‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
He sat at the kitchen table, she was in the doorway.
‘I’m Anna.’
‘And my name’s Valdemar.’
He got up and they shook hands. He nodded to her to sit down and they took a chair each. There were two cups on the table, his already filled with coffee. A plate of ginger cake and some cardamom biscuits.
‘I expect you’d like coffee?’
‘Yes please.’
He poured her some from the pot. They sat for a few seconds in silence, not really looking at each other.
‘I want to say sorry,’ she said. ‘Sorry for getting in here.’
He adjusted his glasses and looked at her.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Aren’t you angry with me?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Perhaps you have your reasons?’
She considered this for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s right. I have my reasons.’
He sat quietly as she put sugar and milk in her coffee and stirred it. ‘You can’t be very old?’ he said.
‘Twenty-one.’
‘Twenty-one?’
‘Yes, my birthday was about a month ago.’
‘I would have guessed eighteen or nineteen.’
‘I’m quite childish. Maybe that shows on the outside too.’
A loitering fly landed on the edge of his cup and he waved it away. It circled and then settled on her hand; he watched it and cleared his throat.
‘I’ve got a daughter about your age.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Not my actual daughter. I’m just her stepdad.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘Yes, that’s how it is.’
He helped himself to a biscuit, dunked it briefly in his coffee and took a bite. She opted for a slice of ginger cake and ate it without dunking. Half a minute went by.
‘Maybe you want to know why I came here?’
‘Yes, I’d like you to tell me about that.’
‘I’m on the run.’
That made him lean forwards and look at her over the top of his glasses. He looked like some children’s TV presenter about to tell a story, she thought. But they’d forgotten the make-up.
‘On the run?’
‘Yes. Well, sort of. I was in this home, this treatment centre, but I couldn’t stay there.’
‘Not on the run from prison, then?’ he asked, and gave a nervous little laugh.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not a criminal.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you’re not a criminal.’
She gave a cautious smile. ‘And I’m glad you’re not angry with me. It’s just that I had nowhere to go, so that was why I ended up here.’
‘When did you come?’
‘I came on Saturday. Saturday morning. I really only meant to come in for a few hours’ sleep; I was worn out.’
‘And then you stayed?’
‘Yes. I kind of . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Kind of didn’t get round to moving on.’
He pondered this.
‘Where? Where are you moving on to?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘Haven’t you got a home? I mean . . .?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at the moment. I had a flat before I went into that place, but I haven’t now.’
‘Your parents then? Your mum and dad?’
More head shaking. He slowly stirred his coffee for a while. Keeping his eyes fixed on the inside of the cup.
‘That residential home. What sort of thing was it for?’
‘For addicts. I’m an addict.’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘But I mean, you can’t be? You’re only . . . that is, you’re so young.’
‘Well, true, I’m not very old.’ She drank a mouthful of coffee and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. ‘I started too early, that was the thing.’
‘What did you start with?’
‘Beer and hash.’
‘Beer and hash.’ It wasn’t a question, just a restatement. ‘Well I never.’
‘Yes, those have been my drugs the whole way through, you might say. Things have been pretty haywire in my life these past few years.’
He leant back in his chair and peered at her through slightly narrowed eyes. Over the top of his glasses again.
‘You know what, I don’t think I really understand what you’re telling me.’
She turned her head and looked out of the window. A bird came and perched on the windowsill outside. Suddenly she didn’t know what to say.
‘I’m sorry . . .’
‘You needn’t be. There are lots of things I don’t understand. But I don’t believe you’re a bad person.’
‘Thank you. And what . . . what sort of person are you?’
He gave a laugh. ‘Me? I’m just an old man. I’m dull as ditchwater and I don’t gladden anybody’s heart.’
‘Well you seem kind, anyway.’
‘Kind?’
‘Yes.’
‘The hell I am. What gave you that idea?’
‘You let me stay here. Other people would have thrown me out or called the police.’
‘But I did call the police.’
She went very quiet and stared at him in consternation. The corner of his mouth twitched but then he was serious again.
‘Not about this business. Though I did call the police this morning, as a matter of fact, about an injured elk I saw lying by the side of the road.’
‘An elk?’
‘Yes, a car ran into it. It’s nothing to do with you, I was only joking.’
‘Oh, I see. Was it badly hurt?’
‘I’m afraid so. Things looked pretty grim.’
‘What will they do with it?’
‘The elk?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know. I should think they’ll have to put it down. If they haven’t already.’
‘I feel sorry for it.’
‘Yes, I did too.’ He scratched the back of his neck and thought. ‘It was moving its head and looking so confused. As if it didn’t understand what had happened to it . . . and it didn’t, of course. They’re just not built for colliding with cars.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Elk and cars shouldn’t exist on the same planet.’
‘You’re right. I’d never thought about that.’
They carried on drinking their coffee. Then he got up and went into the living room. He returned with pipe and tobacco. She put her hand to her mouth for a moment.
