… from… Namsos.'

'Yousee. It takes so little for you to lose your composure.' 'But you ask so manyquestions. You're ruining my story.'

Shesmiled. 'That's because you get so excited. Don't be annoyed. Go on.'

'Thetwo of them marry. But all his life he walks around with an amulet around hisneck. It's a small Indian box carved out of wood; inside he has a secret,something he found in the stomach of a salmon he gutted as a young man…'

'Thering!' she exulted.

Despairingintake of breath from Henning.

Shegrinned. 'Are you denying that the ring is in the amulet?'

He,also with a grin: 'The ring is indeed in the amulet. But that's not the point.'

'OK,get to the point.'

'Thepoint is that he dies.'

'Dies?Hey, you're evil.'

'…And when he's dead, the widow opens the amulet he wore around his neck all hislife… what are you grinning at?'

'You'resuch a hopeless romantic.'

Withanother grin: 'I'm never going to the cinema with you.'

'Yes,you will. Let's go to the cinema. Let's go tomorrow.'

'Butyou don't let anyone finish what they're saying.'

'Idon't go to the cinema to talk!'

'No,tut I'm sure you'll sit there commenting on the film. I hate it when peopletalk in the cinema.'

'Ipromise to be quiet if you come with me to the cinema tomorrow.'

'Whatwill Ole say if you and I go to the cinema?'

'Don'tbring Ole into this. I'm talking about you and me.'

'AndI'm talking about the system,' he insisted, remaining objective. 'My wholepoint is that it is not chance that made this man live his life with her ringround his neck. No two rings are identical; it's the same ring she lost beforethey met. He caught a fish with the ring in its stomach. However, the ring andthe man, plus her and the salmon, along with the ring, are all part of thesystem, a pattern which becomes logical if it is put in the right perspective.If you step back far enough.'

'Andyou're floating on a pink cloud,' she said, taking a last drag of hiscigarette. She held it out to him with a quizzical expression, then crushed itin the ashtray in the car door when, with a wave of his hand, he refused. Shesaid: 'The strange thing about this story is that she didn't know about thering the man had around his neck all his life. After all, they were married.'

Hesighed again. 'You're the one who's hopeless,' he whispered, and after a littlereflection went on: 'OK, but I think this guy had the ring in the amulet aroundhis neck because he dreamed about the woman who owned it, and I think he didn'twant to reveal the dream to his wife because he loved her so much. He didn'twant her to know about this dream he had about another woman.'

'Andin fact it was his wife who owned the ring. It was her he was dreaming aboutall the time.' She nodded deep in thought. 'In a way, that's beautiful.'

Henningleaned forwards, groped around the dashboard and pressed a button. A buzz camefrom the roof of the car as it closed above them.

'Wouldn'tyou like to see the stars?' she asked with sham surprise.

'I'ma bit cold,' he answered – as though quoting a line from a book.

Withthe roof over their heads and the windows closed it was like sitting in frontof a warm hearth. The car bonnet reflected the glow of the starry sky. An insectbrushed against her forehead, leaving her with a mild itch which she rubbedwith her index finger.

'WhatI am trying to point out is the pattern,' he continued. 'Imagine the hand thatgathers strength to cast the bait, a second in an ocean of seconds, but stillthis second is part of a system. It is at this second that the salmon takes thebait – so that the man can land the fish and find the ring in its stomach. Forone moment, imagine that moment – the sun reflecting on the drops of water andthe metal hook – a hundredth of a second that fulfils the fish's feeling ofhunger and its drive to swim up the river. This hundredth is one link in asystem. Everything is connected: fate, man, woman, salmon, time and the ringshe fidgets with on the bridge. Together they are points in a greater unity.Take us two. Or imagine two people, any two young people, two people who loveeach other without being aware that they do.'

'Butis that possible?'

