One of Us: The Story of Anders Breivik and the Massacre in Norway (36 page)

‘Oh, you’ll both find out in due course,’ Tone said gently.

‘I don’t know if I want to
carry on studying after I finish my military service, Mum,’ he said.

‘Of course you do,’ said Tone. ‘But there’s no rush. Take one thing at a time: you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.’

Simon smiled. He was hungry for everything: experience, adventure, love.

As they came into Bardu they drove past Anders Kristiansen’s green house, where his father was in the process of laying new flagstones
in the drive. In the Kristiansens’ garden there was a little hut with just one room, Anders’s Cabin. In there he had a TV and a stereo and some bottles of tequila, his very own little party venue. Anders and his father had built it together, with decent foundations and properly insulated floor, walls and roof. His mother had made curtains for it. The cabin in the garden was to be somewhere the
teenagers could be left in peace.

A bit further up the ridge, in what was called Bardu Beverly Hills, Tone turned in at Mari Siljebråten’s house. Pretty, fair-haired and brimming with vitality, she was ready and waiting for them. She called goodbye to her mother and jumped into the back seat. Mari, a couple of years older than Simon, was the leader of the Troms delegation to Utøya that year.

‘Gunnar Linaker and I have been arranging things like crazy for three days and I think we’ve covered it all, so now I can look forward to this properly!’

Gunnar, the son of the local priest, was the county secretary for AUF Troms and had grown up in the house next door to Mari. He was the one who always had an overview of all the youth organisation’s activities. He booked the tickets and sorted
out the departures of the Troms youngsters from three different airports, Bardufoss, Harstad and Tromsø. He had rung the parents of all the under-eighteens who had signed up in good time, to make sure they knew what would happen on Utøya. While Mari fretted, he stayed calm.

‘Gunnar’s gone on ahead, he’s already on the island,’ said Mari. ‘But Hanne’s waiting for us at the airport.’

Hanne was
Gunnar’s younger sister, and had also been active in the AUF since her early teens.

On their way to the airport at the Bardufoss military base the delegation leader received instructions from Tone.

‘Can you make sure Simon gets some breakfast down him.’

‘He’ll get his bread and Nugatti, and maybe even a slice of gherkin on top,’ laughed Mari. She was used to Simon forgetting to eat. And being
picky about his food. Food was just fuel to him, but like a car he didn’t run on just anything. At last year’s summer camp in Russian Karelia, where he had represented Troms along with Anders and Iril from Bardu, they had been served nothing but cabbage soup. He had refused to eat vegetables for a long time afterwards.

‘Remember to answer all your phone calls, Simon. Remember to answer all your
texts. Otherwise I shall stop paying your phone bill.’

‘Yes Mum, but my phone loses its charge so quickly it’s generally not even on.’

Tone knew that. That was why she had bought him a new mobile phone. But it was a secret. It was to be for his nineteenth birthday on 25 July, barely a week from now. She had the cake all ready in the freezer. ‘Simon’s 19th’, said the label on the plastic bag,
and she would ice and decorate it on the day.

They were there.

Simon’s mother hugged him. She gave one cheek a kiss, then the other. So it wouldn’t be jealous, they always said.

Mari laughed at the pair of them.

‘And would you like a mumhug, too?’ Tone asked. Mari’s two cheeks also got their kisses.

Tone stood watching them as they walked away.
God, what a handsome son I’ve got!

His best
mate had taken him to the solarium because he always looked so pale, and now he was tanned and fit.

He’s so happy with all those girls, his mother thought as she watched the delegation gather at the entrance. It seemed to be all girls on that flight, which would suit him just fine, Tone chuckled to herself.

As they were going up the steps to the plane a crack opened in the clouds and there was
a sudden brightness on the mountains beyond.

‘I can see the sun and the sky, Simon,’ Tone texted to her son.

‘No need to rub it in, Mum.’

Rain and rough weather were forecast for further south.

Summer Fever

It was the sort of weather for lying at home under a warm blanket drinking tea. Lara made some thyme-leaf tea and brought it to Bano.

‘Are you feeling any better?’ she asked.

‘Maybe a little bit,’ answered Bano.

