Lullaby Girl (20 page)
Magnus tilts his head back and regards me from beyond his nostrils. For a second, neither of us seems to breathe. His eyes have never looked so beautiful, and this makes the moment even harder to bear.
But already the blackness is leaving him. Wisp after wisp, like ink diffusing into an ocean, and as it does so, the tension of the moment drains away. Magnus makes a dismissive sound – something similar to
Pah
. Then he pushes past me and returns to his work.
I stay where I am, closing my eyes to keep the tears in. Is this actually happening? The whole thing feels like a practical joke. Banging sounds filter through from the hall. Brusque footsteps, swishing bin bags and the clatter of beer cans. Backwards and forwards he goes, no longer bothering to acknowledge my presence, and during this time I remain rooted to my spot below the bed. The metal ladder grows painful in my fists. It takes Magnus ten minutes to clean the flat, and another ten to do his hair.
#
Mathilde doesn’t enter the house, but the kids’ arrival is no less dreadful for this. I perch on the end of the sofa and try to make my mouth smile. The youngest one, Isak, will not come near me. The older, Tor Olav, just scowls. Magnus bustles around. Making dinner. Being a dad. Beneath the lemon-scented bleach I can still smell remnants of the party, and I wonder if the kids can smell it too. Maybe
that’s
why they’re acting strangely. I wrack my brains for conversational phrases, but none seem suited to the occasion. Anyway, I’ve never been good with kids. It’s hard enough to talk to them in my own language.
When waffles have been eaten and cartoons watched and teeth brushed, Magnus makes a bed for the boys on the sofa. They talk in quiet voices. Then Magnus kisses them goodnight and turns off the living-room light. Gravely, we go to the bedroom.
‘We need to talk,’ Magnus says, as he shuts the door behind him.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I say.
‘Come on.’
Magnus climbs the ladder in two big steps and settles himself on the bed. Methodically, I follow. The sheets up here are freshly changed, which confuses me, as I didn’t notice Magnus doing that. Then I realise he must have done it while I was hiding from Mathilde in the bathroom.
Magnus positions himself at the opposite end of the bed to me and, cross-legged, we face each other. The smile he used for the kids has disappeared. Silence rings out as I wait for him to apologise.
‘This is not working,’ I whisper. ‘I’m not … happy.’
‘Pfffff!’ exclaims Magnus, and laughs. His eyes dart to me, and desperately I search them for compassion, but find none. Magnus says something in Norwegian.
‘What?’ I ask, and he says it again.
‘That’s not fair! Talk in English!’
‘You’re
never
happy!’ he blares.
The force of his scorn takes me aback. For a moment I can think of nothing to say. Magnus puts both hands to his head, and says, ‘It’s true, though. Things have to change.’
‘What?’
‘I need a wife, Kathy. Not a … third child. You don’t try to get a job. You don’t like my friends. You don’t like my kids. I don’t think you even like me.’
‘How can you say that?’ I gasp.
Magnus looks away.
‘Look. I sorted it out. There’s a place you can live, near Oslo. I’ll buy your train ticket.’
A jolt goes through me.
‘Please! Don’t!’
I move forwards, but Magnus pushes me back.
‘You changed, these last weeks. I don’t know who you are any more,’ he says in a quieter voice.
‘I’m me! I’m the same!’
‘This guy, near Oslo. You can live with him for a while.’
Tears bleed down my cheeks.
‘Please,’ I say. Then the pain kicks in for real, and I can no longer keep my body from reacting. When the first howl comes out of me, Magnus jumps. His hands fly out. But instead of offering comfort, they shake me. For some time, the real world leaves my side. Then a hand slams across my mouth and I resurface to find Magnus’s face inches from mine.
‘Stop it,’ he hisses. ‘The boys!’
I gulp and shake. Magnus watches awhile. Then he says, ‘It’s for the best. Living with Hans. Making money of your own—’
‘Doing what?’
‘Working!’
Gravity overwhelms me and I wilt head first into the pillow. Fizziness. Darkness. When I speak again, my voice does not sound like my own.
‘I don’t even know him! Why should he give me a job?’
‘He’s a friend of Kolbeinn’s.’
‘Who’s Kolbeinn?’
