Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

I should probably explain the chain of events that led to our strained and unexpected embrace.

We arrived in Norway, in the small fishing village, early in the morning. My eyes were still clogged with sleep and I was clutching a coffee like the heat radiating from the tiny mug would prise my frozen hands apart. Because it was cold, but I knew it would be cold, and I was prepared this time. I was wrapped up in ten layers, hardly moving like a sumo wrestler, my cheeks pushed out by the scarf tight enough to strangle me.

The exposed skin of my face was still burning though, and through only one pair of gloves my hands were numb. It was convenient for us that the area in which Heimlaug lived was an up and coming tourist attraction. It had appeared on several lists of undiscovered Scandinavian gems, and since then people had been flocking there. The main pull being the whale watching trips which ran from the harbour. The quaint, nostalgic feel to the place was popular also, old fashioned, brightly painted houses and a community where everyone knows everyone else.

The sea was bright in the winter sun, a deep green tinged with blue, thrashing and biting at the rocks. Dark grey snow capped mountains loomed oppressively over everything, they looked to me like a stern father to the rebellious sea. The air was thick with the smell of fresh fish and salty mist.

We purposely chose a guesthouse which was on the same street as the house where Heimlaug Gunderson had lived, the place where she had been killed, discovered in pieces. From the upstairs hallway window you could see the small, sparse garden of Heimlaug’s home. The house itself was abandoned now, the boyfriend she shared it with has moved to Oslo to be with his family. There was a for sale sign outside, standing crooked in the mud and snow.

Because of the tragedy, our Guesthouse was very busy. It seemed that nothing boosted tourism like a local murder, people where letting their morbidity get the better of them. The landlady didn’t seem to mind this tasteless display, in fact, she was enjoying the attention, and enjoying the money even more. She liked nothing more than dishing out the gory details, she spoke like someone telling a ghost story as she described how the body was torn apart.

Wilhelmina wasn’t really a bad person, she was just profiting from unsavoury events, and at least she was honest about that. She struck me as the type of woman who saw an opportunity, any opportunity, and took it. She was short, skinny and bird like. She had a face which would seem harsh until you saw it smile.

The guesthouse was decorated in the traditional tourist style, a nautical theme running throughout. There were fishing nets hung from the ceiling and pictures of fish and famous boats lining the corridors. Wilhelmina spoke perfect English, even though her accent made it hard to understand her. It was such a musical accent that you couldn’t help but be charmed by it.

In another life I would’ve liked to have a holiday here, I saw the whale watching groups in their plastic macs, filing onto the boats and setting out onto the rocky coast. I would’ve envied them if I let myself forget why we were there. The world I had entered didn’t have space for me to envy tourists, not when on this very street Heimlaug Gunderson had been spread across her back yard.

Lisa reminded me that we wouldn’t be able to act as casual as we had in Glasgow. This was the first time we discussed having a story, inventing a background. We were a normal couple on a holiday, the more simple the less questions are asked. It seemed obvious, but I secretly wished we had gone for one of my elaborate cover stories, such as me and Lisa being on the run from the mafia.

I thought it might be awkward pretending to be Lisa’s boyfriend, but when you watch most couples, they barely touch, their affection is all held with their words and their eyes. Wilhelmina was standing over our table with the coffee pot poised over our empty mugs. You could hear her husband in the kitchen, and her teenaged daughter was serving another table.

‘You came at the right time,’ Wilhelmina was telling us, ‘I’m fully booked for the next month.’

‘A good time of year for whale watching?’ Lisa asked innocently, every time she lied it seemed she got better at it.

Wilhelmina laughed boisterously, her free hand on her hip as she rocked a little. ‘You could say that, maybe there are other things worth watching at the moment.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Lisa screwed up her eyes in feigned confusion.

‘Then you haven’t hear,’ our landlady’s face grew dark, she shook her head sadly, the gesture was well practised. ‘Our village has been caught up in a murder investigation.’

‘How terrible,’ Lisa put her hand over her mouth dramatically.

