Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

‘Oh, gosh—’

‘Were you up all night? The computer was on.’

‘Well…’ he hesitates, turns his head, looks out at the garden. ‘I was just … well, I couldn’t sleep. Just sat surfing…’

‘You shouldn’t dry your socks on the stove, Dad. You don’t want to start a fire.’

He remains standing with his back to her.

‘No, of course,’ he says, looking out over the garden. Only now catching sight of the good weather, only now getting the chance to ponder how nice it is outside again today.

‘You took the socks away, then,’ he asks, his voice mild.

‘Yep,’ he hears from behind him, ‘I threw them in the wash.’

Pål nods. He can make out something in her voice but he decides not to turn round, decides to push it away.

He points towards the garden.

‘I know I’m going on about it,’ he says, ‘but every time I see that tree I keep thinking the two of you should really hang up a new milk carton for the birds.’

Sandra’s body is sore. She’s tired, the schoolbag on her shoulders feels heavy. When she woke up she had bags under her eyes. But she clenches her teeth, brings her fingers to the silver crucifix in the hollow of her neck and walks on. Up King Haralds Gate, on to Madlamarkveien, past the church, across Jernalderveien and on towards the school. She’d rather bunk off. But she’s never done that, and she’d never dare, because that’s not how she is.

Dear Jesus, she whispers, my stomach is so cold, I’m so frightened. Her mother and father told her off when she got home last night, she just about managed to fix her hair and check her clothes in the hall mirror before they were standing there in front of her. Her mother, eyes jittery, her father with his arms crossed. Have we not been clear about this, Sandra? Did we not agree on this? You’re tired, you can’t concentrate, you’re getting in late, was that what we agreed on? Hm? You know how much we love you, dear, we’re telling you this for your own good.

If she wanted to keep this job, which, strictly speaking, she was too young to have, then she had to prove herself deserving of the trust they placed in her. That meant responsibility. If she came home late at all, if there was the slightest sign of it affecting her schoolwork or how much sleep she got, then it had to come to a stop. She could go up to bed, they could all have a think about it, but she had to be aware that under their roof nobody was allowed to behave that way.

She straightens up as she makes her way along Sophus Bugges Gate towards the school. She still has the chance. She hardly dares to think about it. Just run away. Send Daniel a text — I’m not at school. Come and meet me. Now! — and run away. Rush off to the woods. Rush off to the ends of the earth, totter on the edge in the arms of the one she loves. She still has the chance. Just run between the villas, behind the terraced houses, past the old school, until she reaches the block of flats he lives in and call out to him, Daniel, I’m here, come on .

But she doesn’t dare. Sandra feels as though she has a lump of ice in her stomach. Is this how love’s supposed to be? Are you meant to feel cold and fearful? — Do you love me? Did I do it right? Will it be as nice tonight? Tomorrow? Am I doing what you like?

Dear Jesus, she whispers, I don’t have the strength for this, I’m shit scared, I’m so fucking shit scared, sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to talk like that.

Sandra fixes her fringe, takes a deep breath, her eyes flashing, she smiles into the empty air. It went well, after all, she whispers. He said it was good. He said he wanted to see me again. I’m not the one with problems, it’s those sisters, Malene and Tiril, they’re the ones with problems. What did he say again … that was only the beginning … his voice, that bright mouth of his … what else did he say?

We have the rest of our lives.

Dear Lord, she whispers as she reaches the lean-to at the front of the low, grey school building, is love really this hard?

It’s nearing half past eight and pupils swarm about her, all on their way to the first class of the day. Those first-years, God, so annoying, the fact she was actually like that herself, it’s hard to fathom. Jostling around, like they’re still in primary school, their arms and legs all over the place, no wonder you can never find a spot to eat your lunch in the yard, first-years have no control over any part of their bodies, or of their stuff, all hanging halfway out of their bags, and they’re so tiny, they look like goblins and the only cute one is Ulrik Pogo, he’s sweet enough to eat, just makes you want to hug him like a teddy bear. Still, poor sister, Kia, hard to talk to someone who’s paralysed. What are you supposed to say? How’s things today?

‘Hi, Sandra.’

Malene’s voice. She turns around, quickly. She feels her throat tighten, forces a smile. ‘Hi … hello…’

She’s never really hung out with Malene. But the fact she’s standing in front of her the morning after she saw her father in the woods makes her feel she ought to say something. She feels sorry for her but what’s she going to say? It’s not like she wants to snitch on anyone.

Daniel, why aren’t you here. What will I do?

‘How’s it going?’ asks Malene, an expression coming over her face which she trys to hide.

‘Oh, y’know,’ says Sandra. ‘Okay. Lots to do.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Malene says.

The girls remain standing under the edge of the lean-to while the other pupils stream past on their way in. The most natural thing would be for one of them to start making their way towards the doors and mingling with the rest. But they stay put. Malene is looking at her as if she knows something.

‘Did you manage the maths?’ asks Malene. It’s like she’s trying to wrestle with her own facial expression, making her look like E.T.

‘Yeah,’ Sandra says, ‘but I thought it was hard.’

Is she able to see it, the fact that I know something about her?

‘Yeah, it sucked.’

‘How’s the foot, by the way? You going to get back to the gymnastics soon, or…?’

‘Dunno. It’s taking its time to heal.’

Malene stands there. She makes no sign of wanting to go. Everything about her says she’s going to stay put. What is it she wants?

Daniel, what will I do?

‘Your sister, Tiril — she’s singing tomorrow, right? At that International … Inter…’

‘Cultural Workshop,’ nods Malene. ‘International Cultural Workshop. Some kind of student exchange thing. She’s a good singer—’

‘Seriously good—’

‘But she needs to sort her head out. Drop all that emo stuff.’

‘Well, y’know, she’s only in second year.’

‘Mhm. Yolo.’

Sandra smiles. Malene has nice features. Those high cheekbones give her a beautiful face, she looks kind and she’s very different from her sister. Sandra feels her knees growing weak, her forehead becoming warm, oh no, is she going to start sweating? Is she going to start crying? She realises how long it’s been since she’s been face to face with a girl she feels can understand her, and she has a sudden sense of having a friend. It’s stupid, they’ve only stood together talking a couple of minutes, only bumped into one another on the way into school, but there’s something about Malene’s voice that makes Sandra feel safe, so she opens her mouth and hears herself say:

‘Can you keep a secret?’

The school bell sounds, ringing out over the yard.

‘Can you?’

Malene nods.

Dear Jesus, Sandra thinks, grabbing hold of her arm, I hope I’m doing the right thing. She lowers her voice, takes a step closer: