We’re walking hand in hand down the street, me and Mona. I finish my ice lolly, lick both sides of the stick and chuck it away. We walk past the hotel, past Aakervik the fishmonger’s. Christ, it’s hot. I put my hand to the back of my neck. It’s running with sweat, and there’s patches of sweat on my vest as well, I see – fuck, I’ve hardly walked any distance and it’s soaked through already. I slip my hand off my neck as we cross the road, pinch my vest between thumb and forefinger, pull it out from my chest to let some air in. It’s so fucking hot I can feel the tarmac burning the soles of my shoes. Look down. Look up again. And then I see Mona’s mother. I jump at the sight of her. She’s heading straight for us. Looking right at us, smiling that oh-so-sweet smile of hers, sweet and ice-cold. Ice-smile. Then Mona spots her. Her hand tightens round mine and she stops dead. It’s pure instinct. She wants to steer clear of her mother, go another way. But it’s too late. Their eyes have met, she can’t escape. She takes off her shoe and holds it up. Tries to disguise the brief break in her stride by pretending she’s got something in her shoe. Just for a second, then she slips her shoe back on and starts walking again. Tries to act casual, lifts her chin a bit, tries to smile as confidently as her mother. But she can’t quite manage it. She’s rattled. I can tell by her face. And it doesn’t help that she’s chewing gum. She can’t look as cool as she’d like.
“Well, hello,” Anne says.
She adjusts her bag on her shoulder as she says it. Look straight at Mona. Doesn’t look at me. Making a point of not saying hello to me, like. Only saying hello to Mona. Bitch, she’s fucking unbelievable.
“Hi,” Mona says.
“Hi,” I say as well.
Say hi to Anne even though she’s made a big show of not saying hello to me. Say it loud and clear. Lift my sunglasses up onto my forehead, look her straight in the face and smile. I know she’s used to pushing people around and doing what she likes with them, but that won’t work with me. No fucking way does she get to treat me like I don’t exist. But she still doesn’t look at me.
“Out for a little stroll, are you?” Anne asks.
She’s still talking as if Mona’s on her own. As if I’m not fucking well here at all. It’s so far out it’s almost funny, so it is. I look straight at her. That fat, pasty pug-face of hers. Puffy, powder-caked face with the fan of fine smoker’s wrinkles on her upper lip. She sticks her thumb under the strap of her shoulder bag, it’s pressing against her tit, I notice. Her tit’s bulging out on either side of the strap. She shifts the bag slightly, still not taking her eyes off Mona. I look at her and give a little grin. Can’t help it. Just have to show her how ridiculous she is, how ridiculous it is her treating me like this. But she takes no notice of me.
“Yeah, we’ve been out to eat,” Mona says, trying to make the point that I’m here as well. She looks at Anne and chews her gum. Trying to look blasé by chewing a bit harder on her gum. Chomping.
“Oh, really,” Anne says. “Where?”
“Rondo’s,” Mona says.
“Oh,” Anne says, “do they do proper meals there?”
She raises her eyebrows, acting surprised. As if to say Rondo’s isn’t good enough. Not posh enough.
“I thought they only did fast food,” she says.
“”Yeah, well we happen to like fast food, you see,” Mona says.
She blinks slowly and gives a kind of weary smile, to show her mother how fed up she is of this crap, this farce.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” Anne says.
And she gives a little laugh. Trying to make out that she didn’t mean to criticize, but she can’t resist criticizing and then when people get upset she always makes out that they’ve misunderstood or they’re overreacting.
“And we’re all allowed to eat rubbish now and again,” she adds.
She adjusts her shoulder bag again, looks at Mona and gives her that cold, charming smile again. Acting like she doesn’t know we eat fast food all the time. Talking like it would be so terrible if we hardly ever ate anything but junk food and Mona’s supposed to feel guilty and embarrassed because it’s actually true. She doesn’t. What a bitch, she’s so fucking sly, a total fucking psycho.
“And anyway, you’re so skinny, you don’t need to worry about putting on weight,” she goes on, and she nods at Mona, still with that ice-cold smile on her face. “I think you might’ve got even thinner lately,” she says.
Christ, what a bitch, she’s un-fucking-believable. She knows Mona has this huge complex about being so thin, and yet she goes and says something like that. Reminding her of the one thing she hates most about herself.
“Yeah, maybe so, Mum,” Mona says.
She shuts her eyes as she says this. Showing Anne she doesn’t want to hear this. Trying to show her that she’s sick of it. But she’s hurt. I can tell by her face. She goes on chewing her gum, trying to look like she doesn’t care, but she’s hurt.
