Lullaby Girl (19 page)

I reach out for Rhona, but she’s no longer there. It’s Joyce who stands waitin’ for me, and the bedspread is red with blood. She moves slightly, an’ I see the butcher’s knife in her hand.

You have to give some back, Kathy …

‘Down and down and down … Closer … You feel relaxed … Extremely relaxed …’

No!

‘Shhhh … very … very … relaxed …’

Joyce starts hacking my bedspread to pieces. Rhona has disappeared, but I hear her crying.

‘Veryyy … relaxed …’

Rhona is crying.

‘You are now very deeply relaxed, and everything I say will go deeply into your mind.’

Too busy for you …

‘Katherine? Can you hear me?’

‘Rhona!’

‘Can you hear me, Katherine?’

‘Yes.’

They want me to think it’s Rhona, but …

‘Good. I want you to visualise your safe place now. You are feeling very relaxed and at ease, and you notice that there is a door in front of you. I want you to walk through that door, Katherine. Nice and slowly … In your own time … Just step through the door … Can you do that?’

It’s him … he can see me … he can see me … he can …

‘Yes.’

‘Have you stepped through the door now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Very good. Now, in your own time, look around and tell me what you see.’

The bite … but it’s not … it’s …

‘Grass … dark … I’m … I can see … stars …’

‘Move your head to the side and look at what’s there. Can you see?’

‘Yes.’

‘What can you see?’

‘Grass … no … plants … wheat … I’m lying down … There’s light … on the other side …’

‘I want you to focus on the light. Look past the wheat and focus on the light. Can you see anything else there?’

‘It’s … far away …’

‘What can you see?’

‘A house.’

‘Good. Very good. What kind of house is it?’

‘It’s … wooden. Like a … log cabin … It’s blue …’

‘Do you know who lives in the blue house?’

‘I do …’

‘Does anyone else live in the blue house?’

‘I wasn’t supposed to be here …’

‘Does anyone else live in the blue house?’

‘He’ll see me … He’s coming …’

‘Relax. Just breathe. Breathe deeply and relax. You’re safe. No one can hurt you. I want you to come back now, to your place with the wheat and the stars. I want you to rise up, far above the ground, and look at the place where you were lying down … Can you see it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me what you see.’

‘It’s a big field. There are trees … all around … my house is there, on the edge … I’m … scared …’

‘Why are you scared?’

‘Noises … animals …’

‘Can you see any other houses, around your house?’

‘They’re further away … They’re near a … a railway track …’

‘I want you to go closer to the railway track, and see where the tracks are going. I want you to follow the tracks. Can you see the tracks?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where do the tracks go to?’

‘A city …’

‘Do you know the name of the city?’

‘There’s water …’

‘Go closer now. Imagine you are on the train, and it is pulling into the station … You are arriving at the station in the big city. Now turn your head and look out of the window as the train stops … You are standing up, and you are ready to get off, onto the platform. Can you see the sign on the platform?’

‘Yes.’

‘What does the sign say?’

‘Oslo S.’

‘
Very
good. Now, come all the way back. Back into the sky, and back along the tracks. Back to your safe place … Back to your place in the field … Go down … closer … closer … Are you there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. See yourself lying there. From the outside, as if you were someone else. You feel everything that that girl feels, and you know everything she knows. You are looking through her thoughts. Browsing through them. Can you see her thoughts?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Now, tell me if you see Magnus.’

‘I …’

‘Is Magnus there?’

‘I can see him …’

‘Tell me, where is Magnus?’

‘Oh God … He’s coming … I hear him …’

‘Where is Magnus?’

‘He said he … he said … he …’

‘Concentrate. Where is Magnus?’

‘Bastard … drittsekk … drittsekk … jævla …’

‘Relax, relax, you’re safe. You—’

‘He’s coming! He’ll kill me! He’s going to kill me!’

‘You are feeling relaxed—’

‘Bastard! No! I—’

‘Okay, Katherine. It’s okay. I’ll count to five, and as I do so, you will start to wake up. One …’

‘No …’

‘Two. You are becoming aware of my voice and the room around you …’

‘I …’

‘Three. You are starting to wake up from the trance state. You are aware of your body, your arms, your legs … Four. Stretch your arms out, all the way to your fingertips. You start to open your eyes and wake up. You feel refreshed and positive … Five. Wide awake and you are feeling fantastic. There! Well done!’

