pretty.”
Winter said good-bye when they emerged into the Calle Tetuan.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” Alicia said. “You know where I am ... if you feel hungry again and need some advice.” She looked at him. “Or if you run into any more trouble.” She gave him her business card. Winter put it in his pocket.
“Can I give you a lift if you’re heading east? I have a car down by the bank.”
“No thanks, I have a few things to see to and then I’ll take a bus. I hope everything turns out okay with your father.”
Winter nodded and they went their separate ways. He walked back to the avenida. The car was hot inside and out, and he could feel the sweat trickling down his back even before he’d sat down. His mobile rang.
“I can’t make it,” said his sister. He could hear her coughing again. “Tomorrow, though. For sure.”
“I’m on my way to the hospital again.”
“Is he still awake? Is he with it, I mean?”
“We had a little chat last night, in any case.”
“That’s good,” she croaked.
“I don’t know. He was trying to make a sort of farewell speech, but I wouldn’t let him.”
The wall surface was rough, like the trunk of a tree. Had he found the paintbrush somewhere in the flat? Or had he taken it with him? He was calm enough now to ask questions, but he couldn’t answer them.
There. He’d finished.
They followed his every movement. Him and her. He didn’t approach them. They just had to sit there, and he’d drawn up the blinds so that it wasn’t so dark inside. It wasn’t quiet in there either. It-wasn‘t-quiet-in-there-either. The music was on auto-reverse. The light from outside shone onto the other guy’s head as he kept an eye on everything from the sofa. Nothing moved. He was pleased that nothing moved. It had been harder with her, but now she was still as well, watching him. Nobody was laughing anymore. Who was in charge now? Who was making the decisions now?
He’d shown them.
He’d show him now, make him understand.
He switched off the music, but that was not good. He switched it on again, but lowered the volume and looked around. He could leave now.
14
Angela woke up before midnight with the feeling that something was about to happen. Something she didn’t want to think about.
In the no-man‘s-land between sleep and waking she had seen the images one after another, like slides projected onto the big, bare bedroom wall.
She got out of bed and put on her robe, her heart pounding. She sat at the kitchen table with a glass of milk. Everything was quiet in the street outside. Somebody flushed a toilet in an apartment upstairs. She considered switching on the radio, but decided not to. Mustn’t get too wide awake. She sat with her hand over her stomach. Mustn’t plan too far ahead.
The swishing noise in the pipes stopped. Still no late-night tram outside, no voices in the darkness, which smelled of snow. She could smell it when she opened the window and breathed in deeply. A premonition of winter, and she closed the window, put the glass in the sink, and went back through the hall. The hiss clattered up, stopped on the landing, and she could hear the door opening and shutting and the sound of gravel scraping against the stone floor. She paused in the hall. Why am I standing here? I want to hear those footsteps go in through a door. Mrs. Malmer’s door.
Good grief.
Some more scraping footsteps. They sounded as if they were outside her door, just outside the door. Angela suddenly found herself incapable of moving. Everything was concentrated on listening for those footsteps.
I shouldn’t sleep here when Erik’s away.
This is ridiculous.
A rasping, grinding sound again. Footsteps again; moving away. She could hear the hundred-year-old elevator rattling its way back up, and the soft clatter as it came to a halt in the corridor outside. The clinking of the sliding steel door followed by a little click and the sound of the cage heading back down
Winter said good-bye when they emerged into the Calle Tetuan.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” Alicia said. “You know where I am ... if you feel hungry again and need some advice.” She looked at him. “Or if you run into any more trouble.” She gave him her business card. Winter put it in his pocket.
“Can I give you a lift if you’re heading east? I have a car down by the bank.”
“No thanks, I have a few things to see to and then I’ll take a bus. I hope everything turns out okay with your father.”
Winter nodded and they went their separate ways. He walked back to the avenida. The car was hot inside and out, and he could feel the sweat trickling down his back even before he’d sat down. His mobile rang.
“I can’t make it,” said his sister. He could hear her coughing again. “Tomorrow, though. For sure.”
“I’m on my way to the hospital again.”
“Is he still awake? Is he with it, I mean?”
“We had a little chat last night, in any case.”
“That’s good,” she croaked.
“I don’t know. He was trying to make a sort of farewell speech, but I wouldn’t let him.”
The wall surface was rough, like the trunk of a tree. Had he found the paintbrush somewhere in the flat? Or had he taken it with him? He was calm enough now to ask questions, but he couldn’t answer them.
There. He’d finished.
They followed his every movement. Him and her. He didn’t approach them. They just had to sit there, and he’d drawn up the blinds so that it wasn’t so dark inside. It wasn’t quiet in there either. It-wasn‘t-quiet-in-there-either. The music was on auto-reverse. The light from outside shone onto the other guy’s head as he kept an eye on everything from the sofa. Nothing moved. He was pleased that nothing moved. It had been harder with her, but now she was still as well, watching him. Nobody was laughing anymore. Who was in charge now? Who was making the decisions now?
He’d shown them.
He’d show him now, make him understand.
He switched off the music, but that was not good. He switched it on again, but lowered the volume and looked around. He could leave now.
14
Angela woke up before midnight with the feeling that something was about to happen. Something she didn’t want to think about.
In the no-man‘s-land between sleep and waking she had seen the images one after another, like slides projected onto the big, bare bedroom wall.
She got out of bed and put on her robe, her heart pounding. She sat at the kitchen table with a glass of milk. Everything was quiet in the street outside. Somebody flushed a toilet in an apartment upstairs. She considered switching on the radio, but decided not to. Mustn’t get too wide awake. She sat with her hand over her stomach. Mustn’t plan too far ahead.
The swishing noise in the pipes stopped. Still no late-night tram outside, no voices in the darkness, which smelled of snow. She could smell it when she opened the window and breathed in deeply. A premonition of winter, and she closed the window, put the glass in the sink, and went back through the hall. The hiss clattered up, stopped on the landing, and she could hear the door opening and shutting and the sound of gravel scraping against the stone floor. She paused in the hall. Why am I standing here? I want to hear those footsteps go in through a door. Mrs. Malmer’s door.
Good grief.
Some more scraping footsteps. They sounded as if they were outside her door, just outside the door. Angela suddenly found herself incapable of moving. Everything was concentrated on listening for those footsteps.
I shouldn’t sleep here when Erik’s away.
This is ridiculous.
A rasping, grinding sound again. Footsteps again; moving away. She could hear the hundred-year-old elevator rattling its way back up, and the soft clatter as it came to a halt in the corridor outside. The clinking of the sliding steel door followed by a little click and the sound of the cage heading back down
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