Broken (18 page)

Ten long days passed before Lindys reappeared.

At that point Alvar had started to relax and become his old self again. His shoulders were no longer hunched, his nerves had calmed down. What a fool he had been. He had been thinking this invasion would be permanent. Him, Alvar Eide. The loner. The oddball. Ultimately he was not a very interesting person, so she had probably found someone else to attach herself to, someone else she could fleece. He walked through the town with a spring in his step. He had finished work for the day. His life was once again his own, order and control ruled supreme. The snow melted, it trickled everywhere, people unbuttoned their coats and enjoyed the sun. He quickly popped into the Cash and Carry for some food before making his way up the hill to his flat. Outside he met Green who was emptying his letter box. Alvar nodded briefly, he didn't feel like talking. Green didn't say anything either, but he gave Alvar an odd look. Green's hand appeared holding a pile of junk mail whereupon he went to his own front door and vanished into his flat. Alvar felt a dart of something. What did that look signify? It was such a condescending look, as if his value as a human being had suddenly tumbled. He felt an instant, inexplicable sense of discomfort. He fumbled for the key in his pocket and stuck it in the lock. He tried turning it clockwise, but the key refused to budge. Now what was this? Had the lock caught? He tried again, this time with more force, but was at the same time scared of twisting the metal. Out of sheer frustration he turned the key anticlockwise. He heard a sharp click. What's this? he gasped. He turned the key clockwise again and there was another click. He turned the door handle and the door opened. The explanation revealed itself to him in its full horror. He had left his flat without locking his front door. He went into the hall with a strong sense of unease. He stopped and listened.

'Hiya!' It came from the living room. He froze instantly.

'I let the cat in,' he then heard. 'And afterwards I took a shower. You don't mind, do you?'

Several seconds of silence followed. 'You don't mind, do you, Alvar?'

He wanted to take a step forward, but he was paralysed. Finally he forced himself to move. She was lying on his sofa under a blanket. She propped herself up on her elbow, supporting her head in her hand.

'You can stop staring at me,' she said, 'I'm not a ghost.'

'But,' he struggled to find the words. 'But,' he said again and could manage nothing else.

She sat up on the sofa and arranged the blanket across her lap.

'I just needed some time out,' she explained. She reached for a mug on the coffee table. The kitten was asleep in an armchair. Alvar was speechless.

'I've made myself a cup of tea,' she went on, drinking from the mug. She slurped the tea. 'Well, go on, sit down. I don't bite.'

'But,' he said for the third time. He looked out into the kitchen, he stared out of the window, he did not understand a word of it.

'You can relax,' she said drily, 'there's no one else, only me.'

'Did I leave the door open?' he croaked.

'No, why would you think that? You're not absent-minded, Alvar. I've got a key.'

She picked up something from the coffee table. The metal gleamed in the light.

He took a step closer to the sofa. He was indignant now because he could not understand how that had happened, he could think of no explanation.

'But how did you get hold of that?' he finally managed to ask.

'From the key cupboard in the hall,' she said lightly. 'Most people have more than one set. I took it the last time I was here. I thought I could let myself in and out. You don't mind, do you?'

She peeked up at him with her ice-blue eyes.

He finally collapsed into a chair. The kitten was purring. Lindys drank her tea. Alvar sat like a log, trying to compose himself. Her eye had healed, he noticed. The grey jacket she always wore lay in a heap under the coffee table. He closed his eyes. Unable to take in what had happened.

'For Christ's sake,' she said suddenly, 'you don't need to make such a drama out of it, I'll leave soon, I promise.'

'But the key,' he whispered. 'You can't just help yourself to things like that, people just don't do that.'

'Yes,' she said. 'I do. I help myself. Whereas you never do.' She smiled, showing her sharp teeth.

'I've been thinking of moving,' he said abruptly. It just burst out of him.

She laughed out loud.

'Oh, you're so naive, matey!'

He bowed his head.

'Now take off your coat. Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?'

He shook his head. No, he was screaming on the inside, no, no, no!

'You're nervous,' she said more mildly this time. 'I can tell. But surely you can see that I'm not high?' She spread out her hands and beamed at him.