“Maybe you should see the doctor, get checked out?” Anne says. “Just to be on the safe side.”
Mona raises her thin, pencilled eyebrows and sighs. Doesn’t say anything. And Anne lays her podgy fingers lightly on her arm. A broad gold bracelet slips out of her shirt sleeve as she does so. She keeps smiling that oh-so-sweet smile of hers.
“Oh, dear, now I’ve offended you, I can tell,” she says with a little laugh, and she pulls her hand away, gives it a little shake, sliding the bracelet back up inside her sleeve. She looks at Mona. “But I worry about you, you know. You’re my daughter and I really want you to be happy.”
“I am happy, Mum,” Mona says. “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
“Hmm,” Anne says.
And that’s all she says. Just stands there looking at Mona. As if to show her that she has her own thoughts on that score. Like Mona can’t possibly be happy with me. Like she knows more about how Mona feels than Mona herself. Fucking unbelievable, what a bitch. What a fucking psycho.
I stare at her.
“Well, you seem to be thriving, anyway, Anne,” I say.
I nod at her and sneer. I can’t resist it. If she can talk about how thin Mona is, we should be able to talk about how fat she is, shouldn’t we? That puffy pug-face of hers, cheeks sagging on either side of her face. Pale powdery cheeks dotted with little red freckles. I glance at Mona and grin, and Mona grins back. I turn to Anne again. Sneer. She doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even look at me. Keeps her eyes fixed on Mona, smiling her ice-cold smile. She’s raging, but trying to look unaffected.
“Oh, by the way, I met Olav and Vilde this morning,” she says, not taking her eyes off Mona. “They were on their way up to the family park in Namsos Forest,” she adds.
She flashes that cold, hard smile. Un-fucking-believable – the bitch. Trying to make Mona feel guilty by mentioning Vilde now. Just to remind her, like, of where she really ought to be. As if to say she shouldn’t be here with me. She should be with her husband and her kid up at the family park in Namsos Forest. That’s what she wants Mona to think when she says this, wants to make Mona feel guilty for leaving her husband and her kid.
“So, only me missing, then,” Mona says.
She looks up at me and grins, she knows exactly what her mother’s up to and she’s grinning at how ridiculous she is. And I grin back.
“Well, you said it, not me,” Anne says.
She looks Mona straight in the eye, still smiling that cold, hard smile. She’s raging, but she’s doing her best to look as if she’s not that easily rattled. And Mona looks at her and chews her gum. Like they do in films sometimes. Trying to look cool by chewing gum. Trying to show Anne that she doesn’t give a shit what she says, that she won’t be manipulated.
“Oh, well,” Anne says, looking at her watch, expensive gold watch on her pasty, podgy, red-freckled wrist. “We’ve got people coming for dinner, so I’d better be getting home,” she says. She glances up at Mona again. “But it would be so nice if you could come and see us soon,” she says.
Again that “you” directed only at Mona. Not a word to me. She’s constantly making the point that I’m not welcome. Fucking cunt.
“I think your dad would really appreciate it if you came over,” she says, her voice suddenly serious now. She holds Mona’s eye.
“Oh?” Mona says.
She’s still trying to look like she couldn’t give a shit, but it’s not quite working. Now she’s wondering what’s up with her dad. I can tell by her face. The cocky, laid-back pose kind of falls away. A flicker of unease comes into her eyes. A flash of panic.
“Oh, but we can talk more about that when you come over,” Anne says.
She lays her pudgy fingers on Mona’s arm again. Blinks steadily. Opens her eyes and gazes solemnly at Mona. Gives it a second. Then slides her hand off Mona’s arm.
“Well, bye for now,” she says. “You know where we live,” she adds.
And off she goes. Like she hasn’t got time to stand here talking any longer. Bitch – she’s so fucking sly. Letting us think she’s in a hurry, when what she really wants is to leave Mona in the dark. I know that’s what she’s trying to do. She wants Mona to be left wondering what’s wrong with her dad, that way she’ll have to go back on her word. She wants to force Mona to come home – and on her own, without me. That bitch, she’s so fucking sly. I bet there’s not a blind thing the matter with Mona’s dad. She just wants Mona to think there is.
“C’mon, Mona,” I say.