Lara had plied her elder sister with grapes, apples, honey, hot milky cocoa and cod liver oil. Now she was following her mother’s tip that thyme was good for your throat.
But she was also trying to cool down Bano’s face, hand and feet with a damp cloth.

At eleven o’clock the previous evening Lara had rung her mother, who had gone with Ali and Mustafa to the Football Cup in Gothenburg. While father and son were at the championship, she was visiting relatives in nearby Borås.

‘Have you got Lana’s number?’ asked Lara.

Lana was Bayan’s sister. She lived in Erbil
and was a doctor, a paediatric specialist.

‘What do you want to talk to her for?’ asked Bayan.

‘You know Bano and I are supposed to be going to Utøya tomorrow, but Bano’s almost lost her voice and her temperature isn’t coming down. What can I do to make her better by tomorrow?’

‘Lara, it’s past midnight in Kurdistan, you can’t ring Lana now! I’m coming home tomorrow. And anyway, you mustn’t
ring my sister and tell her you two are alone at home! What sort of mother will she think I am? I’m coming home.’

‘No, Mum, you don’t have to do that.’

‘Yes I do!’

Bayan told Mustafa she would be going back the next day, whether Ali’s team went through to the next round or not. The two of them had never got used to the relaxed attitude in Norway. They were anxious when they were not supervising
in person and always feared the worst if the children were out and did not answer their mobiles. Bano was at home with a fever in the middle of summer; it must be something serious.

Bano grumbled to her sister.

‘I don’t think God wants me to go.’

‘Stop talking rubbish. Of course you’re going to be well enough!’ Lara retorted. Bano had been so looking forward to Utøya. They had wanted to go
the previous year, in fact, but then they had to go with the family to Kurdistan, a place where they could only bear to stay for a fortnight at a time. All the restrictions, all the looks, all the rules; no, they preferred life in Norway.

Lara massaged her elder sister’s feet and neck. She had bought crisps and sweets, and tried to tempt her with all the exciting things that would be happening
on Utøya. Bano could hardly stand up, so Lara packed for her: warm clothes, a sleeping bag, a ground pad.

They dozed off on the sofa, both of them.

‘You’re bound to be well enough to go tomorrow,’ said Lara before she fell asleep.

*   *   *

First thing on Wednesday morning, Bayan caught the train from Gothenburg. Four hours later she took the tram from the railway station to Aker Brygge, then
the ferry over to Nesoddtangen and the bus home to Oksvalkrysset, and by noon she was ready to take over the role of nurse. She came home to find the place a total mess. Not a glass had been washed since she left, not a plate, nothing. Bano had had enough of being ill, and Lara of looking after her.

Lara was ready to leave when her mother arrived.

‘I’m sure you’ll be better tomorrow!’ she called
to her elder sister before she slammed the door and went down to the bus stop. In Oslo she was going to meet up with the other AUF members arriving by plane and boat and train from all over Norway to continue the journey to Utøya.

She got to the island mid-afternoon, which meant she did not, after all, have to choose between the various seminars on offer, on subjects like refugee integration
and drilling for oil in the Lofoten islands, as they were already over. All that was left now was a fashion show featuring the AUF leader Eskil Pedersen and his second-in-command Åsmund Aukrust. They would be on the catwalk modelling the new AUF clothing range of soft-feel T-shirts, sweatshirts and trousers. Then it was time for the football tournament to start and after that there was something in
the programme called speed dating, before it was time for a quiz in the café. The late-night cinema started at midnight.

Lara got changed, ready for Akershus county’s match. They lost.

She could not be bothered with the speed dating and went to lie down in the tent and read
Mornings in Jenin
. She wasn’t having such a good time without Bano around. That was often the case. Bano made everything
seem so much fun, sometimes even when it wasn’t. How often had Lara found herself doing things because Bano had said they were
wicked
or
awesome
, but when she tried them for herself, they were nothing special?

*   *   *

Bano lay in her parents’ double bed. She felt poorly, had earache and was tender all over. Her mother gave her some painkillers and brought warm cloths to hold over her aching
ear. Bayan had gone out to the kitchen to make more tea when she heard a crash from the living room. The alarm clock was lying on the floor in pieces. Bano had thrown it from the bedroom.