Dr Harrison sits above me. My neck hurts. Her smile looks wrong. I know she can’t protect me. No one can.

‘I’m scared,’ I say.

‘Shhh. You did really well.’

‘I want to go back to my room.’

Everything is wrong …

16

February 17th, 2005.

On Thursday night, Magnus throws a party. It’s fun at first, and Magnus is on his best behaviour – introducing me around as his British pen pal. I get drunk quickly as the evening progresses, mostly on the bright-yellow home-brewed beer that Håkon brought, and end up passing out in the kitchen. When I wake, the party’s still going. Six a.m. passes. Then seven. Then eight. By nine a.m. I accept that people won’t be leaving, and resume drinking. But that’s just the beginning. Four whole days, the party lasts. Night and day, with fluctuating attendance and levels of intensity. At the time I don’t know it’s four days. The alcohol makes it hard to keep track. But the weekend takes its toll on me nevertheless. In the night-time I waver between laughter and tears, loneliness and claustrophobia, delight and frustration. In the daytime I fall asleep wherever I’m sitting, only to wake with a fresh set of people around me. It comes to a point where my hangover runs simultaneously with my drunkenness, and so many girls follow Magnus in and out of our bedroom that I can no longer find a place to recuperate. Several times I go to Magnus and beg him to end the party. But he never really listens. His friends seem bemused to find me still here. They ask when I’m going home, in a tone that suggests I’ve outstayed my welcome. Girls eye me suspiciously, particularly when I go to the bedroom.

‘What about your job?’ I ask Magnus, because he’s not been to work all week, and the people around us greet this with gales of laughter. Magnus quips a reply, and they crease up again. I leave the room in humiliation, but Magnus doesn’t follow.

#

The next time I wake, I am crushed beneath a killer headache. Around me, daylight. I push myself upright, upsetting a cup of water someone had placed on the floor. It pools coldly into my clothes.

My knuckles are skinned. How did that happen? I shift sideways, trying to steady myself against the wall, and as I do so a vague memory drifts back. Of me sitting on Håkon’s chest. Hands pushing me back. My fist swinging. And his face, laughing at me. I remember my fury. He’d called me something … A slut.
One of Magnus’s sluts.

Wait. That’s the shoe rack beside me. Of course. I’m in the hallway, behind the front door. And there are only two pairs of shoes: Magnus’s and my own.

‘Hello?’ I call. My voice echoes.

Is the party over? God, I hope so. I stumble to my feet, but my balance betrays me and sends me crashing back onto the shoe rack. For several moments, I am winded.

Stupid girl. Get up …

I hobble into the living room. Empty. The spare room too. And the bedroom. I stand looking at the loft bed, delaying the climb to the top. But there’s no snoring. No breathing.
He’s not up there
, I reflect, with a pinch of bitterness. Of course not. He’d rather be with his friends than with me.

#

Magnus returns after seven, laden with waffle mix, and barely looks at me before whirling into action. He upends the coffee table, sending a pile of debris onto the floor. Then he dumps his shopping on the newly cleared tabletop and starts bagging up the rubbish. His eyes are unreadable behind his sunglasses. His mouth tense. Is he still drunk? It’s hard to tell. I stay on the sofa, cowed by this sudden activity. A rank smell fills the air. Cigarette butts marinated in beer. Magnus dumps them in the sink and carries on.

‘What’s the rush?’ I ask.

‘Visitors,’ he replies, without looking at me.

‘Who?’

‘Will you get dressed?’

‘I am dressed.’

‘You know what I mean. Get changed.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you smell bad!’

‘Fuck you!’

‘
Come on!
They’ll be here soon.’

‘Who will?’

Magnus stops, with his back to me. His shoulders rise up, then down, and despite my unease, I find myself hypnotised by the nape of his neck. I will love that neck till the day I die. Skin the colour of milk. Spine rising beneath like a lost mountain range.

‘Look, I know this is the wrong time to tell you. But … uh …’

Magnus turns round and takes off his sunglasses. With careful eyes, he probes my face. Then he comes over and crouches on the floor. My heart rushes as he takes my hands in his, and for a second I believe he will apologise. Proclaim his love for me, like he did in the beginning, and say everything’s going to be all right.

Mrs Brudvik …

With one thumb, Magnus strokes my hand. Briefly, his mouth softens. Then, in a quiet, confident voice he says, ‘Katherine … I am a father.’