Heshrank back, stole a glance and said: 'Of course it's possible. These twopeople see each other every day, they may meet every day at work – or not eventhat – for that matter they might see each other every day at a bus stop – oron a bus in the morning rush hour. She may run past a window where he isstanding and waiting every morning. Think about it: every morning she rims pasta particular office window to see him, and he rushes to the window to see her;this is a moment of contact neither of them can analyze or understand to anymeaningful extent until a lot of time has passed. Later, with more experience,with the passage of more time, they think back and know in their hearts thatwhat they had felt at that moment was a kind of love. They know that theyalready loved each other then.'

'But,Henning,' she said, stroking his beard with her lips. She placed a light kisson Henning's mouth and whispered: 'You can let them meet again because you'rein charge, you're telling the story.'

Hewhispered back: 'You have to remember that these two met in the way they didwithout knowing they were meeting. It was just something that happened. Pastmeetings of this kind are a source of the loss or the warmth they carry inside- for the rest of their lives.'

'Butyou can let them meet once more,' she insisted.

'OK,'he said.

'Tellme now they did,' she begged. 'Tell me they met again.'

'OK,'he repeated. 'The two of them met again. This is how it happened: he wassitting on a train going south. The train stopped at a station and he got up tolook out of the window. Then he saw her.

Becauseanother train was standing in the station too. She stood looking out of thetrain window – the train going north, in the opposite direction. A metre of airseparated them. Can you imagine that? Her standing with the wind playing in herhair. She was wearing a white summer dress which was semi-transparent; through twotrain windows he could see the dress clinging to her body – he could see theoutline of her stomach muscles under the dress. They saw each other for fiveseconds, looked into each other's eyes until the trains moved off. One trainwent north, the other south. And they were separated again.'

Shecaressed Henning's chin with her lips. 'What's her name?' she whispered.

Hegrinned and shook his head. 'This isn't about me. This is a story. This issomething that happens every day. To someone. The one thing you can say is thatthere is something beautiful about the moment the two of them experience.'

'Andyou're in a world of your own,' she whispered. 'Do you fantasize about her?'

'Ofcourse.'

Hissmile was sad: 'The only comprehensible thing you can take from the system thataffects those two is the poetry. The language, the words we say to each otherform a box in which we can collect the beautiful things in life and reveal themto each other at moments like now – here, you and I in this car, tonight.Language and poetry are our way of sensing the incomprehensible because wecannot step far back enough, outside ourselves, to a place where you can enjoythe logic and the inevitability of reality.'

Hewas breathless from all the speaking. Henning is actually very charming, shethought, Henning is naive, child-like and charming. She said:

'Idon't agree.'

'Eh?'

'You'regood at storytelling, but you don't know anything about reality.'

Hesent her a gentle, sarcastic smile. 'That's how easy it was to get off withyou.'

'Nowyou listen to me,' she said. 'Outside Kragerø there is a little placecalled Portør. It's not the name of the place which is important; thepoint is that you can see the whole horizon from there. It sticks out into thesea – all that is between you and Denmark is the Skagerrak. Once upon a timethere was a dead calm. Do you know what that is? Dead calm. That's when thewater is like a mirror, not a ripple. I was swimming, early in the morning, thesun was shining, the water was warm, not a breath of wind and the sea wascompletely still. I began to swim, towards the horizon. You know how I loveswimming. And I swam and I swam until I felt so tired I needed to rest. I layfloating on my back looking up at the burning sun. I could see my white bodyunder the surface of the water and I glanced around. And do you know what? Ihad swum so far out that it was not possible to see land anywhere. Whicheverway I looked there was just calm, black sea. I couldn't see anything, not aboat, not a sail, not a strip of land. And I lay there thinking about the blackdeep beneath me, thinking that I had no idea which way led back to where I hadcome from, and I closed my eyes. Lying there like that was the biggest kick I haveever known, before or since. I knew in my heart that this was what it is allabout. This is life; this is what actually happens every day. Every second ofthe day is like lying there, alone in the sea.'

'Butyou found the way back?'

Shesmiled. 'Of course I did. I'm here, aren't I?'

'Yes,I know, but how? Was it just luck that you swam in the right direction?'