‘It happened on this very street,’ Wilhelmina sighed deeply. For a moment I was fooled by her look of sadness, but deep in her eyes all I saw were bank notes. ‘It was two weeks ago, only twenty seven’ she continued.

‘How did she die?’ Lisa asked.

Wilhelmina looked genuinely shocked at that question, ‘you’re eating your breakfast,’ she composed herself quickly, ‘I won’t tell you the details.’

Lisa seemed to remember where she was. ‘It’s certainly very tragic,’ she said, her eyes demurely on the floor.

‘We went to the same church, it’s tough when it’s someone you know.’

I nodded sympathetically as Wilhelmina drifted over to the next table.

‘That makes everyone,’ Lisa hissed at me.

‘She told us Heimlaug went to church,’ I reasoned, ‘that doesn’t prove anything.’

‘Angelica went to confession two days before she died,’ Lisa shot back at me before I’d even closed my mouth. ‘The last time she went to confession she was twelve.’

Wilhelmina walked past the table again and Lisa asked for more coffee, ‘I can’t help thinking about that poor girl,’ she said, ‘how is her family doing?’

Wilhelmina bit her lip nervously, ‘to be truthful, they feel a little guilty,’ she said, ‘her mother hadn’t spoken to her in a year,’ her voice dropped to a whisper, ‘she wasn’t best pleased with her living situation, you know,’ her voice dropped even lower and she bent in close, ‘unmarried.’ She stood up straight, ‘of course I told her family that Heimlaug had been going to church again recently, I think they were comforted by that.’ Lisa raised her eyebrows at me from behind Wilhelmina’s back.

‘By the way,’ our Landlady said with a motherly smile, ‘I’ve been told by the local police to make sure you don’t stay out too late, it’s sad to us, but our village is not safe at night.’

‘Of course,’ Lisa said, ‘a killer might be on the loose here.’

‘It’s not just that,’ another deep, exhausted sigh, ‘the local children, you understand, there’s not much to do here, I suppose they’re bored.’ We both nodded and smiled at her and she floated away once again.

Heimlaug’s house proved fruitless for us, a frustrating waste of time. The block was built right over the water’s edge on a heavy section held with concrete blocks. Since any building space was hard to acquire, the houses were tightly packed together, all jostling for space in the cramped district. This meant that the neighbours on either side could see us, and one woman watched us through her curtains with furious eyes.

‘Clearly we’re not the only ones who’ve taken a look inside this house,’ I sighed, there was too much familiarity in the hateful gaze.

‘We’re not going to get anywhere,’ Lisa growled under her breath, ‘why doesn’t she just go back to her TV?’

‘Because we’re trying to break into a dead girl’s house,’ I hissed back.

The sun was setting slowly behind us, a beautiful pale moon was already visible in the iridescent pink sky. The high sea shimmered darkly already, dangerous and never ending.

Lisa moved down against the wall and motioned for me to the same thing, she was crouched against the window pane, slowly the neighbour retreated and her curtains flapped closed.

Lisa laughed, ‘they’re just as bad,’ she said, ‘they want us here because they need something to be angry about.’

I didn’t say anything, I could sympathise with these people. So much of my life has been spent willing things to annoy me, wanting people to push me too far so I’ll snap, just to see what would happen. We edged on our knees along the cold wet grass, we reached the wooden side gate which let to the garden. It was a pretty house, pale pink with white shutters, flowers in the window box that were dying without attention.

‘Anyone could’ve got through this gate,’ I said, observing the flimsy structure, the wind was making it rattle in the lock.

‘You’ve seen how close everyone lives,’ Lisa reminded me, ‘why is it that no one noticed a thing? The first thing they saw was the body.’

As if to back up Lisa’s thoughts, the neighbour appeared at her window again, and this time she was brandishing a phone like a weapon, dialling feverishly.

‘She’s bluffing,’ Lisa snorted.

My thoughts were of the police interview room, I imagined all the awkward questions that would be asked if we were found. The information we knew could put us in a dangerous position, I was already involved in the case, and we couldn’t pretend to be obnoxious tourists this time, they would find out who we were. ‘Just to be safe,’ I motioned away from the house, trying to keep the panic out of my movements.

