Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

‘I’m seeing Daniel William Moi. I’ve met him almost every night the last few weeks.’

Malene looks at her.

‘I tell lies the whole time,’ Sandra whispers. ‘To everyone.’

Malene nods her head slowly.

‘I met him again yesterday,’ Sandra says softly. ‘I had sex with him. In Gosen Woods.’

The little lady on top of the lanky man.

He’s worked it out: if you’ve been together with your woman for twenty-seven years, and you’ve screwed her on average twice a week, then how many times have you screwed her? And: if it’s lasted a quarter of an hour each time — on average — how much of your life have you spent at it?

Hm?

2,808 times.

42,120 minutes.

Or 702 hours

Or 29.25 days

You get to know the terrain.

The arithmetic is only approximate, of course. Calculations for the first few years are bound to be a bit ropey, given that, strictly speaking, Chessi gradually went from being an underage whore under Jan Inge’s control to his girlfriend, and also that she was quite young. Girls don’t like screwing so much when they’re thirteen, so you have to subtract a little to make up for the first couple of years.

Still, not one day too many.

The little lady on top of the lanky man. That bony body of hers on top of that skinny body of his. All those freckles, across her back and arms. Her shelf-like hips, that Rudi calls ‘God’. Those little tits. He likes them. Little girly tits. Rudi has a wild look in his eyes, makes fearsome movements with his mouth: his tongue sweeping across his front teeth, biting down on his lip and sucking in air, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His compulsion to talk all the time, talk and talk and talk — and there’s no situation he feels more like talking in than when he’s having sex with Chessi: ‘Jeeeeesus! This pussy is never going out of style. Chessi, come on, sit yourself down on Rudi, spin that wheel, come on! Twothousandeighthundredandeight! Eh?! What do you say to that, you sexy slut! Eh? I’m already looking forward to nine! Oh Jeeeeesus, you just don’t know how much I love you. Give it to me. Is that ass getting bigger the older you get? Yeah! Come on, MILF!’

Ah.

Feels good to get it out.

Rudi rolls off Cecilie and over on to his back. He stretches right out and releases a satisfied groan. He entwines his fingers in hers. Rudi is soft and spent, and he doesn’t say anything right away, doesn’t feel like it, just holds Cecilie’s hand. After a while his breathing becomes more regular, and then he feels like talking a little.

‘That was bloody good,’ he says, in a low voice.

‘You say that every time,’ Cecilie says soberly.

‘Well, that’s because it’s bloody good every time.’

She doesn’t reply. It took him a while to get his head around that. While he might have an absolute motherfucker of a need to talk while he’s riding her, and just as much of a need afterwards to hear her say how great it was, it’s still a need he feels. Not her. For years it was a touchy subject, the fact that she never said anything, not a single word. Not for ages afterwards, and then she wanted to talk about other things entirely. They’d be there, getting it on, and it was so good to ride her, sometimes he’d worked himself up all day, but would she say anything when they finally got under the duvet? Like maybe wrap her lips around his dick and mumble something while his knob pumped against the inside of her cheek, like how rock hard he was or how damn good it felt and that she’d been dreamingaboutrudiscocksinceshewokeup or that she was sofuckinghornyshecouldntthinkstraight or that he was the sexiestmanontwolegs, sexier than Steven Tyler and Lemmy put together? Just imagine, how amazing it’d be, listening to her slobbering and muttering down there, his prick getting in the way of the words, ab at ock mm am it up my sy, whatdidyousayyousay? Please say it again? Ab at ock mm am up my sy. Can’t hear you, Pfläumchen , can you say it one more time? GRAB THAT COCK AND RAM IT UP MY PUSSY.

But no. Not one word. Hurtful really.

It took him ages to figure out how to live with it. There was a time he wondered whether he should rough Cecilie up or take her to see a psychologist, because it all felt so unfair. Him being so attentive, giving her cash, lavishing her with love, saying so many nice things to her and getting so little in return. A cutprice feeling. A cap-in-hand feeling. But he weathered the storm, didn’t send her to a psychologist or beat the shit out of her; hear that, Gran? I never laid a finger on her. Rudi learnt to live with it. Acknowledged that she was a person with her own qualities, her own surly, introverted way of being, while he was a person with qualities of his own, his own talkative and extroverted way of being. Now everything’s just fine, obviously, twenty-seven years speaks for itself, but it still hurts a little.

And still, even now Rudi can’t help but feel it niggle a little. So he says:

‘Yeah, yeah, I know you love me, even if you’re as quiet as a baseball bat.’

Cecilie sits up, leans over to the bedside table and grabs hold of the cigarette pack and the hair elastic she took out while he screwed her, because he likes to see her hair cascade across the pillow.

He studies her. Damn bony and damn sexy. Rudi puts on his most boyish smile, hoping she’ll look his way. But she doesn’t. With her eyes closed and the cigarette in her mouth, she raises her eyebrows and sets her hair in a ponytail. She puts on her knickers, her bra, her top and her socks before standing up. Cecilie opens her eyes, gazes at the wall and fixes her jaw into place with a sort of fish-mouth movement. She’s been doing that since she was thirteen. It’s like catching sight of an old friend for him. Nice to have things like that. Safe things. But she’s not looking at me, he thinks.

‘Good morning! Wednesday! Morning meeting!’

Rudi rolls his eyes and sees Cecilie do the same. She calls out to her brother, whom they both know is right behind the door:

‘All right, all right! Take it easy, Jani. We’re coming.’

‘Okay, okay!’ they hear from outside in the hall. ‘Just thought I’d let you know. Morning meeting.’

‘Okay, okay,’ Cecilie says, ‘you always just think that, little darling!’

Rudi doesn’t think that little dar ling stuff is really necessary, even though the fact that he’s so on first thing in the morning does annoy both of them. Standing outside their door shouting about those endless breakfasts of his. Still, she doesn’t need to say it, it just seems downright patronising, and he doesn’t like her picking on him. Little darling? Why does she have to say that? She is his sister and everything. Particularly when Jani isn’t the slightest bit little. If there’s anyone in this house who strives and deserves respect, it’s Jani.

Cecilie turns to him as she’s pulling up her jeans. Ash balancing on the tip of her cigarette. ‘What’s with that two thousand stuff?’

‘Eh?’

‘With all that, y’know …’ she shrugs, the ash falls on to the duvet, ‘two thousand stuff you were on about?’

Rudi laughs and gets to his feet, pulls on his T-shirt, socks and jeans. Then he gives Cecilie a kiss on the cheek, slaps her on the ass and says: ‘The number of times I’ve banged you, honey, that’s what that is. Two thousand eight hundred and eight.’

‘Jesus,’ she says, extinguishing the cigarette in the glass of water beside the bed. She opens the door. ‘Have I had that huge dick of yours up me that many times?’