Blankness.

Horror.

I gape at my beautiful true love. The enormity of his statement polluting the air between us. Expanding. Multiplying. Pressing on my skin, my lungs, my eardrums. Magnus holds my gaze. His mouth forms, then unforms, a tiny, hopeful smile. I try to take my hands back, but cannot make them move.

‘You’re a … You’re … You’ve got …’

‘Kids.’

The room feels like it is moving. I am vaguely aware that I’m on my feet. Shuddering backwards, as far as I can go.

‘How old?’ I hear my voice say.

‘Seven. And nine.’

‘Who’s the … mother?’

‘Mathilde. You don’t know her.’

I scowl in an effort to hold my face together. Several teardrops spill onto the carpet.

‘Are you married?’ I manage.

‘Yes,’ says Magnus, after a pause. ‘But it’s over.’

The shaking in my arms is unstoppable now. Magnus stands somewhere between me and the light. His hand touches mine, but this time I manage to withdraw.

‘Does
she
know it’s over?’ I ask stiffly.

‘She is still in love with me, but …’

A sob gushes out of me. I can’t hold it in any more.

‘I’m with
you
now,’ Magnus insists.

I shake my head from side to side, blinded by tears. ‘If you’re with me, why won’t you tell anyone? Why do you let your friends think I’m some …
stalker
?’

‘Fy faen … Are you
still
complaining about Håkon?’

‘It’s like you’re embarrassed to be with me!’

‘It’s not that easy! Mathilde’s crazy! She’ll take the kids away if she thinks—’

‘So you’ll just have me
and
her? Is that it? Oh God …’ – I swing my eyes up to his – ‘
That’s
where you went, isn’t it? That first night, when you were gone for hours?’

Magnus doesn’t answer. But the look in his eyes is all the proof I need. He holds my gaze for a moment, then clears his throat and grabs the rubbish bag.

‘There’s no time for this,’ he snaps. ‘The kids are coming.’

My stomach lurches. I back away, and the sudden movement makes me light-headed.

‘Here?’ I gasp.

‘Yes. For the night.’

‘When?’

‘Now.’

‘But … Do they know about me? What … What am I supposed to—’

‘Look, I would have liked more time to tell you. I didn’t want it to be this way. But you’ve been drunk. I didn’t have a chance.’

‘What?’

Magnus grabs the bag of empties, feverishly ties it and starts filling a second one. When that’s done he fills another, and another. He dumps them in the hallway and flounces into the bedroom. Banging ensues. I go to the door and find him on the loft bed, chucking cans onto the floor. On the back of a chair, there’s a sky-blue bra that doesn’t belong to me.

‘What’s that?’ I ask, pointing at the bra.

Magnus freezes, then scoffs and carries on. On his way back down the ladder he jabs, ‘If you won’t help me, get out of the way.’

For a moment I am so filled with rage I think I might throw up. Then his words unravel in my brain, and I realise Mathilde will be coming here as well as the kids. In an instant, my anger turns to fear. I look to the window and want to run. But where could I go? It’s minus twenty out there, and the only public building in town closes at five. The other indoor places will only shelter paying customers. Money is something I no longer have.

Swallowing hard, I pick up a can. It’s wet and disgustingly sticky.

‘Don’t crush that!’ orders Magnus. ‘We can’t … uh … pant it if you crush it.’

I squint at him, momentarily distracted.

‘Pant?’

‘Pant. Money. You know.’

‘Recycling?’

Magnus drags the rubbish bags to the door, taking care not to get dirt on his clothing. Suddenly I realise I’ve never seen that outfit before. A perfect crease runs down each sleeve, and this proves that the shirt at least must be brand new, because Magnus never irons anything. Did he dress up nicely for Mathilde?

Bristling, I clear my throat. Magnus turns around.

‘You mean, don’t do … this?’ I say, and pulverise the can in my fist.

Magnus stands up straight, and a shadow falls across his face. I draw a breath. The change in him happens so quickly and so completely that it’s hard to make sense of at once. It happens in the eyes. A complete transformation from the inside out, as if a malevolent spirit has commandeered his body. I look into those eyes and meet a part of Magnus I’ve never noticed before. A brutal, inhumane part, more than capable of striking me. I wait for the fist to come up. An elbow, or at least the palm of his hand. Deep inside, I almost believe I deserve this.