'Maybe.It might have been luck, but that's not the point. The fact is that it was themost important experience I have had in my life.'

'Whydo you think that?'

'Itwas what made me decide to come off drugs. But perhaps even more important thanthat was the revelation.'

Shesmiled and whispered softly. 'My single thought while I was out there was thatnothing is predetermined. There is no system. You tell great stories, Henning,but this business about predetermined systems is just bullshit. My life beginssomewhere between me and the sea. I believe in myself and in reality. That'sit.'

Thefinal word hung quivering in the air. Neither of them said anything. They satclose together and Katrine could feel the heat from Henning's thighs againsther own. 'What kind of amulet did he have?' she asked.

'Who?'

'Theguy from Canada.'

'Oh,him…' Henning tried to force a hand down into his trouser pocket, but had toraise his bottom first. 'Here,' he said, passing her a beautiful, small, whitebox. She took it. There were neat drawings in gold on the lid. 'The kind weused to keep our amphetamines in,' she said, weighing the small box in herhand.

'Notlike this one,' he said, taking off the lid.

'Marble,'she burst out. 'Is it made of marble?'

Henningnodded. 'It's the same technique they use in the Taj Mahal. The mother-of-pearland the blue stone have been worked into the material. Feel,' he whispered,stroking the smooth surface of the lid with his finger. At that instant theireyes met. She slowly lowered the white box and put it in her lap. Then sheloosened the thick band of massive gold with two inlaid jewels she was wearingon the ring finger of her left hand. She dropped the ring in the box where itfell with a dry thud. She closed the lid and passed him the box. Henning tookit with a gulp.

Theyhuddled close together and the intimacy between them grew. She stared atHenning's glowing skin, at his black eyes shining in the dark. Sinews and veinsformed dark shadows in his skin. That's how I want him, she thought. And thatwas how she took him. She forced Henning under her and fucked him, there in thecar; she rode him until the constellations in the sky made small reflections inthe beads of sweat on his forehead. She could read in his dark pupils how hisorgasm was building up, and when he came inside her, she covered his mouth withhers and let him scream as much he was able, deep down into her stomach.

Afterwardsshe dozed off. Her body ached when she woke up; her right leg felt bloodlessand numb. That's the first time I've slept in a car since I was little, shethought. It was colder now. Henning was emitting low snoring sounds. Sheloosened her arms from around his neck and sat up straight. In the mirror shesaw that her hair had become tangled. She looked like a woman waking up in thearms of a man in a car in the middle of the night. My leg has gone to sleep,she thought, and began to massage her calf and thigh. And I am cold. Outsidethere were still stars in the sky. The tiny crescent moon that had hung overthe water had moved further south, and the sky, above the treetops on the otherside, was lighter, had a bluer tinge. 'Fancy that,' she said in a husky voice.Henning was mumbling in his sleep. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard.It was past two o'clock.

Sheshivered, put on her thin blouse and straightened her skirt. She examined herface in the car mirror and wished she had a comb. The inside of the car windowshad steamed up. She was hungry. And she needed a wash. She searched the glovecompartment for cigarettes, but it was empty apart from the log book and a fewpaper napkins. She dried the condensation on one of the side windows. Outsideit was dark behind the spruces. She rolled down the window. The air waswonderful, fresh, but light and cool to the face. Her upper arms began to getgooseflesh. She grabbed the gear lever, eased her leg across to find the clutchpedal. At last she got the car into neutral and manoeuvred her hand around thesteering wheel without waking Henning. Then she turned on the ignition. The carstarted, and she put on the fan heater. The white cone of the headlamps pickedout a tree trunk and a mass of green vegetation. Henning was still fast asleep.She thought about going for a wash in the water. It would be wonderful to rinseaway the taste of smoke from her mouth. But there didn't seem to be an obviouspath. The area between the road and the lake was a murky jumble of trees,bilberry bushes and sharp ends of bare branches. She shuddered. She thought ofsnakes, horrible coiled snakes slithering between the dead leaves on theground; she thought of spiders and huge anthills, crawling with millions ofants, and she shuddered again.

