Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

Veronika squints in annoyance. ‘And I’m supposed to like, understand that? That we come here? Were we not going to leave—’

‘We will leave,’ he says, cutting her off again. ‘But I have to square things up first.’ Daniel throws his hands up in frustration: ‘I’ve asked you before and I’m asking you again, are you type who needs to know everything?’

‘No, I—’

‘Well shut up, then.’

‘But you said you wouldn’t go to her—’

‘I’m not going to her! I’m squaring things! Shut up!’

The girl by the gym hall turns to look at them. It’s that Tiril one. Pål’s daughter. She’s dressed in an emo get-up, black from head to toe, her eyes are teary and she doesn’t look too good.

He starts to walk towards the gym hall and Veronika follows.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she asks when they reach her, fixing two purple eyes on Daniel. ‘Are you sick in the head? And you,’ she points at Veronika, ‘you should be locked up.’

‘Give it a rest,’ Daniel says, noticing how easy it is to talk to this girl, ‘how’s Sandra doing?’

‘What the hell do you care?’ Tiril answers, taking out a stick of gum before beginning to make her way round the other side of the building. ‘Start reading the obituaries if you’re that interested.’

Daniel feels a hand close around his heart and squeeze it.

‘Relax,’ Veronika says, ‘I know her. She’s a drama queen.’

Daniel draws a breath. ‘I need to know if she’s alive or not,’ he says.

‘Please,’ says Veronika. ‘We can’t be here. Don’t you understand anything? If they see you it’s all over.’

Daniel walks towards the heavy doors, opens one and hears the applause grow inside the gym hall. Veronika goes after him. It’s packed, not one seat free. Daniel keeps his eyes down and sidles along the wall bars together with Veronika, hoping not to be noticed.

Within a few seconds they’ve gained the attention of the entire hall. Face after face turns to look in their direction, as though he and Veronika were magnets. One set of eyes after the other stare at them. Whispering, muttering.

A wildly enthusiastic guy with socialist curls and round glasses comes on stage. He says that that was just amazing, fantastic girls, and then he spreads his arms wide: ‘And now we’re going to enter the world of emotion! Into the darkness! Please give a big welcome to Tiril and Thea, who are going to perform Evanescence’s “My Immortal”.’

The attention of the audience has been divided. A lot of eyes are focused on the stage and a lot of eyes are looking directly at Daniel and Veronika. The teachers are talking together in hushed tones.

‘W-e-n-e-e-d-t-o-g-o,’ Veronika mouths. ‘N-o-w.’

He doesn’t reply.

A girl has taken up position beside Daniel. He turns his head slowly, bringing it around as though on a rail, while keeping his eyes on the stage, where Tiril and Thea emerge from between a gap in the curtain. One black and one white angel. The lights in the hall dim, turning everything red, then green.

Daniel’s eyes settle on the girl beside him. It’s Malene.

‘Yeah?’ he whispers, as if he doesn’t know what she wants.

‘What are you doing here?’ she whispers harshly. ‘How have you got the nerve to come here? Have you turned yourself in to the police?’

‘Malene,’ he whispers, his forehead lowered, ‘please.’

‘Haven’t you two caused enough problems?’

‘Malene,’ he whispers, rarely having seen such an angry face. ‘Have you heard anything about Sandra? Tell me what you know, and I’ll do what I need to.’

‘She’s in a coma,’ Malene says. ‘That’s all we know.’

He nods. Then he says: ‘Please. Go home.’

Malene is taken aback, a line bisects her eyebrows.

‘Go home,’ he whispers, beginning to move towards the exit. ‘Okay? Go home. There’s something seriously fucked-up going on with your dad.’

The room is bathed in a dim, dark red light. Thea sits by the piano. She’s white as aching snow that makes your eyes smart. She places her fingers on the keys and plays the first notes. Tiril stands in front of her holding a lit match. The flame trembles in front of her, casting a reflection on her skin, making troubled waves on her face. The girl stands with her gaze fixed and face impassive, looking like some black, twisted progeny of Satan, thinks Daniel, and the hate she radiates is not foreign to him; on the contrary, it feels soothing, stimulating and welcome. If the girl on the stage was to open her mouth and say Daniel, come with me, and we’ll make the pain worse, he would obey.

Tiril lifts her chin, lets her gaze sweep over the room as the flame burns closer and closer to her fingers, before bringing the match to a pillar candle and the wick begins to glow, and Daniel hopes she manages to burn the whole world down.

‘Sorry,’ he whispers.

The music increases in volume. Daniel opens the door, with Veronika right behind him. They run towards the Suzuki.

‘So Pål, you in form?’

‘Heh heh, formformform?’

‘How’s the form, Pål?’

‘Heh heh, form schmorm?’

Pål stands with his arms hanging loosely at his sides in the dimly lit garage. His eyes are as they should be, puppylike. He stands at the back wall radiating docility. Offering a reassuring impression immediately.

Jan Inge walks across the concrete floor. ‘What do you say? In form?’

Pål is dressed casually. He doesn’t appear to have worked himself into a tizzy deciding what to wear. Jeans. A simple, stripy shirt. He’s newly shaved. That’s good. His complexion looks clean and fresh. Which means he slept last night. That’s a good sign. No one needs Pål roving around like a nervous wreck. No one needs Pål with bags under his eyes and his head all a frazzle when they’re going to work him over.

Jan Inge nods and smiles. ‘Hm, Pål? Good form?’

‘Heh heh, form the norm?’ Rudi draws up alongside Jan Inge and slaps Pål on the arm. ‘Good to see you, Mr Poker Joker! Sprouted more grey hairs lately? What does the word of the Lord have to say about that, Pål Kål? Grey hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life. And what else does God say: A truly wise person uses few words; a person with understanding is even-tempered. Well, that’s sure not me the Good Book is talking about!’

‘Rudi. Easy now.’

Rudi mimes a gun with his finger and thumb and shoots himself: ‘Relaxed Rupert. Heh heh.’

‘Well,’ Pål says, ‘I’m … yeah, suppose I’m in form. Just want to get this over with. Y’know.’

Cecilie approaches Pål. She smiles warmly and places a gloved hand on one of his arms hanging limply by his side.

Jan Inge feels his chest swell with pride as he watches her do it in such a gentle, maternal fashion. Generate stability. Offer him assurance. He’s also aware of how little Rudi likes her doing it, so he takes a quick hold of his friend as he makes to move towards his girlfriend.

‘Rudi. This is work,’ he whispers.

Rudi exhales through his nose and nods.

‘Are you scared?’ Cecilie asks, presenting her most feminine side.

Pål shrugs. ‘Scared … I, well…’

‘I can understand that,’ she says. ‘Where’s the dog? That cute dog, what was it call—’

‘I,’ Pål gives a lopsided smile, ‘I left her in the basement, figured maybe—’

‘That’s good.’ Cecilie pats him on the arm. ‘This is going to work out just fine. Okay? You’re among friends. Rudi, Jan Inge, my brother, and Tong.’ She points to the silent Korean who’s closely inspecting the garage and its contents. ‘It’s the four of us who are working today. And in order for this to go well, you need to view us as your friends. Okay?’