Lisa huffed angrily like a spoilt child and eventually skulked away. The woman put the phone down as we walked away. Lisa pointed to her but I shook my head. ‘We’ll never get a moment’s peace from her.’

It was now almost completely dark, all that remained of the day was a thin dark blue line stretched across the sky. ‘Let’s find somewhere for dinner,’ I suggested as my stomach gave a mighty growl. Lisa nodded, still in a sulk.

We made our way back through the maze of multicoloured houses, listening to the subdued roar of the sea. The first restaurant we got to was closed for the night, inside the chairs were on top of the tables and everything was dark. The translation of the Norwegian sign read ‘open for lunch only.’

‘That’s unusual,’ I said, in a tourist area.’

‘I guess they take the curfew seriously,’ Lisa shrugged, then she glanced across the narrow street. I followed her gaze, and I noticed something for the first time, apart from a few people shuffling over the frozen ground, there was no one here, there were maybe five or six people on what should’ve been the busiest part of the village. It was the walk way with all the shops and restaurants, and they were all closed, it was only seven in the evening.

I understand dangerous teenagers with nothing better to do, I live in London, but that doesn’t stop London being busy at night. This was something different, maybe they just weren’t used to it, being a quiet fishing community for so long, perhaps they had over reacted to their problems. ‘Let’s go back,’ I sighed, ‘I was thinking about the tiny dining room with the log fire, my hands were numbing.

The problem was that we hadn’t explored the village in the dark before. All the houses and shop fronts were the same, there were no landmarks we could remember. I had the creeping feeling we were just going deeper into the narrow streets, getting further away from our destination.

We were so lost soon that the quiet desperation had sunk in, that teeth grinding stomach clenching feeling that you’ll never make it, when every brick and every house makes you frustrated and angry. We weren’t speaking at all soon, both wondering if we would be walking forever.

There wasn’t even anyone to ask for directions, it was so dark under the clear sky that I could barely see Lisa walking a few paces in front of me, and the streets were deserted. My feet were solid and my breath was coming out in white clouds, if we didn’t get inside soon we would freeze to death.

Lisa stopped so suddenly that I bumped into her. There was a young teenager a few paces from her, his face illuminated by a dim streetlight. He was about twelve or thirteen, with lank greasy hair hanging over his face, dark eyes staring up at us. His skin was pockmarked and yellow with dirt.

He was brandishing a small penknife. For a moment my heart caught in my throat, it forced its way through my body with a sudden lurch of shock. The boy snarled at us, his teeth glimmering faintly brown. I took Lisa’s arm but living in London so long had made her fearless, she turned her back on the boy and made to walk back the way we had come.

The boy took a step towards her, his knife was almost touching her hair.

‘Lisa,’ I croaked. The boy’s upper lip curled over his teeth as he snarled and I had to admit my heart beat faster, I threw my wallet at the boys feet, he ignored it, his yellow eyes fixed on Lisa’s back.

‘Take the money,’ I said, I was embarrassed to find my voice disjointed.

Lisa heard me and turned back with anger flashing over her features. Her anger was directed at me, but I saw her blink harshly as she saw how close the knife was to her. As she had turned it now rested over her heart, it was scratching the fabric of her jacket.

This close, I could smell decay and over ripe waste, it was seeping from the boy’s clothes like a gas. It was the smell of a dirty public toilet. There was something grey smeared down the back of his thin jacket, a dried liquid that burned my nostrils, it was so putrid I felt light headed.

The boy lunged with the knife and Lisa jumped out of the way, the boy’s arm slipped from her heart and ripped her jacket on her arm, the inside foam curled out. I grabbed her by the shoulders, but she still didn’t seem concerned, she was still and calm as usual.

He had reached out so quickly, and now it was like he hadn’t moved, he was standing as still as Lisa, with the knife still extended. Then Lisa cried out, it wasn’t a scream, but it was a gasp of shock. When I looked at her she had a small cut on her face, I hadn’t seen anything happen, I searched my mind for blanks in my vision, had I looked away? Even for a second?

