Karin Fossum - Eva's Eye

She searched through her wardrobe for clothes she didn’t normally wear. An old pair of army surplus trousers, with pockets on the thighs. They were thick and stiff and uncomfortable and weren’t at all like her, so they were just right now. She had to get outside herself, then it would be easier. A black polo-necked jumper and short white rubber boots also fitted the bill. Then she sat down at the dining table with a notepad and pencil. She chewed and chewed, enjoying the taste of porous wood and soft graphite, just as she enjoyed gently licking her brushes after she’d rinsed them in turpentine. She’d never told anyone about this, it was a secret vice. After three attempts, the text was ready. It was short and simple, without any refinements, it could easily have been written by a man, she thought, as she wallowed in her own vigor. It was something new, a new force that drove her on. She hadn’t experienced such a thing for a long time but had dragged herself forward, her feet following unwilling after her, nothing pushing, nothing motivating her. Now she had some real momentum. Maja would have approved of it.

“Will offer good price if you’re thinking of selling the car.”

Nothing more. And a signature. She hesitated a little over this, she mustn’t use her own name, but she couldn’t make anything up. Whatever she chose looked silly. In the end it sorted itself out. A real name that he didn’t know and a real phone number which wasn’t hers. “After 7 P.M.” There, it was done. She discarded her handbag and coat and instead found an old down jacket. She put the note in one of its pockets. On a whim she found a band and caught up her hair at the nape of her neck. When she stopped in front of the hall mirror to check her appearance, she saw a stranger with protruding ears. She looked like an overgrown child. It didn’t matter, the effect wasn’t too silly. The most important thing was that she shouldn’t resemble Eva. Finally, she went down to the cellar, rooted around under the workbench, and found one of Jostein’s old fishing bags. In the bottom lay a knife. Long and narrow, it fitted neatly into the thigh pocket of her trousers. Just a little security for a lone woman. To engender fear and respect, should Egil Einarsson do something stupid.

She parked a good way off by the corner of the swimming baths. The Securitas guard was nowhere to be seen; for goodness’ sake, he had other areas to patrol as well, she thought. Perhaps he was lurking near the staff lockers or the toilets, perhaps he was keeping an eye on the stocks of beer and mineral water. Presumably there were thieves here as in all other workplaces. She crossed the road and squeezed past the barrier. Again she was amazed by the number of white cars, but she automatically looked for his in the same place as last time, and it wasn’t there. A disturbing thought, that perhaps he wasn’t at work that day, that he’d finally broken down and run away, crept into her mind and threatened her equilibrium. Or perhaps he was on the evening shift, but she continued along the rows of cars. Maybe he already knew about the bus driver and was feeling safer than ever. A Renault, how stupid could you get! Now and again she glanced quickly over her shoulder, but there was no one in view. Quick as a spider she scurried around the car park and at length found the Opel right on the perimeter. Today he’d parked askew in the marked parking place, as if he’d been in a hurry. Things will get worse for you, she mumbled to herself. She fished out the note from her pocket, unfolded it and placed it beneath a wiper blade. She stood for a moment or two admiring the car, in case anyone was looking at her from a window. Then she went back again and drove up the town’s main street. It was like beginning a marathon without having trained for it, the task overwhelmed her, but she felt rested and ready, determined to finish. She would always remember that day. It was lightly overcast with a strong breeze, Sunday, October 4.

She looked at the clock practically every quarter of an hour.

When it was approaching 6:00 P.M. she got into her car and drove the twenty-five kilometers out to her father’s. He’d seen the car a long way off and was standing on the steps as she arrived, wearing a frown. What odd clothes the girl had on, as if she was going on a forest hike, or worse. He shook his head.

“Are you going to rob a bank?”

“That’s the idea. Perhaps you could drive the getaway car?”

“You forgot your wallet,” he said.

“I know, that’s why I’ve come.”

She patted his cheek and went inside, throwing a quick glance at the door of his workroom, where he kept the phone. It stood ajar. The phone almost never rang. She darted a glance at the time again, thought that he might not phone at all, or perhaps not until late in the evening. But men and their cars was a subject she understood. Boasting about them, discussing road-holding and construction, horsepower, braking effect, and German thoroughness as they drooled like small boys and nodded knowingly, this was a man’s greatest weakness. The vague impression she had should prove to be correct. This car was important to him. His wife and child took second place. It wasn’t certain he would sell, but then she didn’t intend to buy. When he realized she was a woman, he’d be even more intrigued. He, a man who went to prostitutes, a deceiver who used his wages to buy pleasure from other women when he was married and had a child. A heel. A shady customer. Perhaps a bit of a drinker and obviously psychologically unstable. A real turd, a...

“Why are you so red in the face?”

She started and pulled herself together. “I’ve got things to think about.”

“Well, you don’t say. Have you heard anything from Emma?”

“She’ll be coming soon. D’you think I’m a bad mother?”

He spluttered a bit. “You’re not so bad. You do the best you can. No one is good enough really, not for Emma at least.” He hobbled after her, heading toward the kitchen.

“My God, you’re more concerned about that girl than you ever were about me.”

“Naturally. Just wait till you’re a grandmother. It’s a sort of second chance, you see, to make a better job than you did the first time around.”

“You were good enough for me.”

“Even though we moved?”

She turned with the bag of coffee in her hand. “Oh yes.”

“I thought you hadn’t forgiven me.”

“Well, perhaps not. But everyone’s allowed a certain quota of mistakes, even you.”

“Wasn’t it because of your best friend, you lost your best friend — that must have been hard. What was her name again?” His voice was perfectly innocent.

“Er... May Britt.”

“May Britt? Was that her name?”

She shook coffee into the paper filter and held her breath. Fortunately he was an old man now, his memory wasn’t what it had been. But she felt a louse. Lies flew from lips like flies.

“You’re missing Emma too, that’s why you’ve started coming over here all the time. If she stays at Jostein’s for too long you’ll have to make a contribution to her keep, did you know that?”

“He’d never even dream of it. Don’t be unfair.”

“I’m only saying you should be careful. This woman of his, how well do you really know her?”

“Not at all. I’m not interested. But she’s blond with big tits.”

“Be careful, she might get up to something.”

“Dad!” Eva turned and groaned. “Don’t add to the worries I’ve already got!”

He stared ruefully at the floor. “Sorry. I’m only trying to find out what’s up with you.”

“Thanks, but I’m in complete control, I really am. Sit down. You ought to keep your legs raised, you’re being careless. Are you using the electric blanket I gave you?”