No, she was not high. And she was more brazen than ever, he thought.

'But you know,' she carried on, 'that's not something that can continue for very long.' She smoothed the blanket a little. 'I need a grand.'

He shook his head, terrified. She narrowed her eyes.

'You know what will happen if you say no,' she said, suddenly sounding vulnerable. 'I'll go cold turkey, and that's not a pretty sight.'

He bit his lip. Gave her a doubting look, wrung his hands in his lap.

'But don't you worry about that, I can always turn tricks. I would have to, anyway, in order to pay back what I owe you. You're thinking you won't ever see that money again, you think I'm robbing you blind and that I'll never repay you. You don't think very much of people like me.'

Her lower lip protruded, she was sulking.

'I'm not really sure,' he began.

'Exactly. You're like all the others. With your fine flat and your job and your cat and your savings while the rest of us are on the street living hand to mouth.'

He shook his head again.

'I don't want to be mean,' he said then. It felt as if he was falling down a pit. He fumbled for his wallet in the inside pocket of his coat, opened it and looked into the notes compartment.

The painting, he despaired. If this goes on, I'll never be able to afford it. It's like the bridge is sliding away from me and another person with a more forceful character will snatch it right before my eyes. A staunch, resolute man. A man who makes decisions without even blinking.

'I've only got five hundred in cash,' he whispered.

She turned her head angrily. 'Bloody plastic,' she said fiercely. 'I've got friends begging on the streets of Oslo and that's all they ever hear.
I don't carry cash.
I'm gonna get one of those little Visa terminals,' she said, 'and I'll swipe their bloody cards until they light up like a Christmas tree.'

He put the notes on the table for her, his hand was limp. She snatched them greedily.

'Just finishing my tea,' she said.

Has she stopped saying thank you? he wondered. Are we where I thought we would end up? Suddenly he felt exhausted. He rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

She immediately slammed her mug on the table with a bang. 'Why are you looking so tormented? You look like you're on your deathbed and you're clearly not.'

'I'm just a little tired,' he explained. He looked at the kitten. He wanted to lift him up and stroke his back, but he could not do it while she was looking, as if stroking the kitten was something terribly intimate.

'What have you got to be tired about?' she demanded.

He merely gave her a deep sigh in return.

'Oh, I get it, the picture,' she said, leaping up from the sofa. 'Anyway, it was nice to have a shower. I'm going to go now so you can get some peace. You don't need to get so stressed out just because you come home and find someone in your flat. Most people can handle that,' she claimed.

She retrieved her jacket from under the coffee table and put it on. Stood unsteadily on the high-heeled ankle boots. She went out into the hall. Alvar sat as before, immovable, with his head in his hands.

'See ya,' she called from the hall. He heard the door slam. Nevertheless he remained on his chair. And then a new wave of despair rolled over him. He had not got his key back.

Eventually he snapped out of his trance.

He fetched his shopping bag, which he had abandoned in the hall and went out into the kitchen with heavy steps. There he stopped and stared aimlessly at the worktop. Parts of him were still paralysed, he was unable to lift his hands. She had got him now. She had him in a vice, she was spending his money and using his bathroom, she was drinking his tea. She had the key to his flat in her pocket. She could have ten copies made of it and hand it out on Bragernes Square, it was only a matter of time before they would all be going to his flat and he risked coming home from work to find them there, perhaps a whole gang of them with their feet on the coffee table. And her with the kitten on her lap. He shuddered. This prospect almost brought him to his knees.

He lifted the shopping bag onto the worktop and unpacked the food. For weeks, he thought, for months, for years she would burden him, what am I going to do? These thoughts distressed him deeply. They circled places he did not want to go to. How do you get rid of someone you do not want? What would his neighbour think? Would he end up drifting around the town himself, too scared to go back to a flat filled with strangers, would he end up being forced out of his own home? No! a voice inside him screamed. Fate can't be that cruel. I don't deserve this. Though he did not believe in justice. Misfortune could strike anyone, he realised, and now it's my turn. Or I've got it the wrong way round, she's the unfortunate one. She needs heroin; she walks the streets in thin clothes. He clasped his head with both hands while he stared at a coil of Cumberland sausage. Suddenly he had an idea. The solution was so obvious, so brilliant in all its simplicity, and in addition totally achievable; he just had not thought of it until now. When my mind is darkened my thoughts go around in circles. I'll replace the lock, he exclaimed joyously, I'll do it right away. And get new keys. Then she won't be able to let herself in. And I'll never open the door when the bell rings!

