stomach, but then they do let us in. The club leader is standing in the doorway looking sceptical, he is closer to us in age than most of the kids who hang out at the club. He stops us and asks how old we are. It’s embarrassing.
‘Eighteen.’
‘When?’
‘Just turned.’
‘OK, but we don’t want any trouble. You haven’t been to Geir’s bar first, have you?’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘And no fooling with the girls.’
We go in, and I stop in the middle of the hall. ‘Shit, Arvid, I’m not up for this.’
‘Just for a little while.’
The place is packed to the rafters. All the rooms are crowded with people, and I don’t know what to do with myself, so I stand in a doorway watching some snot-nosed kids playing table tennis. Arvid has gone off after checking out the room. The discotheque is right at the back, the music banging into the hall every time someone opens a door, and many turn to look at him as he hurries further in. He has shoved his beret into his jacket pocket, but still he looks cool.
Most people in the room I have seen before, but I don’t really know them, and many look up at me in surprise, and one calls out:
‘Hey, Audun, I thought you’d retired?’ His name is Willy, and he is one of those who hang around the Metro station. He is sixteen and was a friend of Egil’s. I always thought he was a slimy bastard. Whenever he came to our door to ask for Egil, I left him standing outside on the Sing-Sing gallery, even when it was pelting down.
I shrug and look past him and see Tommy’s sister sitting in a corner talking with two other girls. She looks back at me, and I blush, and Willy puts down his table tennis racket and carves his way through. He comes straight over to me and smiles. I can’t for the life of me think why: maybe because I am the oldest person in the room, and he wants to impress. He has shoulder-length blond hair, a little longer than mine, and he takes hold of my arm and says:
‘Shit, Audun, that was a bloody shame about your brother. Egil was a dead cool guy.’
I remove his hand. ‘Beat it,’ I say.
He doesn’t like that. He gets confused and looks round to see who has heard what I said, but the table tennis balls click to and fro, and sometimes they bounce on to the floor, and the players shout and laugh and are having a good time.
‘Come on, Audun, surely I have a right to say something. Shit, Egil was my best friend.’
‘Did you hear what I said? Scram!’ I push him away, he staggers backwards, and now it’s hard for him to pretend nothing is happening. The room goes quiet, and those inside it turn and look to the doorway where I am standing. It’s fine by me. I have no business with them. Willy crouches down and gets sly, he smiles, he wants to fight, one word from me, and he will fight. That’s fine, too, I don’t give a shit, and then Arvid comes down the hall, his face in a frenzy.
‘They’re not here,’ he says.
‘Who isn’t?’
‘Unless you’re one of them?’ he says and walks straight up to Willy and slams him against the wall.
‘Hey, give me a break,’ Willy says, ‘I had nothing to do with it!’
I am completely at sea. Arvid suddenly goes wild, his thin body tense like a wire, he can’t keep his feet down, and he grabs Willy around the neck and pins him to the wall.
‘One of who, Arvid?’
‘One of those who beat up my dad. Just two hours ago. He was on his way home from his shift, right, and when hecame out of the Metro, this gang went for him. I guess he didn’t think their jokes were funny. How the hell would I know! And now he’s at home in bed, and he looks a mess.’ He starts shaking Willy like a rag doll, and I don’t understand why Willy is just standing there looking scared instead of fighting back. He must be stronger than skinny Arvid and much more used to a scrap, but he shouts:
‘I wasn’t with them. It was Dole and the others.’
‘Dole and the others? For fuck’s sake, Dole is your great
‘Eighteen.’
‘When?’
‘Just turned.’
‘OK, but we don’t want any trouble. You haven’t been to Geir’s bar first, have you?’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘And no fooling with the girls.’
We go in, and I stop in the middle of the hall. ‘Shit, Arvid, I’m not up for this.’
‘Just for a little while.’
The place is packed to the rafters. All the rooms are crowded with people, and I don’t know what to do with myself, so I stand in a doorway watching some snot-nosed kids playing table tennis. Arvid has gone off after checking out the room. The discotheque is right at the back, the music banging into the hall every time someone opens a door, and many turn to look at him as he hurries further in. He has shoved his beret into his jacket pocket, but still he looks cool.
Most people in the room I have seen before, but I don’t really know them, and many look up at me in surprise, and one calls out:
‘Hey, Audun, I thought you’d retired?’ His name is Willy, and he is one of those who hang around the Metro station. He is sixteen and was a friend of Egil’s. I always thought he was a slimy bastard. Whenever he came to our door to ask for Egil, I left him standing outside on the Sing-Sing gallery, even when it was pelting down.
I shrug and look past him and see Tommy’s sister sitting in a corner talking with two other girls. She looks back at me, and I blush, and Willy puts down his table tennis racket and carves his way through. He comes straight over to me and smiles. I can’t for the life of me think why: maybe because I am the oldest person in the room, and he wants to impress. He has shoulder-length blond hair, a little longer than mine, and he takes hold of my arm and says:
‘Shit, Audun, that was a bloody shame about your brother. Egil was a dead cool guy.’
I remove his hand. ‘Beat it,’ I say.
He doesn’t like that. He gets confused and looks round to see who has heard what I said, but the table tennis balls click to and fro, and sometimes they bounce on to the floor, and the players shout and laugh and are having a good time.
‘Come on, Audun, surely I have a right to say something. Shit, Egil was my best friend.’
‘Did you hear what I said? Scram!’ I push him away, he staggers backwards, and now it’s hard for him to pretend nothing is happening. The room goes quiet, and those inside it turn and look to the doorway where I am standing. It’s fine by me. I have no business with them. Willy crouches down and gets sly, he smiles, he wants to fight, one word from me, and he will fight. That’s fine, too, I don’t give a shit, and then Arvid comes down the hall, his face in a frenzy.
‘They’re not here,’ he says.
‘Who isn’t?’
‘Unless you’re one of them?’ he says and walks straight up to Willy and slams him against the wall.
‘Hey, give me a break,’ Willy says, ‘I had nothing to do with it!’
I am completely at sea. Arvid suddenly goes wild, his thin body tense like a wire, he can’t keep his feet down, and he grabs Willy around the neck and pins him to the wall.
‘One of who, Arvid?’
‘One of those who beat up my dad. Just two hours ago. He was on his way home from his shift, right, and when hecame out of the Metro, this gang went for him. I guess he didn’t think their jokes were funny. How the hell would I know! And now he’s at home in bed, and he looks a mess.’ He starts shaking Willy like a rag doll, and I don’t understand why Willy is just standing there looking scared instead of fighting back. He must be stronger than skinny Arvid and much more used to a scrap, but he shouts:
‘I wasn’t with them. It was Dole and the others.’
‘Dole and the others? For fuck’s sake, Dole is your great
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