‘Its tick was driving me mad, Mum.’

‘That’s all right Bano. It doesn’t matter.’

Bayan lay down beside her daughter in the bed. Everything was wrong. She was sick, she wasn’t on Utøya and she had failed her
driving test twice.

‘Bah, I’ve spent so much money on it, and I’ve got to have my licence by the time we’re
russ
…’

Bano was in a hurry in life. She wanted it all, right away. The first time she failed she had gone through a red light, the second time she had turned the wrong way at a roundabout. When she was out in the car with Mustafa to practise, they always ended up quarrelling. The last
time she had driven was the morning Mustafa was taking Ali and Bayan to Gothenburg, while she was going to work at the Tusenfryd amusement park. Bano was running late as usual, and on the winding section of road just before the Vinterbro junction she found herself behind a lorry.

‘I’m going to overtake!’

She moved into the opposite lane and sped up.

‘Are you mad?’ cried her father. Bano pulled
into her lane in front of the lorry, but a few seconds more and they would have crashed into the car coming the other way. ‘Your driving will kill us all!’

‘You should be like my driving instructor,’ Bano said. ‘He never makes any comments until I stop the car.’

Once they got to Tusenfryd and she was dashing off to change into her work uniform, she shouted cheerfully: ‘Don’t forget to bring
the allowance of four litres of red wine back with you, it’s much cheaper in Sweden!’

Now Bano asked her mother to bring her laptop to her. There was something she wanted to show her. As she was finding her way to it, her spirits rose. That’s how it was with Bano; it was never far between the highs and the lows. She found what she was looking for.

‘Mum, can we go to New York?’

For the first
time, the family was planning to go away in the autumn holidays and her parents were talking about Spain or Greece. The girls preferred the idea of a city break.

Bano showed her mother the cheap tickets she had found and a hostel ‘that ‘would cost almost nothing for the five of us’.

Lying there with her poorly daughter beside her, Bayan was in a soft-hearted mood.

‘All right Bano. Let’s go.
I’ll pay.’

Bano hugged her.

‘But you and Dad will have to tighten your belts and try to save a bit, okay?’ her mother said. ‘And you girls mustn’t have such long showers!’

Bano stayed in bed on her laptop, looking at sites that told her about New York, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park and all the cool streets in the Village. Her mother wanted to show her some pictures she had taken of her
relatives in Sweden.

‘Look how lovely your cousins are. Almost as pretty as you, Bano!’ said her mother, pointing. ‘And those are their boyfriends.’

Bano’s sad expression returned.

‘Everybody’s got boyfriends except me,’ she complained. ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend, and now I’m eighteen!’

‘There’s a time for everything Bano, I’m sure you’ll find one, of course you will, a beautiful girl like
you! And you meet so many people, after all.’

‘Yes, but never a boyfriend.’

‘Well you’ve got your last year in upper secondary now, and then you’ll go to university and you’re bound to meet somebody there. And what about that nice boy in your class I asked about before?’

‘Ugh, don’t bring him up again.’

Bano rested her head on her father’s pillow. Her delight at the holiday plans seemed to
have evaporated, leaving only the sadness, and she turned to her mother.

‘Just think, I might never have a boyfriend in my whole life!’

‘Stop talking nonsense Bano!’

‘Mum, just think if I die single…’

*   *   *

That same Wednesday, the tenant at Vålstua farm had driven the Volkswagen Crafter, laden with explosives, to Oslo. He was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, having slept
so little in recent nights.

Calm and steady, so he would not be stopped and checked. Calm and steady, so the bomb would be safe.

It had taken a total of nine hours to dry the last batches of picric acid and DDNP in the oven. He had thought he could do it much faster, now he was even further behind schedule.

He had also tested the fuse. The most effective method, he had read, was to insert it
in a narrow surgical tube. The fuse he wanted to test as part of his final preparations was seventy-five centimetres long. That meant it would take seventy-five seconds before the explosives detonated. The fuse burnt to the end in two seconds. ‘Damn, I’m glad I checked this beforehand,’ he wrote. Two seconds would not have given him enough time to escape the explosion. No tube round the fuse, then.