I put my arm round her shoulders. Look down at her as we walk on. She’s trying to act like it hasn’t got to her. She knows full well that Anne’s trying to manipulate her and she’s doing her best to fight it, to just shrug it off, but she can’t. I can tell by her face. She looks up at me and smiles, but it’s a sad smile. She’s worried about her dad. I can tell by her face. And maybe she thinks it’s her fault he’s not well. Maybe she thinks her dad’s in a state because of her. That all the worry about her has told on his nerves, that he’s depressed or something. What the fuck do I know, it’s hard to say, but that’s definitely what Anne wants her to think. I pull Mona a little bit closer. Curl my hand round her skinny upper arm. Just over the snake tattoo. We carry on down the street, past Karoliussen’s bookshop. Cross the road and walk past Haagensen Photo. Walk along side by side, neither of us saying a word. And then Mona starts to cry. Cries softly, keeping her eyes on the pavement. After a moment I stop, hug her close. Put one hand behind her head, the other on her back and gently press her face into the hollow of my shoulder. Stand there stroking her back and watching a truck reverse into the car park at Bailiff’s Manor, stroke and stroke as I watch the driver switching between checking in his mirror and leaning out of the open window.
“Maybe you should pop over there anyway, Mona,” I say.
I fondle her hair. Fine, fair hair. Long hair. Tuck it behind her ear. Lightly finger the three little ear studs in her earlobe.
“No,” she sniffs.
I bend my head, bury my nose in her hair, it smells earthy. I stay like that for a moment then start stroking her back again. Feel her knobbly spine under my fingertips.
“Mona,” I say, “I think it’s bloody brilliant that you don’t let her run your life any more, but … I need to know that you’re doing it for your own sake and not for mine.
“I’m doing it for our sake, Tom Roger.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “I just mean that you shouldn’t stop going to see them because you think I want you to. I wouldn’t think you were any less loyal to me if you went to see them,” I say.
I hear what I’m saying. I’m not really sure I mean it. At any rate there’s a bit of me that likes the fact that Mona refuses to go and see them as long as they refuse to let her bring me with her.
“Oh, God,” she says.
And then she starts to cry again. Buries her face in my shoulder.
“You’re so good, Tom Roger.”
“Don’t say that,” I say.
“But you are.”
“Well, I care about you, anyway,” I say.
“And I love you,” she says.
She sniffs. Gives it a moment, then straightens up and wipes away the tears. Stands with her mouth half-open, drying her eyes.
Then: “What the fuck are you gawping at,” she says.
That loud, in-your-face voice of hers.
I turn round and see two men walking by. Two suntanned thirty-somethings with short, spiky hair; hair glossy with hair gel. I’ve seen them before, but I don’t know them. I don’t know their names, but they know who I am, I’ll bet. They look shit-scared, at any rate. I eyeball them, flex my biceps a bit and curl my lip, showing both my muscles and my broken front tooth. I’ve always felt that that broken tooth makes me look dangerous, that I look like a man with a past when I bare that tooth. They eye me, just for a second, then quickly look the other way, like they’re trying to let me see that they don’t want to get involved, they don’t want any trouble.
“What – have you never seen people before?” Mona snarls.
She’s getting herself worked up. Trying to offload her anger at her mother onto them. She knows she doesn’t have to worry when she’s with me, so she doesn’t think twice about venting her spleen on a couple of random passers-by. And they speed up a bit, looking the other way as they hurry across the road and round the corner.
“Christ, they seemed to be in an awful hurry,” Mona says.
She wipes away the last of her tears. Looks at me and grins.
“Must’ve had an urgent appointment somewhere,” I say.
I grin back at her. Lay my hand on her shoulders again. My big hand. Hug her close as we walk on, cross Namdalsvegen and step onto the pavement on the other side.
“Can’t we just get shit-faced?” she says.
It comes kind of out of the blue. But I try not to look surprised. Raise one eyebrow and give a little shrug.
“‘Course we can,” is all I say. “We’re bound to get a drink at Ma’s and Grandad’s, and we can just take it from there when we get home.
I look at her. The glow in her eyes, burning eyes. She looks so much in love when she looks at me with those eyes. And she is in love, of course. Not just with me, but with being the sort of couple that we are right now. The sort of couple we see sometimes in films. Free spirits, rebels. The kind that tend to do things on the spur of the moment and like to live more fiercely and intensely than most people do. I know how she likes to identify with all that. She fixes her eyes on mine. A moment, then she puts a hand on the back of my neck. Closes her eyes as she draws me to her. Wants to snog me now. Wants us to snog right here in the middle of the street with people walking by. Wants to show everybody how little we care. Like there’s nobody in the world but us. And I do what she wants. Snog her.