Inthe end she opened the car door and staggered out on stiff legs. She hoppedaround until the blood slowly returned to her sleeping leg. Ants in the blood.It hurt and she bit her lower lip. She brought her heel down on a sharp stone.It hurt so much she screamed 'Ow', then began to walk. She stumbled around thecar like an electric doll with stiff legs and limbs. Barefoot, she walked overthe cold, sharp stones and soon felt her circulation returning.

Allof a sudden she heard a sound and stopped to listen. She stood quite motionlessand a chill crept up her spine. She stood like this for a long time, listening,but didn't hear the sound again. At the same time she scanned her surroundingsto see what could have caused it. The night was grey, not pitch black, and inthe light from the moon and the stars she saw her shadow on the ground. Theonly sound to be heard was the low rumble of the idling car engine. What wastruly black were the trees and the surface of the water struggling in vain toreflect the stars.

When,at last, she was sure that she had imagined the sound, she decided to go downto the lakeside. She walked down the road with care, looking for a path. Andcaught sight of a wonderful flat stone she could stand on at the water's edge.A cool gust of air blew against her ankles and legs as she approached. Shestopped, bent down, put her hand in the water and felt the temperature.Lukewarm. In the dark she found the stone and went down on her knees. Shescooped up water and threw it into her face; it was not cold at all. She stoodup, peeled off her panties, kicked off her shoes and stepped into the lake bare-legged.Her feet sank down to her ankles in the mud which felt like cool, lumpy cream.It was unpleasant, but it didn't matter. It was only for two seconds. Sheraised her skirt to her waist, faced land, squatted down and washed herself.

Whatwas that?

Shesprang to her feet and listened.

Asound. But what kind of sound?

Shestood quite still listening. But now the silence was total, not even the soundof Henning's car was audible. Just the sound of insects fluttering their wingsagainst the water broke the frozen silence. She suddenly became aware that herskirt was bunched up around her waist, and she let go.

Somethinghad changed. There was something strange about the silence. She tried to workout what was different. She could not, but she didn't like standing there,alone and exposed in the water. The deep gloom and the unbearable silencecaused her to feel a clammy sense of fear spreading outwards from the small ofher back, a fear which numbed her fingers, which drained her arms of strength,which dried out her mouth and which stopped her breathing. As the darkness wasa summer darkness, she could make out the contours of rocks and branchesprotruding into the air. A clump of black, impenetrable spruce trees blockedher view of the road. It was not possible to see through the wall of sprucefoliage.

Walk,she told herself, wade to the shore and go back to the car. But for somereason she did not want to make any noise. Because, she thought, because… itwould drown the other sounds. Which sounds? She stood quite stillconcentrating, but she couldn't hear a single thing.

Shout,she thought. Shout for Henning\ But she couldn't make herself do that,either. Instead she waded to the shore. She tripped and almost fell, butmanaged to regain balance and scrambled on to the shore. She tried to force herwet feet into the shoes. It was difficult; her feet refused to go into hershoes of their own accord.

Onceshe was ready, she stood with her body tensed, listening. Not a sound to beheard, not even insects. Her eyes seemed to be drawn to the thick wall ofspruce on the right. There were spruce needles and tiny pebbles in her shoes.It was unpleasant, but she repressed the feeling. She was focused on the airand the dark wall of spruce. There. There was that sound again. And it camefrom somewhere behind the spruce trees.

Shewas breathing through her open mouth. Panicky breathing which she had to keepin check. She closed her mouth and held her breath. She stared intently at theclump of trees. There it was again. The rustling noise. She closed her eyes.

'Henning?'she whispered. Her voice didn't carry.

Therustling stopped. She cleared her throat to regain her speech.

'Henning?'she shouted and listened. A twig cracked. Other twigs stirred. 'Is that you,Henning?'

Asilhouette detached itself from the clump of trees, a white silhouette. Asilhouette that had been there all the time, but she had not seen it until now,when it started moving. It was in human form. White human form. With no clotheson.