The Weeping Girl

TWO
13

21 July 1983

‘What is this idea of yours?’ she wondered.

He didn’t answer. Just put his arm round her, and squeezed her gently. Then they started walking.

In towards the town centre at first, but when they came to the water tower he turned off into Bruggerstraat instead of continuing straight ahead. He was leading, she followed. As usual, she thought. Perhaps she had hoped they would go to one of the cafes in Polderplejn or Grote Marckt, but that was not to be. In recent weeks — for the last two months, in fact, ever since she told him how things stood with her — he had avoided places like that. She had noticed the change before, and had even raised the matter with him; he’d said he preferred to have her to himself.

She both liked and disliked that response. She liked to lie around in the summery darkness with him of course, cuddling and kissing. And being caressed. She enjoyed caressing him as well, and riding on him with her hands on his chest and his hard cock deep inside her. But it was pleasant sitting around in cafes as well. Sitting and smoking and drinking coffee and chatting with people. Just sitting there, looking good and letting them look at her. Maybe that was why, she thought. Maybe it was because he knew she liked being looked at that he’d turned off towards Saar and the football pitches instead of towards the town centre.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘We need to talk a bit,’ he said.

They came to the park behind the fire station, she couldn’t remember what it was called. Fire Station Park, perhaps? He was holding his right hand quite a long way down her hip, and she suspected he was beginning to feel randy. It was quite a long time since that had last happened. He led her into the park, and they sat down on a bench well hidden behind some bushes. She couldn’t see any other people, but knew that there were usually a few couples cuddling close to the playground at the other end of the park. She’d been there herself quite a few times, but never with him. She couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

‘Would you like a drop of this?’

He handed her a bottle he’d taken out of his shoulder bag. She took a sip. Some kind of schnapps. It was strong, and made her throat burn. But it was also sweet, warmed her up nicely and tasted of blackcurrants or something similar. She took another bigger sip, and placed her hand between his legs. Just as she’d thought, he already had an erection.

When they had finished they emptied the rest of the bottle and smoked a few cigarettes. They didn’t say much — he didn’t usually like to chat afterwards. She began to feel quite drunk, but she had a strange feeling of seriousness deep down inside, and guessed that it had to do with Arnold Maager.

And with the baby.

‘What was this idea of yours?’ she asked again.

He stubbed out his cigarette and spat twice into the gravel. She realized that he was probably just about as drunk as she was. He’d been drinking quite a lot earlier as well. But he could take more, of course: men always could.

‘Maager,’ he said. ‘You said you’d changed your mind. What the hell do you mean?’

She thought for a moment.

‘I don’t want to go through with it,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to deceive him like that. You and me. . It’s you and me. . No, I don’t want to.’

She was having difficulty in finding the right words.

‘We need the money,’ he said. ‘That’s why we did it, can’t you see that? We have to put pressure on him.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to even so. I intend to tell him the truth.’

‘Tell him the truth? Are you out of your mind?’

Then he muttered something that sounded like ‘bloody bitch’, but of course, she must have misheard him. In any case, he sounded really angry with her: this was the first time it had happened, and she could feel her stomach churning.

‘I don’t want to,’ she said again. ‘I can’t. It’s so wrong. . Such a bloody lousy thing to do.’

He didn’t respond. Just sat there, kicking at the gravel without looking at her. They had lost contact with each other now. There was a vast chasm between them, despite the fact that they had just made love and were still sitting on the same bench in the same bloody park. It felt odd, but she wondered if it would have felt like that if she hadn’t been drunk.

‘For Christ’s sake, it’s our baby,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to pretend that anybody else is involved with our baby.’

‘Money,’ he said simply. He sounded both tired and angry. And drunk as well.

‘I know,’ she said

She suddenly felt extremely sad. As if everything was going to pot at a very high speed. Half a minute passed. He was still kicking at the gravel.

‘We worked out a plan,’ he said eventually. ‘For Christ’s sake, you were with me all the way. . You can’t just let the old bastard exploit you and then change your mind. He must cough up — or would you rather have the randy old goat instead of me? He’s a bloody teacher, for God’s sake!’

She suddenly felt sick. Don’t throw up now, she told herself. Gritted her teeth and clutched her knees tightly. Breathed deeply and carefully, felt the waves coming and going. When they slowly began to ebb away, she burst out crying instead.

At first he just sat there and let her sob away, but gradually he moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulder.

It felt good, and she let the tears keep on coming for quite a while.

When you cry, you don’t need to speak or think, her mother had once told her, and there was some truth in it. Sometimes her hopeless mother could come out with something sensible, but not very often.

The bells in Waldeskirke, where she had been confirmed two years ago, chimed three times: a quarter to one. He lit two cigarettes, and handed her one. Then he produced a can of beer from his shoulder bag, and opened it.

He took several large swigs himself before passing it to her. She drank, and thought that the schnapps had tasted much better. Beer simply couldn’t make you feel warm inside. Strong spirits and wine were much better, she’d always thought that. And they didn’t make you want to pee so much either.

They sat there in silence for a few more minutes, then he said:

‘I have an idea.’

She reminded herself yet again that this was exactly what he had said a few hours ago. Down on the beach. She thought it was strange that he’d been carrying this idea around for such a long time without telling her what it was.

Mind you, this might be another one now.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Let’s talk to him,’ he said.

She didn’t understand what he meant.

‘Right now,’ he said. ‘You can give him a call and we can have a chat with him. And then we’ll see.’

He emptied the can of beer and opened a new one.

‘How many have you got?’ she asked.

‘Just one more. Well?’

She thought for a moment. She badly needed a pee. Really badly.

‘How?’ she said.

‘There’s a phone box over there.’

He pointed in the direction of the fire station.

‘Well?’

She nodded.

‘Okay. I must just have a pee first.’

The viaduct? she thought as she stood in the cramped phone box and dialled the number. Why do we have to meet him up there at the railway viaduct?

She got no further with that train of thought as she could hear the telephone ringing at the other end of the line, then somebody picked up the receiver. She took a deep breath, and tried to make her voice steady.

I hope it’s not his wife who’s answered, she thought.

It was his wife.