The plan energised him and he hurried into the living room where he snatched the Yellow Pages from the shelf. Looked up a locksmith. Ran to the telephone to punch in the number. He lifted the handset cautiously and heard the dialling tone. It took a lot out of him to make the call. Asking for anything was so terribly hard for him that he wavered. He inhaled deeply several times before dialling the number. He heard the ringing tone. At the same time he looked at his watch. They were obviously closed, it was almost six in the evening. He would have to wait until tomorrow. He left the Yellow Pages open on the floor and went back to the kitchen to prepare his dinner. While he cooked he visualised her face the next time she would be standing outside his door with a key that no longer fitted. He could imagine disbelief, disappointment and rage, he saw anguish and desperation. But sod it, he thought and was startled by his own language, even though he had not said it out loud. I need to take charge here, before everything goes completely off the rails.

He put butter in the frying pan and watched it melt. After a while it started to sizzle, then it turned golden and later nut brown and that was when he cut up the sausage and placed it in the pan. He opened a packet of sauerkraut and heated it in the microwave. He arranged the food attractively on his plate and carried it into the living room. He felt awfully pleased with himself. Something was stirring inside him now, a completely new sensation, and he would never have believed he could feel this good. He was angry, pure and simple. He was angry with Lindys, he was angry with himself, he was angry with drug dealers and he was angry at the injustice of the world. The food tasted delicious. Afterwards he lay on the sofa, filled with a deep sense of calm. He felt serene and determined. The kitten jumped up and settled by his feet.

At exactly nine o'clock the next morning he rang the locksmith. When he had finished the call he felt very proud of himself. He had carried out his plan in a firm voice, employing a polite and friendly tone, it had gone like clockwork. The locksmith would arrive at six in the evening with a new safety lock and two keys, the cost of which would be two thousand three hundred kroner including fitting the lock. Alvar's peace of mind returned and on his way to the gallery he felt the sun warm his face. Of course solutions could be found, of course he was a man of action. He clenched his fists out of sheer joy and punched the air because he felt so strong. He unbuttoned his coat and savoured the faint touch of spring in the air. He was even capable of looking at people he passed in the street, looking at them with an open and friendly face. He straightened his back, he lowered his shoulders, he strode on, imbued with energy. Then he remembered the severed bridge. Which he could no longer afford to buy. This thought depressed him. Then he tried to trivialise it. It had only been a fleeting infatuation, he told himself, and these things always pass. Perhaps he would fall for another painting sometime in the future. Human beings are so unpredictable, he thought, they change, they let you down. Take Lindys, for example, there was no way you could trust her. And when it came to Ole Krantz, well, he was a nice enough chap and he meant well, but when push came to shove he would inevitably look after number one. That's how it is, Alvar Eide thought, as he walked through the town. He reached the gallery at two minutes to ten. He disabled the alarm and went inside. He stopped in front of the painting of the severed bridge. Suddenly it struck him how sombre it was, how dark, almost brutal. On the other hand he had no eye for bright, colourful pictures of naked rocks, glittering lakes or pretty flowers. Beauty, he thought, is all well and good, but it's not what we base our lives on. He continued up the stairs and into the kitchen where he started making coffee. He opened his newspapers and bent over to read.

The locksmith was on time and went to work straight away. Alvar made himself comfortable in an armchair and listened to the drone of the drill. A new lock, he thought, delighted. From now on only I can get in, no one else can disturb my peaceful life. He switched on the television and watched the news. Pope John Paul II was dying. The locksmith worked on. Alvar's heart beat like a drum, he felt empowered in a new way. He was also very good at his job, even if he did think so himself. He could see only clear skies ahead. Everything will be fine from now on, he thought, because I've taken control. Then the locksmith finished and Alvar tried the new lock. He inserted the shiny new key and turned it. A sharp, precise click sounded.