Thomas Enger - Scarred

Henning demonstrates again and stops the ball with his foot.

‘Your turn.’

Adil is still a little reluctant. Then he takes a step back, kicks the ball, but has to move to the side to stop it as it comes back. It jumps out from under his foot, just like before. He looks at Henning.

‘Okay, not bad. But you saw what happened if you don’t kick the ball straight to your teammate, didn’t you? It forces him to move to one side and makes it more difficult for him to control the ball. Have another go. And remember your foot is there to slow down the speed of the ball, not to stop it completely. Your foot is not a wall. Come on, try again.’

Adil sets down the ball on the ground, kicks it, it hits the wall and this time he doesn’t have to move; it comes straight back towards him. He sticks out his foot again. Same result, the ball escapes.

‘Try to exaggerate the movement to start with so you learn how the ball behaves. And try to relax your foot, let your leg be loose and flexible when the ball comes towards you.’

Henning demonstrates again and then it’s Adil’s turn.

This time the ball doesn’t roll quite as far away from his foot as it did before.

‘Great,’ Henning shouts out a little louder than he had intended. ‘Good job! Now do the same again. And relax your leg even more.’

Adil kicks the ball against the wall one more time. Then he sticks out his foot and slows down the speed of the ball so it comes to a halt against his trainer.

Henning says nothing; he just waits for Adil to look at him.

‘I don’t think even Wayne Rooney could have managed that.’

Adil smiles shyly.

‘So all you have to do now is to practise this again and again until you can do it in your sleep.’

Adil smiles. Henning goes over to him and ruffles his hair.

‘You did really well.’

Adil doesn’t say anything, but this time he looks straight at Henning. Henning turns and looks at the blond boy.

‘So how about you? Do you fancy a go?’

Not only does Henning show the boys how to practise passing, he also teaches them how to improve their technique by keeping the ball in the air with either foot, not just their better one. He also shows them basic techniques for side foot passing, again using both their left and their right feet. Standing in a triangle, they kick the ball back and forth to each other. And Henning can see that the boys pay attention to his instructions.

They have been practising for about an hour when Henning says he is tired and needs to sit down for a little while. Adil and his friend do likewise; their brows are sweaty.

‘Doesn’t your coach ever show you things like that?’ Henning asks.

The boys shake their heads.

‘Nobody gets better from being yelled at,’ Henning says. ‘Don’t you agree?’

The boys nod.

Henning leans back on his elbows. It’s a long time since he last played football. He has lost count of the number of times Jonas and he would come down here on a Sunday morning where they would have the whole pitch to themselves. Jonas in goal. Jonas taking penalties. Practising side foot passing, doing ball tricks using both feet. He could have kept going all day if Henning had let him. Without even stopping for food.

Henning looks over at the boy whose name he has learned is Ulrik, a boy who reminds him a little of Jonas. Same facial colouring, same hair. But where Jonas was a powder keg, frequently exploding, Ulrik is withdrawn. He is more of a thinker and not quite so chatty. Jonas talked the whole time. He used to ask all sorts of questions.

‘Do you know what happened to me today?’ Henning says, and doesn’t continue until he is sure that he has the attention of both boys. ‘I saw a bird get hit by a car in Markveien. It didn’t die; the car just clipped it so the bird rolled over and landed near the kerb.’

Henning pauses.

‘What happened?’ Ulrik asks.

‘Well, I went over to it and picked it up. I saw that it had broken its leg, poor thing, so I put a splint on it. Do you know what that means?’

They both shake their heads.

‘It means making sure the fractured bone is kept completely rigid. So it has a chance to heal.’

Henning looks at them.

‘I couldn’t just leave it there. Some cat would have got it.’

The boys nod. Henning stretches out on the ground even though it is damp. He stares up at the ominous grey sky, which will soon turn black. He stays where he is. Right until Ulrik says: ‘I saw a dead person yesterday.’

Henning tries not to lift his head too quickly.

‘Did you?’

Ulrik nods.

‘It was an old lady in a care home.’

Henning sits up and leans forward across his knees. His heart starts to beat faster and he has to force himself to stay calm.

‘She just sat there in her wheelchair. It was really gross.’

Henning waits until the boy looks at him. Then he nods without saying anything.

‘I had been to see her the day before and she told me that she was scared.’

Henning is sorely tempted to bombard the boy with questions, but he manages to restrain himself.

‘And she sat like this,’ Ulrik says, holding up an index finger. ‘Pointing at the wall.’

‘At a picture or something?’ Henning tries.

The boy nods.

‘And she kept saying: “Fractions. Fractions. Fractions.”’

Ulrik imitates her crow-like voice.

‘Fractions?’

The boy nods.

‘What a strange thing to say,’ Henning remarks.

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Was that all she said?’

‘Yes. And when I came to see her the next day, she was dead.’

Henning can no longer control himself.

‘Was anyone else there?’

Ulrik shakes his head.

‘Did you see anyone else who had been to her room?’

Same response.

Hm , Henning says to himself. Interesting .

He thinks about the photograph of Tom Sverre Pedersen and his family, the photograph that had been smashed. Surely she couldn’t have been pointing at that? What connection could there be between a family photo and some fractions? After all Tom Sverre Pedersen is a doctor, not a teacher.

So what was she pointing at?

The stone troll in Daniel Nielsen’s flat proved to be free from dents and scratches, exactly as Bjarne had predicted. Before they entered the flat, Nielsen told them that it had been a present from Sund’s son; he got it a couple of weeks ago after the boy had made several stone trolls in a science lesson after a school trip. Nielsen also confirmed that Ulrik had given one to Erna Pedersen as a thank you for all the toffees she had given him.

They found nothing else of interest in Nielsen’s flat, only signs of a family-free life. Nor did his finances suggest anything other than his income was his monthly salary from Oslo City Council and that he had bills to pay like everybody else.

They are currently checking all his electronic traffic, but something tells Bjarne that it’s a dead end as well.

He is about to get back in his car when his mobile rings for the umpteenth time today. It’s Henning Juul. Bjarne looks around. Ella Sandland is still inside Nielsen’s flat so he takes the call.

‘How many pictures were on the wall in Erna Pedersen’s room?’

‘Eh?’

Henning repeats the question.

‘Why do you want to know that?’

‘I might have something for you. But first answer my question.’

Bjarne sighs.

‘None. That’s to say there had been a picture, but someone had torn it down.’

‘Was that a photo of Tom Sverre Pedersen and his family?’

Bjarne freezes.

‘How the hell do you know that?’