(The doorbell rings)
MR. SMITH: Goodness, someone is ringing.
MRS. SMITH: There must be someone there. I’ll go and see.
Eugène Ionesco, The Bald Soprano
My grandfather was dead. I didn’t cry. Abby was still with me when my mother rang to tell her. My mother didn’t call me, but I knew. She was probably offended that I hadn’t told her the date of Halland’s funeral. She loved a tit-for-tat: one funeral for another. Abby said she would go with me, but I wasn’t upset. I could do without seeing my mother. Anyway I had stopped missing my grandfather after I had spoken to him on the phone. He had been kind to me as a child. But the moment he called me ‘dear’ three times in two minutes I remembered that he was a miserable, resentful old man nonetheless. The funeral was arranged for the Monday, but I couldn’t attend. I was suppose to give a talk at a library in Jutland that Sunday and would be hard pressed to arrive in Reading on time. At least that’s what I told myself. Telling the talk’s organizer that my husband had died was out of the question, and I didn’t want to use my grandfather as an excuse either. So I should just go to Jutland as planned, thereby avoiding having to involve a stranger in my private life. I had already been on the front page of one of the tabloids, but the headline merely said, WRITER IN MOURNING. I could have been anyone; and anyway, Pernille appeared more prominently in the photo. Abby asked who she was. ‘Is that the kind of paper you read?’ I returned her question.
I had given Halland’s laptop to Funder, though I still hadn’t told the police about the rented room. But they are very clever. Pernille rang on the Wednesday morning to say that they were standing outside her door and wanted to see Halland’s room. ‘Let them in,’ I said. ‘They’ve got the key.’
Boarding the train to Jutland felt like a relief. I just grabbed my bag, the one Halland had taught me always to have at the ready. On the train, I plugged my cell phone in to charge and busied myself with the quick crossword, trying not to think. TWINGE–CONTRACTION, EXCLAMATION–ALAS, HOLLOW–TROUGH, DIVIDE–HALVE, MALE–BUCK.
I had received a text. From my editor, one of the few people who had the number. He couldn’t get through on the landline; would I call him? He had written the text the day Halland died. I deleted it.
Although I had never met the man who organized my reading, I could tell that he knew about my husband’s murder. But he said nothing, and as we drove from the station to the new library I wondered whether I should be offended by his lack of manners. Ought he not to offer his condolences, at the very least mention that he had read the awful news in the paper or heard an announcement on the radio? But truth to tell, I wasn’t offended. I wouldn’t have known how to react anyway if he had mentioned Halland.
‘I’ve been pushing for you to be our writer of the month!’ the man told me, blinking three times in quick succession.
‘Thank you.’
‘Have you decided what you’re going to read?’
‘Not yet. I like to get a feel of the audience first.’
‘I hope the turnout will be all right. On a sunny day like today, a lot of people will want to be out in their gardens. Do you take requests?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘You might not think it suitable, but you published a story in a journal about ten years ago. None of your books include the piece, but I think it is magnificent. I brought a copy along in case you’d like to read it.’
‘Sounds intriguing.’
When he unlocked the library door, I noticed a large poster for another event three days earlier. He traced my gaze.
‘Yes, that was one of the library’s own events. We’re only a small group, so we borrow a room in the basement.’
The building was lovely, though. Filled with light from the bright sun. He locked the door behind us.
‘How will people get in?’ I gestured towards the locked door.
‘The library’s closed,’ he said. ‘But I will send Birthe up to stand by the door. She’s downstairs preparing the coffee, I should think.’ I sighed. I knew the routine. He ushered me into a small office where I sat down in a deep armchair. He left me alone. I heard them discuss how many people might come and how much coffee they needed to make. Birthe came in, said hello and handed me a fat envelope and a form to fill in. ‘Might as well do it now,’ she said, ‘so you have a fighting chance to catch the train after the reading.’
‘Shouldn’t you be guarding the door?’ I asked.
‘Someone else is doing that,’ she replied. ‘Two people have already arrived.’
I knew the scenario off by heart. The organizer came back into the room and handed me a photocopy of my old story. Without looking at it, I filled in the form with my id number and address, and peeked inside the envelope. Seeing my fee in cash livened me up. Putting the form on the table, I stuffed the photocopy and the envelope in my bag and stood up. The organizer looked flustered as I strode past him.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘We usually get about twenty-five people.’
‘I’m just popping out for some air,’ I said.
‘You mean a smoke?’
‘No, some air.’
He gestured down the corridor towards a glass door.
‘That’s an exit. Just make sure to leave the lock on the latch so you can get back in again.’
I let the door slam behind me, went up some steps and found myself at the rear of the building. I gazed on lawns, sculptures, shade. A gravel path led into what looked like a small park.
Walking briskly, I glanced back over my shoulder like a thief, then ran, faster and faster, past old people on benches, past a play area and a fountain. When I reached the pedestrianized area I ambled along like a tourist. The shops were shut except for a pizzeria with tables on the pavement. When I asked the way to the railway station, I was annoyed with myself for saying railway station. People always gave me funny looks when I used that expression. I was hungry but I only wanted to go home. The next train was due in fifteen minutes. I walked through the tunnel beneath the tracks to the opposite platform and stood in the sun. I felt liberated, which was a much better feeling than having completed a task. After finishing a job, I always worry that I could have done better. But now, I only felt relieved to be on my way home.
My phone chimed and I searched around in my bag.
One new message, it said. I pressed DISPLAY. The message was from Halland.