July 2004
Willem
WILLEM TOOK THREE plates from the kitchen cabinet while Jurriaan set the paper bags from the snack bar on the table.
Louisa was humming “Für Elise,” somehow making Beethoven’s famous Bagatelle sound ominous. She grabbed a fistful of cutlery from a drawer and waltzed across the room. Weird. The last time he saw her wound up like this was when she was short-listed for the Royal Philharmonic Society’s Gold Medal. They had all breathed a little easier when she’d won.
She was flying tomorrow to Lake Como to teach summer school. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough for Willem, but first he had to survive the evening. His bad news could wait until the others were downstairs; there was safety in numbers.
Willem opened the bags: friet, kroketten, and frikandellen—the deep-fried, skinless sausages that Jurriaan loved. The salty, greasy smell of the fast food filled the kitchen.
Hendrik came in, a piece of tissue stuck to his face where he’d cut himself shaving. He wore the navy blazer that Louisa had given him for his birthday, and beige chinos. He walked over to the wine rack, shaped like a honeycomb, and chose a bottle of red. He found the corkscrew, grabbed two glasses, and sat down at the table.
“Boys, your food’s getting cold,” Hendrik said, uncorking the bottle. He and Louisa were going to a fancy restaurant, and the cook had the night off.
Louisa picked the piece of tissue off his face. “I told Katja to be downstairs at six thirty. Late as usual. I wish she would show some common courtesy. Not to mention gratitude for the free room and board.”
Willem rolled his eyes at the familiar refrain. She had cut off Katja’s allowance when she graduated from university a few weeks before, forcing her to give up her apartment.
Katja stormed into the kitchen, her green eyes blazing. “By my watch, I’m two minutes early. And I’ll move out as soon as I get a job.”
Willem’s eyes darted to Katja’s breasts, prominently defined under her white knit top, then took in the rest. Her copper hair hung in fluffy waves to her shoulders. She wore a short skirt and white sandals, the platform heels accenting the lovely curves of her calves. Bas would have given a wolf whistle, but Willem just swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.
“Don’t expect a job to fall into your lap. You have to put yourself out there,” Louisa said.
Hendrik twisted around in his chair. “Katja, you look gorgeous.”
“Wow,” Jurriaan said, and giggled.
Louisa’s face darkened.
Hendrik reached for her hand. “You look beautiful too.”
Too little, too late, Willem thought. Maybe it would be better if he told her his news on the telephone, when she was far away in Lake Como.
“Everyone, sit down,” Louisa snapped, taking the seat at the head of the table, leaving the chair between her and Hendrik empty. Willem and Jurriaan sat on her left, and Katja took the empty chair.
Willem bit into a kroket and watched his father pour a glass of wine and pass it over Katja’s plate to Louisa.
“I want to make a toast. To Lake Como!” Hendrik said, and clicked glasses with Louisa, inches from Katja’s nose. Louisa gave a tight smile.
Katja shook some friet onto her plate.
Louisa picked up the squeeze bottle of curry ketchup. “Ketchup?”
Willem’s breath caught as she aimed the spout at Katja, like a gun.
“No, just mayonnaise.”
Jurriaan handed Katja the jar.
Willem grabbed the ketchup from Louisa, squirted some on his plate, and set the bottle out of her reach, at the other end of the table.
“Where are you and your date going?” Louisa asked, eyeing Katja over the top of her glass.
“To a film.”
“Which film?”
“Does it matter?”
Louisa’s jaw tightened. “Don’t forget I’m leaving early in the morning. Don’t stay out late.”
A silence fell. Hendrik swirled the wine in his glass. Jurriaan buried his frikandel under a blanket of ketchup. Katja nibbled on a friet.
Willem couldn’t help comparing Katja’s bare freckled face with Louisa’s painted one. Katja had long eyelashes and impossibly green eyes. She wore small gold loops in her ears. Even her ear lobes were freckled.
Louisa’s blue eyes were framed by harsh black lines and spiky black lashes. Around her neck was the ugly necklace she never took off, the pendant, shaped like a grand piano, dangling in her cleavage.
“Who’s the lucky fellow, Katja?” Hendrik asked.
Katja dipped a friet into mayonnaise. “If you mean my date, he’s a friend from university.”
“Doesn’t he have a name?” Louisa said.
“Of course, but you don’t know him.”
“Why doesn’t he pick you up at the house?”
“It’s easier to meet at the venue.”
“Call him. Tell him to come to the house so we can meet him,” Louisa said.
Willem had to admit he was curious about her date too. He felt something else as well. He was on Katja’s side—always on her side against Louisa—but part of him didn’t want her to go out with this fellow, whoever he was.
“I’m twenty-three, not sixteen,” Katja said.
Willem felt as if she had punched him in the gut. He was sixteen. Seventeen next month. Did Katja think he was a kid?
“I never get to meet any of your friends,” Louisa said.
“If you were home more often, you might,” Katja said.
Willem choked on a bite of kroket, his mouth gone dry. Jurriaan stared at the pale sausage on his plate. Hendrik topped up his glass.
“May I be excused? I don’t want to be late.” Katja laid down her fork, most of her friet uneaten, and waited for permission.
Louisa acted as though she hadn’t heard. She downed her wine. “Hendrik, more, please.”
He took her glass, filled it, and held it out over Katja’s plate.
Louisa reached for the wine, her long fingers wrapping around the stem. The glass tilted. In a split second, a full glass of red wine splashed down the front of Katja’s white top. She scraped back her chair and jumped up, her face flushed with fury. Willem couldn’t be sure that Louisa had spilled the wine on purpose, but he wouldn’t put it past her.
“Oh, Katja. I’m sorry,” Louisa said, trying to hide a smirk as she sauntered to the kitchen sink. She grabbed a dish cloth and dabbed at the stains on Katja’s top.
“Stop it, Louisa. It won’t come out.” Katja yanked the dish cloth from her stepsister’s hand, wadded it into a ball, and hurled it onto the table.
“A shame about the top,” Hendrik said, rising to his feet.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Katja gave a disgusted snort and went upstairs to change.
Louisa sat down, her mouth twisting at the corners, looking pleased with herself while trying not to. “Jurriaan, give me your plate.” She scraped Katja’s friet onto his plate and handed it back to him.
“Waste not, want not,” Hendrik said as he lowered himself into his chair.
Willem took a bite of his half-eaten kroket, then put it down. It was soggy and cold, but it didn’t matter because he had lost his appetite anyway. A silence settled as Louisa and Hendrik drank wine and Jurriaan crammed one friet after another into his mouth.
After a few minutes, the front door slammed.
“How rude,” Louisa said. “She didn’t say goodbye.”
“Jeetje, Mom, what do you expect? You ruined her T-shirt,” Willem blurted out.
Louisa ignored Willem and shot Hendrik a look. “She acts like I spilled the wine on purpose.”
“Of course not. It was an accident, and entirely my fault,” Hendrik said on cue.
Smiling, Louisa leaned back, relaxed and in control again. “Hendrik, we need to leave or we’ll be late to the restaurant. Willem, you have cleanup duty tonight.”
“I’ll help,” Jurriaan said in a small voice.
Willem decided that his bad news could wait, having learned from experience that timing was everything.