‘A guy I know. Look, you can still visit me … On weekends …’
I pull down the pillow and look at Magnus. At first he doesn’t see, and I catch him with a bored expression on his face.
‘We need a break from each other,’ he says. ‘Lots of couples do.’
‘I came here to be with you! Not hundreds of miles away!’
‘Grow up, Kathy. You’ll wake the boys.’
Darkness and death bleed into my heart, obliterating his face.
‘How can you treat me like this?’ I blubber.
‘Pfff. Pain is a part of love. Haven’t you learnt that by now?’
I feel my eyes grow dull, though the tears keep coming and coming. They course down my face and throat. Down the front of my body. Into the sheets. Into the floor. I am melting. The world glazes over.
Game over. Game over. Game over.
‘Where’s that girl I met?’ Magnus asks. ‘That happy girl … What happened to her?’
‘I love you,’ I whisper, and the ghostliness of my voice horrifies me. I am not really here any more. I gaze beyond the pillows. Seeing nothing. Feeling nothing.
‘Fy faen,’ Magnus mutters.
His hand moves towards me and I prepare myself to be shaken, but instead I feel a warm palm on my head. I had not expected this. My body starts to wobble, and the tears bleed out until I almost forget where I am. When he starts to sing it takes me by surprise.
The tune falls from him quietly, and though I do not understand the words, I can tell it is some sort of lullaby.
‘My mother used to sing this,’ he says. The look in his eyes suggests he thinks he is being kind.
Sunday.
I watch the rising sun from my window. Blood red as it slides out of the mist. For one full minute the moor turns a dull, brooding pink.
After last night’s session I went straight to bed, so I haven’t yet seen Rhona or Joyce. I wonder what I said to Dr Harrison. She seemed pleased, but I don’t know what that means. Will they force me to do another session before she goes? Will they still expect me to read the Inverness stuff? I’m scared that the people around me might now know my thoughts better than I do. To take that advantage from them I might
have
to read the transcripts. The clock on the wall says five minutes to five. Sooner or later, someone will come up here and tell me what to do.
I remember small pieces from last night. Or rather, small
feelings
. They rush at me like waves onto a shore, but each time I grab for them they drain back through my fingers. The whole process makes me dizzy.
Oslo
keeps coming back to me. Just the word, by itself. An’ that scares me cos I know it means I was there. The atlas in the library was right. There’s something else too. A man. I can’t figure out who he is, but I do know he’s not Magnus. That bit is what scares me most.
The room is turning tangerine. Outside the window, a calm line of gulls crosses the sky and watching them I flood with the urge to feel the wind on my skin. I have to get out. Even just for a moment. I wrap my robe around myself and shuffle into my slippers. I go to the door and turn the handle.
I don’t believe it …
The door is locked.
My face grows hot. I look through the keyhole, but there’s no key on the other side. I can see right through, into the hallway. Again I try the handle. But it’s no good. I’m a prisoner.
Shit …
I stagger backwards onto the bed.
Joyce. I’ll bet anything it was Joyce. Why did she lock me in? Did I say something bad in my session?
I stare at the door for a long time. My head throbs.
What the hell could I have said?
#
Heavy limbs. I am lying on my belly. Around me, the dark, sweet-smelling dirt, and that glow on the horizon. The orange-lit house, my tomb, so close. Between it and me, two legs are planted. Magnus’s legs. I follow them to his face, and find it dead set. That alien side of him that was always underneath. How could I have been so blind? He tenses a fist, and gleaming metal draws my eye.
Bastard … you bastard … you bastard …
I am on my knees. When I shout his name it sounds different to how the others say it and this marks me as the outsider I truly am. The butcher’s knife glints, and I scream again. His name smacks off the trees, shatters, and comes back to me. I sob amongst the fragments. My fear laced irrevocably with love. Then darkness swallows me completely, and I am alone.
#
I wake drenched in sweat. Heart pulsing.
Curtains are bright.
I need to be with someone. Anyone.
I stumble out of bed. Up. Onto the landing. Breakfast sounds drift up from upstairs. I clatter towards them. But already my panic is ebbing. Magnus is not here. I’m at Gille Dubh. I’m safe.
