Thomas Enger: Scarred

Ullevik spins around and looks into the house. Then he steps outside and quickly closes the front door behind him.

‘She also told you that I hadn’t told my husband. Katarina was a good friend, one of the few people I tell most of my secrets to. Armed with this information, you convinced me to tell the press that Pål Fredrik and I had been trying for a baby for a long time. That was a smart move. It increased my popularity in the opinion polls. But it was also cynical and calculated. After that statement, I couldn’t possibly admit to having had an abortion. It would have been career suicide; me who has opened God knows how many children’s homes around Norway and signed a convention to support children’s rights across the world. Besides, there was a real risk that I would lose the man I love. And that was what you were counting on, Harald; you calculated that I wouldn’t want to risk my marriage or my career. So you fabricated an allegation of sexual assault and gave it to Norway’s biggest newspaper, a newspaper you’ve been leaking stories to for years. And I know the kind of feeding frenzy journalists engage in when they spot the chance of bringing down a member of the government. They don’t give up until they get what they want.’

‘This is completely absurd, Trine, I would never do anything like that to you.’

‘You would and you did, Harald. And cut the crap, please, I know it was you. Let me give you a piece of advice. The next time you decide to send an anonymous fax, go further away. Go to a part of Oslo or to somewhere in Norway where people don’t know you, so you can lie about who you are when you register your name and mobile number at an Internet café.’

Trine stops talking. Ullevik opens his mouth, but closes it a few seconds later. Only water dripping from a nearby gutter punctuates the silence.

Trine thinks back to the day her nightmare started, when Ullevik came to her office after the morning briefing and asked if there was anything he could do for her. ‘ You’ve done a brilliant job as Justice Secretary. You’re the best one we’ve had for years .’

Lies.

All lies, the whole time.

‘Katarina has said she’s willing to do whatever she can to make amends. Do you know what she suggested to me, Harald?’

Trine continues to speak before he has time to shake his head.

‘She volunteered to take a peek at the department’s log files to find out who sent me that nice little email I got on Monday morning, just before you came strolling into my office, incidentally. What are the odds, do you think, that she’ll be able to trace that email back to your computer?’

Ullevik clears his throat.

‘She’s not allowed to do that,’ he begins.

Trine scoffs.

‘I really don’t think you’re in a position to lecture anyone on morality, Harald. And in case you’ve forgotten which department I’ve been heading the past three years – how hard do you think it would be for me to find out if you really did get a telephone call from VG that Monday morning, like you claimed, just before all hell broke loose?’

Ullevik continues to look blank.

‘That was a lie too. Just like everything else.’

He makes no reply. He just lowers his gaze.

‘Look at me, Harald.’

He does, but reluctantly.

‘Look me in the eye. Do I look like I want to lose this fight?’

‘No,’ he says and tries to straighten up. ‘But you’d never take it public.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, Harald. As soon as I get home I’m going to tell Pål Fredrik everything. Do you know why? Because I can’t bear to go on living under the same roof as a man I’ve hurt without knowing what he feels about it. It might well be the end of our marriage, but in the long run we might have broken up all the same. My secret would have driven a wedge between us, I’m sure of it, I know all about how secrets can destroy a family. And just so you know it: I can document all my movements in Denmark. I still have the plane ticket, the hotel booking, I can even produce an invoice and a receipt for the abortion. Katarina has also stated that she’s willing to confirm that she helped me with the arrangements. And who knows – perhaps she’ll also tell the public how you came to be in possession of the information you so deviously used against me. And what about your wife?’ Trine says, pointing to the door behind Ullevik. ‘What do you think she’s going to say? What do you think your children will say?’

Trine has participated in many debates, in private as well as in public. Usually the duellers have been evenly matched. It’s rare to be able to serve your opponent a death blow of this magnitude.

‘I’ve no desire to go public with this, Harald, it wouldn’t help either of us. It would hurt our families, it would hurt the Prime Minister, and not least, it would hurt the Party. But I’ll come clean without a moment’s hesitation if you become the next Justice Secretary. Nothing will be off-limits. And that’s a promise.’

The rain has slowly gathered strength. Ullevik’s cheeks are even redder now. He looks at her for a long time before he drains his glass and gazes across to the tennis courts behind her.

Trine can’t resist the temptation to smile.

‘You’re caught between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you? You know that whatever you do, your life will be hell.’

A part of Trine can’t help wishing that Ullevik will call her bluff, so she can redeem herself in public. But something tells her he won’t take that step. His body language betrays him. His shoulders are slouching. The muscles in his cheeks have slackened. He even seems shorter than usual.

Trine is tempted to deliver a final blow to intensify the obvious pain in his eyes. But enough is enough.

So she turns her back on him and leaves.

Henning crosses the street at Café 33 and walks down Seilduksgaten, which is quiet as always, even though the street is in the middle of a bustling part of Oslo. Still, the area could be filled with noise without Henning noticing; he is completely lost in a world of his own.

That is why the man who comes up behind him has to speak to him twice before Henning reacts.

‘Don’t turn around.’

Henning turns his head instinctively, but doesn’t recognise the man’s face in the brief glimpse he catches of him before he does as he is told. But he noticed that the man had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets and that the hood over his head cast dark shadows across his face.

‘Just keep walking,’ the man says. ‘Walk straight ahead and don’t turn around.’

Henning does as the man says while his heart jumps in his chest. As he walks, he tries to remember if he has seen the man before, but the face rings no bells.

Markveien appears in front of them, dark like a river at night. There is no traffic so he crosses the street and slows down outside the entrance to his own apartment block, but the man tells him to keep moving. Henning crosses Steenstrupsgate and continues towards Fossveien. He can barely resist the temptation to turn around.

Suddenly the footsteps gain on him and before Henning has time to react, he feels two strong hands pushing him into a dark archway and slamming him hard against a wall. A face is shoved right up in his; he smells garlic breath and a furious rage.

And that’s when he realises who the man is.

Henning tries to lean back his head so he can look into the eyes of Andreas Kjær, but the concrete wall prevents him.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Kjær hisses. ‘Talking to my kids in my garden when my wife and I are out.’

Henning tries to stay calm, but struggles to reply because Kjær’s hand is pressing his cheek into his teeth. Kjær glances furtively out at the street to see if anyone is watching them, before his eyes return with rekindled anger. He relaxes his hold on Henning’s face and Henning tries to say something, but only gurgling sounds come out.