“If they’re doing their job, they will.”
“What shall I say?”
Harry shrugged. “The truth. Unvarnished, the way you see it.”
“OK.” Oleg closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. “Are you going to get me a beer?”
Harry sighed. “I am, as you can see, not much of a man, but at least I’m the sort of man who has trouble breaking promises. That’s why I never promised your mother much. But I promised her this: because your father has the same bad gene as me, I swore that I would never, ever buy you a drink.”
“Mum did, though.”
“That promise was my idea, Oleg. I’m not going to get you into anything.”
Oleg turned around and raised one finger. Nina nodded.
“How long are you going to sleep?” Oleg asked.
“As long as I can.”
The beer arrived, and Oleg drank it slowly in small sips. He put the glass down between them each time, as if it was something they were sharing. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Couldn’t. Their silent sobbing was deafening.
When the glass was empty, Oleg took out his phone and looked at it. “It’s Helga’s brother, he’s picking me up in the car, he’s outside. Can we give you a lift home?”
Harry shook his head. “Thanks, but I need the walk.”
“I’ll text you the address of the funeral director.”
“Great.”
They stood up at the same time. Harry noted that Oleg was still a couple of centimetres short of his own 1.92 metres. Then he remembered that the race was over, and that Oleg was a full-grown man.
They embraced, holding each other hard. Chins on each other’s shoulders. And didn’t let go.
“Dad?”
“Mm?”
“When you called and said it was about Mum, and I asked if you were getting back together…That was because I asked her two days ago if she couldn’t give it another chance.”
Harry felt something catch in his chest. “What?”
“She said she’d think about it over the weekend. But I know she wanted it. She wanted you back.”
Harry closed his eyes and clenched his jaw so tightly it felt like the muscles would burst.Why did you have to come and make me so lonely?There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to fend off this pain.
10
Rakel had wanted him back.
Did that make things better or just even worse?
Harry dug his phone out of his pocket to switch it off. He saw that Oleg had sent a text about a couple of the practical questions the funeral directors had asked. Three missed calls that he guessed were newspapers, as well as one call from a number he recognised as belonging to Alexandra at the Forensic Medical Institute. Did she want to pass on her condolences? Or to have sex? She could have sent a text if she wanted to convey her condolences. Both, maybe. The young technician had said several times that strong emotions turned her on, whether they were good or bad. Rage, joy, hate, pain. But grief? Hm. Lust and shame. The shocking, titillating idea of fucking someone in mourning—there were probably worse things. Wasn’t it, for instance, worse that he was sitting here thinking about Alexandra’s possible sexual fantasies just hours after Rakel had been found dead? What the hell was that about?
Harry held the Off button until the screen turned black, then slipped his phone back into his trouser pocket. He looked at the microphone on the table in front of him in the cramped doll’s house room. The little red light indicated that it was recording. Then he fixed his gaze on the person on the other side of the table.
“Shall we begin?”
Sung-min Larsen nodded. Rather than hang his Burberry jacket on the hook on the wall next to Harry’s peacoat, he had hung it over the back of the only free chair.