‘I borrowed that, too.’
‘This? The tobacco and pipe?’
‘Yes. Sorry, but I was dying for a smoke and I’d run out of fags.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Lucky for you that I started smoking yesterday, then.’
‘What? You only started yesterday?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? I started when I was fourteen. You must be . . . well, a bit older than that, anyway.’
He laughed. ‘Fifty-nine. Well, it’s never too late to try something new, is it?’
She laughed too. ‘You know what, I like talking to you. You seem so . . . well, so kind, in a way.’
‘Hrmm, I suppose I’m not the worst.’
He busied himself with the pipe and tobacco.
‘Would you like me to light it for you?’
‘Well yes, maybe. I’m not much of a pro yet.’
He passed the smoking kit over to her. She filled the pipe with tobacco and pressed it down with her index finger. He watched her moves and nodded as if in the process of learning something. She lit the pipe, puffed at it a couple of times and then passed it over.
‘Peace pipe,’ she said. ‘But maybe we should go outside so we don’t make it smell of smoke in here?’
They went outside together and smoked beside the pump for a while, passing the pipe back and forth between them. The sun had disappeared and ominous dark clouds indicated rain was on the way. A couple of magpies were bouncing around by the earth cellar.
‘I think it’s a great house you’ve got here,’ she said. ‘Do you come every day?’
He nodded. ‘More or less.’
‘But you never stay the night?’
‘No.’
She thought for a while.
‘Why not? That is, it’s none of my business, but . . .’
‘I haven’t had it very long,’ he explained. ‘Only a couple of weeks, actually. So I just come for the day.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘That’s the way it is.’
‘What . . . do you have a job or anything?’
He considered for a moment before answering.
‘No, I’ve given up work.’
She inhaled a bit too deeply and started coughing. ‘Ooh, this is strong tobacco.’
‘I thought you were used to it?’
‘Only to cigarettes. And the hash, of course, but I’ve stopped that now.’
‘That was why you were in that home?’
‘Yes. But just because I ran away, it doesn’t mean I’m going to start again. It was only that . . . that I couldn’t stay there any more.’
He cranked the handle of the pump a few times, cupped his hand and drank a little of the water.
‘Your parents, though . . . do your mum and dad know where you are?’
She shook her head. ‘No, nobody knows where I am.’
He wiped his mouth dry and looked at her, nonplussed. ‘Nobody?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘No, I pushed off on Saturday. I’ve been here ever since and I haven’t got a mobile phone.’
‘Don’t you think they’re out looking for you?’
She thought about it. ‘I honestly don’t know. But no, I don’t think so.’
He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and looked up at the sky. ‘There’ll be more rain soon. Shall we have another cup?’
They both went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He poured the coffee. ‘Shall I tell you something?’ he said.
‘Go on then.’
‘Nobody knows where I am, either.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘No. I’m quite sure of it.’
She bit her finger and looked at him with a sudden anxiety in her eyes.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It probably sounds odd, but Lograna is my secret, you might say.’
‘Lograna.’
He made an encompassing sweep of the arm. ‘That’s what this place is called. Lograna. I bought it three weeks ago, and I haven’t told a soul.’
‘Three weeks ago?’
‘Yes.
‘You’re married though, aren’t you?’
‘Yup. Wife and two children. And a son from further back, too . . . he’s almost forty, we aren’t really in touch.’
‘And your wife doesn’t know about this house?’
‘No.’
‘I . . . I don’t get it.’
He leant back and clasped his hands on his stomach. ‘No, I daresay it does sound a bit weird, but that’s how it is, anyway.’
‘Yes, that’s how it is,’ he repeated a few moments later.
She frowned, clearly thinking hard. Neither of them said anything. Half a minute passed.
‘Why don’t you want to tell anybody?’ she eventually asked. ‘What I mean is, I might do the same, but I’m wondering . . . no, it’s none of my business.’
He appeared to be searching for an answer. The fly returned and landed in the middle of the table, and they both contemplated it for a while, avoiding each other’s eyes. As if they had reached a crossroads and were suddenly faced with deciding which way to go on.
‘You know what,’ he said once he had batted the fly away. ‘I think it’s nice that you found your way in here and gave the old place a bit of a lived-in feel. Really nice.’
She felt tears well up all of a sudden. ‘Thank you. But you must be crazy. I stole your food and all sorts of other stuff. I’ll pay you as soon as I—’
He shook his head. ‘I won’t hear of it,’ he said. ‘Someone in need is someone in need, and you haven’t done any harm.’
‘Thank you.’
‘What have you done with your things?’
‘I put them in the outhouse.’
‘Why?’
‘I thought . . . um, I don’t know.’
Again there was silence between them, and they suddenly heard torrential rain. Beating on the roof, the metal windowsills, the leaves of the apple trees, like three different voices coming from the sky, but what they were saying wasn’t easy to interpret.
He got to his feet. ‘I think we should light a fire,’ he said. ‘What do you say?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We might as well.’