45

The husband moved his leg. That was what it felt like. Before, he’d only had to move his foot, but in the last few days the plaster cast had grown heavier and his leg cumbersome. Unable to drive, he’d taken a no. 4 tram to De Pijp, where he had arranged to meet the policeman in the bar on the Van Woustraat. He was glad he didn’t have to go to his parents-in-law’s by himself. Between the bar and their house the snow hadn’t been cleared off the pavement and the streets hadn’t been gritted; the policeman had to save him from falling more than once. The TV was on – long-distance ice skating – the commentators’ voices were a mumble in the background. One of the skaters was the one he’d seen advertising bread on the poster at the tram stop. His father-in-law was making tea; the policeman preferred it to coffee. Next to the TV was a Christmas tree decorated with tinsel and candles. His parents-in-law liked to do things the old-fashioned way and didn’t light the candles until Christmas Day itself. The triangle on the windowsill was lit, the flames adding an orange tint to a white amaryllis.

‘How’d they figure that out?’ the father asked.

‘No idea. “That information is confidential.” That’s what the woman who phoned me said.’

‘A woman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wales. How’d she end up there? What’s in Wales?’

‘An English-speaking country’s an obvious choice, of course.’

‘And what’s it got to do with you?’

The policeman glanced at the husband before answering. ‘He can’t drive,’ he said, gesturing at the cast. ‘I’ve got some time off saved up. If I don’t use it before the end of the year, I lose it.’

‘When are you going?’

‘Next week.’

‘For Christmas?’

‘Yep. It’s Christmas everywhere.’

‘Don’t you have a wife? Kids? How do they feel about it?’

‘Oh, it’s fine by them,’ the policeman said. ‘They’re used to me being on duty.’

‘Hmm,’ said the father.

‘Unbelievable,’ said the mother.

‘What?’

‘That Kramer’s a monster. He’s even accelerating.’

‘Did you hear a word we said?’

‘What do you think? I was never really worried.’

‘Well, I was.’ He poured them all a second cup of tea. ‘I’ve had to take valerian at night,’ he told the policeman. ‘I could barely sleep otherwise.’

‘That’s good stuff,’ the policeman said. ‘I take it too sometimes.’

‘Do you?’

‘Have you been in touch with her?’ the father asked.

‘No. I wouldn’t know how,’ the husband said. ‘I still haven’t been able to get through on her mobile.’

‘But you’ve got her address?’

‘Yes. Kind of. I’ve got the name of a house.’

‘Then you could send her a letter.’

‘I could.’ The husband watched the TV for a moment. ‘It really is unbelievable, them tracking her down.’

‘That’s what they do,’ the policeman said.

The husband stood up. ‘I’ll just go to the loo,’ he said, grabbing a crutch and hobbling from the living room out into the small hallway. In the toilet he closed the lid and, after some effort, managed to sit down. With the door shut, he didn’t really have enough room for his foot. He couldn’t think about his wife in the living room and he had to decide what to say to his parents-in-law. Whether to tell them. Strange people, totally impervious. The way his father-in-law had just told the policeman about taking valerian to get to sleep. His mother-in-law nursing the exercise book she used to jot down the lap times. He wondered how long it was since he’d written a letter and realised how old-fashioned all that was: a pen, paper, envelope, stamp, postbox. His armpit was a bit chafed where the policeman had gripped him those three or four times. He turned the tap on and then off again. He couldn’t think about his wife here either. He found it completely impossible to imagine her in a house in the country.

A lot had changed in the last two months. Being alone didn’t even feel strange any more. After a couple of days at home with his foot up on a stool and a beer within reach, he had called the practice. They wouldn’t tell him anything. He’d sworn at them, and they’d put him through to the doctor. She too had kept silent and remained icy calm. He asked her about the results of the fertility test, something he’d completely forgotten during his visit. They were confidential too. Just before he rang off, she’d asked him how his foot was. That made him laugh out loud and he was still laughing when he hung up on her. He didn’t know anything. There was nothing he could really tell his parents-in-law. He hauled himself upright.

‘You were gone a long time,’ the mother said.

‘Yeah.’ He gestured at the cast.

‘We’re so happy. Really, very happy,’ the father said. ‘That she’s been found.’

‘Shouldn’t we open a bottle of something?’ the mother asked. The skating was finished, there were commercials on TV, the sound was turned right down. She’d laid the exercise book on the windowsill.

‘Good idea. Help yourself to a glass of white,’ the father said. ‘The bottle’s in the fridge. It needs using up.’

‘Men? A drop of genever?’

‘Sure,’ said the policeman.

Men, thought the husband. A drop. ‘I’ll have one too while you’re at it.’

‘Could you slice up a dried sausage?’ the father said to the mother’s back. ‘Was it expensive?’

‘Yes,’ said the husband. ‘Very.’

The father looked at him. The husband thought he was going to offer to pay a share of the investigation fee. Instead the father turned his attention to the policeman. ‘How come you didn’t put him in prison?’ he asked.

‘Because he’s such a nice guy.’

‘You misinformed me,’ the policeman said. They were negotiating the slippery pavement on their way back to the Van Woustraat. After two shots it seemed a lot easier.

‘I know,’ the husband said. ‘They’re a strange couple.’

‘Things like that have a knock-on effect.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I could start questioning the truth of what else you’ve said.’

‘You’re not a detective, are you?’

‘No, I’m just a simple police officer. But I’m also human.’

The husband’s crutches slipped out from under him – he had to put his cast down on the ground. He didn’t fall over – the policeman already had him in a firm grip.

‘Never,’ the policeman said. ‘You can never tell exactly what someone’s thinking or feeling.’

‘You want to eat?’ the husband asked. ‘I haven’t got anything at home.’

‘OK,’ the policeman said. ‘There’s a Turkish place just up the road. You can make it that far.’

‘Can you just stay away like that? What will your wife think? Won’t your kids miss you?’

The policeman smiled.

I need a kind of shoulder pad, thought the man, but in my armpit. An armpit pad. He’d got into a good rhythm, pushing the crutches deep into the snow. I could send a card with a priority sticker on it. Old-fashioned, but the only way.