Lisa pushed her fingers into the cut, her mouth was hanging slightly open. Sure enough, there was a beam of red glowing on the boy’s knife.

Lisa threw her purse as him, it hit him in the chest and bounced off. ‘Go on,’ she hissed, ‘enjoy your next hit.’

The boy snarled again, his face was illuminated in the moonlight, it wasn’t a human sound, it sounded like a dog growling. The boy bought the knife up to his nose, the rest of his body unmoving. He sniffed deeply, his eyes closed as if in ecstasy. Then he bought the knife to his lips, a pink tongue darted out and he licked the blood.

He leapt through the air, again he was too quick to catch, Lisa darted out of the way and the boy landed with a thud in the half melted snow. He gracefully got to his feet and as I turned around he was holding onto Lisa, it had happened again, there had been a loss of vision, or something. His fingers were digging into her arm, holding her like a steel vice. She kicked out at him and he didn’t let go.

There was a look on his face, desperation, hunger, the look of an addict, someone so far gone they didn’t care what they had to do. A thin line of spittle was hanging from his mouth. I pulled at him but he was fixed fast, the smell was making me blind, causing spots to dance across my eyes.

Eventually Lisa prized his hands away from her, she kicked him hard and grabbed my arm. The sound that came from him was like a rabid dog, We ran, we ran straight into another boy, this one didn’t smell nearly as bad, apart from disinterested eyes, and a strangely upright stance, he looked normal, he was about fifteen. But he was blocking the corridor.

We turned and the other boy had recovered, he was still brandishing his knife, he was smiling with his brown teeth displayed fully. We turned back, the second boy didn’t have a weapon, his hair was brown streaked with blonde. He was as still as the walls, smiling serenely.

I turned, remembering that the boy behind us was he one with the weapon, I gasped, there were two more boys at his side now. They were half obscured in the darkness that grew at every moment, they were standing silently on either side of the alley. The first boy was holding his knife so tightly his hands were illumined white.

As we turned back, the boy on the other side was now flanked by two others also. There wasn’t time for a breath, they launched at us, growling and hissing like wild animals. The boy with the knife came first. Since it had worked for Lisa, I kicked at his legs and he tripped, but the next moment he was on his feet again, it had barely slowed him down.

Lisa pushed her back against mine and we turned to keep an eye on them, her breathing was shallow, so was mine. Another boy grabbed hold of my arm, he ripped at my jacket sleeve, he exposed the skin and it burned with cold. I shouted out in anger as another boy held me still. His lips peeled back from his teeth and he bent over my wrist. I pushed him away with all my strength. He crashed into the wall so heavily that dust fell from the bricks.

The other boys had pinned Lisa to the ground. I pulled one off her, ripping into his sweatshirt as I did. She was pushing one away from her face frantically as he opened his mouth, the spit dripped on her forehead. Another boy was holding down her legs, so I kicked him hard in his side, he rolled over with a thud, and with her leg free, Lisa kicked the boy on top of her, he was unmoving though. I grabbed at his clothing and heaved, he wouldn’t move.

The first boy’s knife lay discarded in the snow. I picked it up and stabbed at this boy’s ankle. He made a sound like an angry cat, like someone scratching as glass, but Lisa managed to wriggle away and we ran.

We made it back shivering, covered in the stench of unwashed clothes and muddy ice.

The next morning we were taken aside by our landlady and told that the boys in question had been found loitering outside the guesthouse in the early hours of the morning. She had called the police and the boys had been dealt with, they seemed disoriented and weak when they were found, and the police confirmed their dependency on narcotics.

The children had therefore been moved, been taken this very morning to a rehab institute in France which dealt mainly with young people in similar circumstances. I was sure I had heard about that before, a rehab centre in France, but I couldn’t remember where.

I still had the strip of clothing I had ripped from one of the boys. In the pocket there was a page torn from the bible, from Genesis On the back, in pencil was scribbled, ‘our father is Alex.’