up front in the school handball team. And I said I would love to. I had barely touched a handball, but I knew right away I was going to be good. Everyone did. That was why they asked. For a while everything I touched turned to gold. In the playground, Jackman, our gym teacher, said to me, you’re riding a green wave now, which was supposed to have something to do with traffic lights and cars, but we didn’t have traffic lights in Mørk and never would. Make the most of this time, he said. Later in life you’ll be glad you did. And I did make the most of it. I wanted to move on.
And now I had to hurry. I was lucky. It was quite a ride to Valmo, but this first time I didn’t have to cycle the long way up and the long way back down. It was fifteen kilometres in each direction. A neighbour had said he could take me in his car. He was a devoted member of the congregation, of course, and quite an important one, and also a good friend of Lydersen. I didn’t mind. He was going up that way anyhow and would come back down again at a suitable time and didn’t mind dropping me off and picking me up.
I packed my bag with my kit and trainers and a towel and a big red elastic hairband, and my hair was long now and a lot blonder than when I lived in the neighbourhood. It changed so quickly everyone could see it. Before, it was Tommy who helped me keep my hair tidy, right from the time Mum left. Dad never noticed how I looked. When it grew too long, Tommy cut it straight across at the back, from earlobe to earlobe, and we both thought it looked fine, like the pictures in women’s magazines, a little French, we thought, although not everyone at school thought the same. OK, that’ll do you for a while, Tommy would say, as hairdressers did, and he tickled my neck, and we both laughed, but now I just let it grow and wore a slide at school or tied it in a ponytail when we had gym.
I put my diary under the dresser, which is what you do, you hide it, and took my gym bag from the bed and looked out of the window one last time before leaving, and there was Tommy by the pumps. It was May and the evenings were long and it was easy for me to see that it was him. No one else held his shoulders the way he did. It had been a long time, all of four years had passed since they moved us from our house and pulled us apart, and most of the autumn and winter of that year had come and gone without us seeing much of each other, and then it was spring and summer, and autumn again and he cycled to Mørk with Christmas presents, as he had done the year before, and the year before that. He had made them himself in Jonsen’s garage, where they got up to all kinds of things except studying the engine of Jonsen’s car, an Opel something or other, what did I care, and the twins made their presents on the kitchen table at the Liens’ house. On my birthday Tommy even came up to the house and knocked on the door, but he wasn’t let in. Lydersen shook his head and said he had to stay out on the doorstep. I didn’t argue, I never argued with Lydersen. I did as he told me unless he was unreasonable. When he was, I dropped whatever I was doing and refused to lift a finger and turned my back on him, and most often he took the hint, he wasn’t all that bad, and standing outside was fine, it wasn’t so cold even though it was midwinter.
One time Tommy came to tell me that Jonsen had given him a full-time job at the sawmill. Jonsen owned it now. The man who had run it before was called Johannes Kallum, he ran the Kallum Saw Mill, as we used to call it, though in fact it had another name, and Kallum was a notorious drunkard. He had supplies of brandy hidden all around the site, in piles of timber, behind stacks of planks, and he had even buried a bottle of Brandy Special in a heap of wood chips, someone found out, and in his office too, he kept a bottle in the bottom drawer, everyone knew, and he drank without restraint during working hours and drove when he was
And now I had to hurry. I was lucky. It was quite a ride to Valmo, but this first time I didn’t have to cycle the long way up and the long way back down. It was fifteen kilometres in each direction. A neighbour had said he could take me in his car. He was a devoted member of the congregation, of course, and quite an important one, and also a good friend of Lydersen. I didn’t mind. He was going up that way anyhow and would come back down again at a suitable time and didn’t mind dropping me off and picking me up.
I packed my bag with my kit and trainers and a towel and a big red elastic hairband, and my hair was long now and a lot blonder than when I lived in the neighbourhood. It changed so quickly everyone could see it. Before, it was Tommy who helped me keep my hair tidy, right from the time Mum left. Dad never noticed how I looked. When it grew too long, Tommy cut it straight across at the back, from earlobe to earlobe, and we both thought it looked fine, like the pictures in women’s magazines, a little French, we thought, although not everyone at school thought the same. OK, that’ll do you for a while, Tommy would say, as hairdressers did, and he tickled my neck, and we both laughed, but now I just let it grow and wore a slide at school or tied it in a ponytail when we had gym.
I put my diary under the dresser, which is what you do, you hide it, and took my gym bag from the bed and looked out of the window one last time before leaving, and there was Tommy by the pumps. It was May and the evenings were long and it was easy for me to see that it was him. No one else held his shoulders the way he did. It had been a long time, all of four years had passed since they moved us from our house and pulled us apart, and most of the autumn and winter of that year had come and gone without us seeing much of each other, and then it was spring and summer, and autumn again and he cycled to Mørk with Christmas presents, as he had done the year before, and the year before that. He had made them himself in Jonsen’s garage, where they got up to all kinds of things except studying the engine of Jonsen’s car, an Opel something or other, what did I care, and the twins made their presents on the kitchen table at the Liens’ house. On my birthday Tommy even came up to the house and knocked on the door, but he wasn’t let in. Lydersen shook his head and said he had to stay out on the doorstep. I didn’t argue, I never argued with Lydersen. I did as he told me unless he was unreasonable. When he was, I dropped whatever I was doing and refused to lift a finger and turned my back on him, and most often he took the hint, he wasn’t all that bad, and standing outside was fine, it wasn’t so cold even though it was midwinter.
One time Tommy came to tell me that Jonsen had given him a full-time job at the sawmill. Jonsen owned it now. The man who had run it before was called Johannes Kallum, he ran the Kallum Saw Mill, as we used to call it, though in fact it had another name, and Kallum was a notorious drunkard. He had supplies of brandy hidden all around the site, in piles of timber, behind stacks of planks, and he had even buried a bottle of Brandy Special in a heap of wood chips, someone found out, and in his office too, he kept a bottle in the bottom drawer, everyone knew, and he drank without restraint during working hours and drove when he was
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