The Water's Edge

CHAPTER 39

Elfrid Løwe had come to the police station where she spent a long time talking to Jacob Skarre. He listened with kindness and attention, resting his chin on his hand.

'Jonas was a quick and gentle boy,' she said. 'Nimble like a squirrel, up and down the stairs like the wind. Curious, eager and positive. Sometimes he would look at me with his large, blue eyes, hungry for love. He needed so much attention, and I could offer him an endless supply, it was just the two of us. At school he was quiet and shy, his teacher was always telling me so at parents' evenings. Jonas is a little passive, she said, it would be good if he could try to be a little more assertive in lessons. He suffered from a number of allergies, but he managed his medication himself. I thought it was going well on the whole, but I always worried about his asthma. And he was tiny. Perhaps that's what held him back. I'm sure you'll start growing soon and you'll be big and strong in a few years, I used to say. Mothers always say things like that because we can't bear our children's disappointment when something upsets them, it tears us apart.

'But he was as good as gold, well-behaved and polite, so if an adult asked him to do something, I mean, like get into a car, because I suppose that's what happened, well, he would have got into the car because he was so trusting and because I taught him to be kind to everybody. So now I'm thinking it's all my fault. That if he had been a street-wise and shrewd boy then he would be alive today. But he thought the best of everyone and because of that he died, that's how it seems to me. I blame myself every hour of the day and I'll carry this guilt to my grave. The vicar has been to see me. I let him in because I don't want to hurt his feelings. He just stands there and he so desperately wants to help. He says that the only person who is to blame is the man who killed Jonas. He says I should remember Jonas with joy and cherish the memories, and I do because the memories are happy, but it's so hard. When I see other mothers with their children, I just want to scream. If I had another child, I would still have a reason to get up in the morning; now I'm just sitting there staring out of the window. My hands lie useless in my lap, no one needs me, no one bothers me. There's no point in going to bed at night, I don't need to get up in the morning. There is nothing to make me want to live the rest of my life.

'I used to sit by his bedside every evening. He would curl up under the duvet and his eyes would plead with me for comfort and encouragement, he needed so much support. We would talk about the day that had just passed and the day that was to come. I would think of some treat to look forward to, something to make him fall asleep with a smile on his face. That we would cook something special for tea the next day or watch a film together in the evening, the two of us, snuggled up on the sofa. All children deserve to have a treat every single day, all children deserve to be pampered.

'The worst moments are when my thoughts take control of me and I start to imagine what his last few hours must have been like. The pictures in my head are so disgusting they make me scream. What he had to go through. I don't know whether to think about it in all its horror so that I can suffer with Jonas or whether I should suppress it. The vicar says it's finished now and that Jonas isn't suffering any more, I'm the only one suffering now and he's right about that. I thought his funeral was so beautiful, the organ music and the flowers, and the poem that his teacher read out loud. I had to translate it into Norwegian for my parents, they don't speak any English. I visit his grave every single day. It took me for ever to choose his headstone; none of them was good enough. The one I chose was far too expensive. I had to take out a loan, but they were kind to me at the bank, they gave me a good rate. They all know about Jonas. The stone is heart-shaped with a cut-out in the middle and in it there is a lamp which lights up at night. There's an inscription underneath his name.

You were my darling angel.

Now there is only silence.

'Sometimes when I'm walking towards the church I notice how people stop at Jonas's grave. They stand there with a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity. It doesn't upset me, I like it that people stop and think, and then I wait until they've gone because I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable. I have reserved the plot next to him for myself, we're going to lie close to each other and I look forward to that. I'm not scared of dying. Jonas has done it, so I can do it too. I don't know much about eternity, but perhaps it's all right. I talk and talk and you listen with reverence. Perhaps you think that I'll be fine eventually because I can put words to my feelings. But the reality is that silence terrifies me.'