The Redbreast

82

HolmenkoUen. 11 May 2000.

It was the warmest spring evening so far. Harry was driving with the car window open and the gentle breeze caressed his face and hair. From the top of HolmenkoUen he could see Oslo fjord and the islands strewn around like greenish brown shells, and the first white sails of the new season were making their way towards land for the evening. A couple of red-capped school-leavers stood urinating at the edge of the road, beside a red bus with loudspeakers mounted on the roof. The music was booming out: Won't-you-be my lover…

An elderly lady wearing hiking breeches, and with an anorak tied around her waist and a tired but beatific expression on her face, was ambling down the road.

Harry parked down from the house. He didn't want to go all the way up the drive, he didn't quite know why-perhaps because he thought it would seem less invasive to park at the bottom. Ridiculous, of course, since his visit had been unannounced and uninvited.

He was halfway up the drive when his mobile phone bleeped. It was Halvorsen ringing from the Traitors' Archive.

'Nothing,' he said. 'If Daniel Gudeson really is alive, he certainly wasn't convicted after the war.'

'And Signe Juul?'

'She was sentenced to one year.’

‘But never went to prison. Anything else of interest?’

‘Zilch. And now they're getting ready to chuck me out and close up.’

‘Go home and sleep-perhaps we'll come up with something tomorrow.'

Harry had arrived at the foot of the steps and was going to take them in one jump when the door opened. He stood still. Rakel was wearing a woollen jumper and blue jeans; her hair was untidy and her face paler than usual. He searched her eyes for any indication that she was happy to see him again, but found none. But nor was there the neutral courtesy he had dreaded most. Her eyes expressed nothing, whatever that meant.

'I heard someone talking outside,' she said. 'Come in.' Oleg was in the sitting room, watching TV in his pyjamas. 'Hi loser,' Harry said. 'Shouldn't you be practising Tetris?' Oleg snorted without taking his eyes off the TV. 'I always forget that children don't understand irony,' Harry said to Rakel.

'Where have you been?' Oleg asked.

'Been?' Harry was a little baffled by Oleg's accusatory expression. 'What do you mean?'

Oleg rolled his shoulders.

'Coffee?' Rakel asked. Harry nodded. Oleg and Harry sat in silence watching the gnu's incredible migration through the Kalahari Desert while Rakel clattered around in the kitchen. It took time, the coffee and the migration.

'Fifty-six thousand,' Oleg said finally.

'That's not true,' Harry said.

'I top the all-time-high list!'

'Go and get it.'

Oleg was on to his feet and out of the sitting room as Rakel brought in the coffee. She sat facing Harry. He found the remote control and turned down the sound of thundering hooves. It was Rakel who broke the silence in the end.

'So what are you going to do on 17 May this year?’

‘Work. But if you're suggesting an invitation to something, I'll move heaven and earth…'

She laughed and dismissed the idea with a wave.

'Sorry, I was just making conversation. Let's talk about something else.'

'You've been ill, haven't you?' Harry asked.

'That's a long story.'

'You have a number of them.'

'Why are you back from Sweden?' she asked.

'Brandhaug. With whom, strangely enough, I was sitting right here.'

'Yes, life throws up bizarre coincidences,' Rakel said.

'So bizarre that you would never get away with it in fiction, anyway.'

'You don't know the half of it, Harry.'

'What do you mean?'

She sighed and stirred her tea.

'What is this?' Harry asked. 'Is the whole family communicating in coded messages this evening?'

She attempted a laugh, but it ended up in a sniffle. Spring cold, Harry thought.

'I… it…'

She tried to start the sentence a couple more times, but nothing coherent emerged. The teaspoon in her cup went round in circles. Over her shoulder Harry glimpsed a gnu being slowly and pitilessly dragged into the river by a crocodile.

'I've had a terrible time,' she said. 'And I've been pining for you.'

She turned to Harry, and it was only now that he saw she was crying. The tears rolled down her cheeks and collected under her chin. She made no attempt to stop them.

'Well…' Harry began, and that was all he managed to say before they were in each other's arms. They clung to each other as to a lifebuoy. Harry was shaking. Just this, Harry thought. Just this is enough. Just holding her like this.

'Mummy!' The shout came from the first floor. 'Where's the GameBoy?'

'In one of the drawers in the dressing-table,' Rakel shouted in a quivering voice. 'Start at the top.'

'Kiss me,' she whispered to Harry.

'But Oleg might -'

'It's not in the dressing-table.'

When Oleg came downstairs with the GameBoy, which he finally found in the toy box, he didn't notice the atmosphere in the sitting room at first and laughed at Harry, who was hm-hming with concern at seeing the new score. But as soon as Harry set off to beat the new record, he heard Oleg say, 'What's up with your faces?'

Harry looked at Rakel, who was only just capable of keeping a straight face.

'It's because we like each other so much,' Harry said, replacing three lines with one long line out on the right. 'And your record is on the ropes now, loser.'

Oleg laughed and slapped Harry on the shoulder.

'No chance. You're the loser.'