Thomas Enger - Scarred

‘Why do you always have to tell me that you wish it had been Trine instead of me?’

His mother’s eyes don’t move.

‘Tell me,’ he insists. ‘How often does she visit you? Do you even remember when she was here last?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I do remember. I wrote it down.’

Henning splutters.

‘And why on earth did you do that?’

His mother looks up at him.

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘So you can flick through your diary and daydream about it? Is that what this is about?’

‘Hah,’ she snorts and looks away.

‘You’re a coward,’ Henning continues. ‘You sit here day in day out, mad at the whole world and me in particular – or so it seems. You smoke and drink and wallow in your own grief. Yes, I’m sure it was tough for you when Dad died, but it wasn’t my fault.’

Christine Juul stands up on trembling legs and grips the back of her chair. She tosses her head and pulls herself up to her full height. Her eyes, normally glazed and heavy with alcohol, brim with a sharpness and a rage Henning doesn’t remember seeing before.

‘Yes, it was,’ she says through clenched teeth.

Henning stares at her. His tongue swells up in his mouth and the words that finally seep out of him sound like a strangled whisper.

‘What did you say?’ he stutters.

‘You heard me,’ she barks without moving a muscle in her face. Henning can feel a red flush spread across his neck and upwards. He is only one metre away from his mother. The bitter words hang between them and her breath pricks him like needles. In the ensuing silence his legs begin to feel unsteady and it takes him a long time to compose himself.

‘And just what the hell do you mean by that?’ he asks her at last.

She is still clinging on to the chair while her gaze bores into his. She says nothing. She sits down and lights another cigarette, drinks some more liqueur. Henning demands that she explain herself, but Christine Juul has nothing more to say to him. Finally she points to the door and tells him to leave.

Henning steps out into a night that is still damp and cold. People and cars rush past him. Of course it’s not my fault that Mum’s life turned out the way it did , he thinks, and shakes his head. I was only sixteen years old when Dad died .

So why would she say that?

Trine enjoys the silence and the soporific motion of the car. Her driver always handles the vehicle so smoothly and skilfully. It is especially welcome now. The excitement at Jessheim, the intensity, the resolution, the relief – all induce in her a state of deep relaxation. At last she feels calm on the inside as well. And she knows that the media will write nice things about her this time even though she doesn’t deserve them. All she did was turn up and talk. She didn’t make Remi come out voluntarily. It could so easily have gone horribly wrong. But for once the odds were in her favour. And it felt good to announce her resignation in the TV2 interview. There is no way back now. It’s over. It’s finished.

Well, not entirely.

Just as she thinks this, her mobile rings. Trine checks it and slumps slightly. She lets it ring for a long time. Finally she capitulates.

‘Hi,’ Katarina Hatlem begins. ‘I heard what happened. It was great that—’

‘What do you want?’ Trine interrupts.

Katarina sighs heavily.

‘I want to try to make it up to you.’

‘It’s a little too late, Katarina.’

‘I understand why you would say that. But even if you never want to speak to me again, I think you might be interested in hearing what I’ve been doing since you left the office.’

Trine straightens up.

‘Go on?’

Katarina starts talking. Trine doesn’t move. But her newly acquired peace of mind has evaporated.

When Katarina finishes some minutes later, Trine thanks her.

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘How did you discover all this?’

Katarina doesn’t reply straightaway.

‘I had a tip-off,’ she then says.

‘Who from?’

‘From… someone who wants to remain anonymous.’

‘Is that right,’ Trine says pensively. Katarina doesn’t elaborate.

‘And then there’s one final thing,’ she says. ‘I’m prepared to go public to support you – in case he thinks you’re bluffing.’

‘I really appreciate that, Katarina.’

‘Good luck.’

‘Thank you.’

They finish their conversation. As the petrol stations on either side of the motorway at Kløfta pass by, Trine leans forwards and says to her driver: ‘I’m afraid I have two more stops I need to make before the day is over. Is that all right?’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

‘Great. First, we’re off to see the Prime Minister.’

The rain continues to fall though it is now reduced to a drizzle. But even if it had still been tipping down there is no way Trine would have accepted Harald Ullevik’s invitation to come inside his warm, terraced house opposite Eiksmarka Tennis Club. She chooses to remain outside, looking hard at the champagne flute in his hand and the rising colour in his cheeks that indicates it is very far from the first glass of bubbly he has enjoyed that evening.

And she knows exactly why.

‘I’ve just been to see the Prime Minister,’ Trine says and looks at her friend and closest colleague in the three years she has been Justice Secretary. As always he is elegantly dressed in suit trousers and a white shirt that is without a single crease even after a long working day. He is leaning against the door frame and has loosened his tie.

‘And I suppose I ought to congratulate you now that I know the Prime Minister asked you if you would like to take over from me less than an hour ago.’

Ullevik sends her an unconvincing smile. Trine sees what lies behind it. Anxiety and apprehension because he has never seen her like this before. Out in the rain and with a look that would make a tiger flinch. Trine has to control herself very hard not to scream at him. Attack him physically.

The new Justice Secretary.

‘Yes,’ Ullevik replies reluctantly. ‘He did.’

‘You declined, I trust?’

Ullevik wrinkles up his nose and tightens his grip around the stem of the flute.

‘Eh, no. I accepted.’

Trine nods slowly.

Ullevik shifts away from the door frame, straightens up slightly and examines her with guarded eyes. Trine is tempted to slow clap him, but stops herself.

‘There’s no doubt that you should have got the job three years ago, Harald. You were better qualified; I’ll be the first to admit that. And I’m quite sure you felt that you had been overlooked, who wouldn’t have? A man with your background, and then I come along – little me, a nobody – I waltz in and go straight to the top. That must have hurt.’

Trine winks. Ullevik is about to say something, but no words come out.

‘Was that when you decided to stab me in the back?’

Again he pulls a face.

‘Did you start planning your revenge straightaway? And were you just biding your time?’

Ullevik’s face assumes a look of blank incomprehension.

‘Are you suggesting that – that I should have—’

‘I’m way past suggestions, Harald, and I know that not even your good friends at VG will want to protect you if the truth about your duplicity comes out. And if you do become the next Justice Secretary, I’ll make sure that everyone knows what you did.’

‘Trine, I really have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh yes, you do. And if you don’t call the Prime Minister the moment I leave, then he’ll be calling you. The Prime Minister knows that I went to Copenhagen during our annual conference in Kristiansand because I had an appointment the following day at a clinic that would remove the child I was carrying. Information that you found out from Katarina Hatlem one evening after the two of you had torn each other’s clothes off in room 421 at Hotel Bristol.’