Rhona and Caroline are nowhere to be found, but I check the sitting room instead, and to my relief Mrs Laird is back from her trip. I ask for aspirin, but she’s got none left. She tells me to ask Joyce, but there’s no way I’m doing that. Instead I go to the dining room and make a fresh cup of tea. There are people here an’ that is good. Dr Harrison is in the corner with Joyce, but neither of them sees me. I take my cup an’ retreat into my spot. I won’t stay here long. Just till this feeling passes. I press myself back in my chair, an’ this helps stop me shaking.
It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen. I’m safe. I’m safe …
I know this is important. That the stuff in my dream really happened. But my God … Would Magnus really hurt me that way? I’m scared to let the staff in on this. Visions slide through me as I sit here, of being on my knees behind a door. Trapped and confused, and afraid. Then I remember the door to my bedroom and how I thought it was locked last night. Did I dream that too? Am I going mad?
A presence grabs my attention. Mary. She peers at me through oily strands of hair. When I grab her she barely moves.
‘
Mary
,’ I hiss, ‘I’ve got to tell you something!’
Mary’s eyes remain slits. She floats there, kite-like, on the end of my hand, a blue vein bulging in her forehead. Dark lava, flowing dangerously close to the surface.
‘I’ve got to tell you something,’ I repeat. And as I say the words, I realise it’s the perfect solution. Mary is the perfect confidante. She won’t judge me, or betray me, or try to send me away from here. But her face shows no sign of understanding. I want to shake her. Make her listen. Has she gone deaf as well as dumb?
Mary’s eyes finally connect with mine. She teeters backwards, taking my hand with her. When I’m on my feet she drags again, and with several stumbling steps we find ourselves in the porch. Out here, the hollows round her eyes are darker.
‘What—’ I blurt, but Mary shakes her head. She glances over my shoulder, as if checking for something, and I look too but find nothing. We are leaning against the back door now. Mary’s mouth trembles into a smile. Falteringly, she blinks. She takes my hand, pushes something into it, and hugs me for a very long time. Her breath is shallow across my shoulder. Her spine like Lego. I blaze with the need to tell her about the knife. But this is clearly not the time.
Mary pulls away, opens the door and retreats. I watch from the doorway as she drifts towards the outhouses. She turns back once, waves, and is gone. When I open my hand I find a small, heart-shaped counter from the snakes and ladders set.
#
After lunch, Rhona comes to my room. She sits on the end of my bed while I sit on the fireside rug. Cold air sucks at my back, but I like this cos it makes me feel linked to the outside.
‘I’m surprised you’re still indoors,’ says Rhona. ‘Lovely day like this.’
‘I had a headache.’
‘Well, I’m glad I found you. I wanted to talk about your session.’
‘Am I in trouble?’
‘No! God, no. Quite the opposite. Dr Harrison had some interesting things to say.’
‘I’m sorry for the other night. For running away.’
Rhona comes to sit beside me.
‘Why did you do that?’ she asks. ‘Were you frightened?’
I nod.
Rhona pushes a bit of dirt with her foot. The fireplace whooshes at our backs.
‘Well … that’s understandable,’ she says.
‘Did Joyce burn my bedspread?’
‘No! Of course not! Why should she do that?’
‘I thought she might still be mad. Lockin’ me in an’ ev’rythin’.’
Rhona looks puzzled. ‘Locking you in where?’
‘In here. Last night.’
A pause.
‘Honey, no one locked you in.’
‘They did. I couldn’t open the door!’
‘You didn’t just dream it?’
I frown at the floor. Suddenly I’m not sure.
‘So,’ Rhona says, ‘Dr Harrison leaves tonight, and we’d like you to see her one last time.’
I sigh.
‘Do I have to read the transcripts?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But … It’s all written down already. Isn’t that all you need? Why do
I
have to read it?’
Rhona pulls my fringe out of my eyes. Usually I’d find that comforting. But today I know her motives are different. I scowl an’ she pulls her hand away.
‘Sweetie … you’re the one who has to understand this. Not us. We’re only here to help you. If you never sort through all that information in your head, you’ll never get better.’
I don’t answer.
Rhona clasps her hands between her knees. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter.
‘I just want to help you move on.’
‘Then don’t make me go back. Don’t make me talk about … him.’
Rhona’s eyes sharpen.
‘You remember Magnus. Don’t you?’
Her eyes dig into my face. The fireplace sucks at us once more, and weakly I turn my head towards the window.
