Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

Sandra doesn’t like being suspicious, but she can’t ignore the thoughts gorging on her mind. She can’t think of anything to say. Daniel stares right into her eyes. What is it he wants?

She closes her eyes.

Are you going to strike me, Daniel?

She opens them: he hasn’t hit her. She can see the muscles in his jaw bunching tightly as he grinds his teeth.

What is it?

Everyone can see me, she thinks. The school building is just behind me, the classroom is right behind me. Get a grip. She can’t stand here, not with Daniel William Moi. But if she isn’t brave enough to do that, then it means she also lacks the courage to stand up and fight for love, and then she won’t be his girl: Be electric in what I love.

All of a sudden, he takes hold of her head with both hands. His grip is firm. She’s scared but then she feels his mouth on hers. He kisses her. But his mouth isn’t soft, it’s rigid. His kiss isn’t gentle, it’s rough, she can feel he isn’t breathing down in his stomach but up in his head.

I’m making out with Daniel Moi, thinks Sandra. I’m snogging Daniel Moi outside the classroom window. Everyone can see me. I’m doing it. I want to do it.

He lets go of her. Sandra steps back.

‘What is it? Has something happened?’

‘No,’ he says, without looking at her, ‘I just had to see you.’

Sandra feels a jolt of happiness. Say it once more, she thinks.

‘Listen … look, I’ve got to get a move on, classes have already started—’

‘Heh heh. Maybe it’s about time the good little Christian girl got a demerit.’

He laughs. Is it nice? Is a pleasant laugh? Was he being nasty now? Ironic? She brushes her suspicions aside, laughs herself.

‘Heh heh, yeah, maybe it is. But listen — did you see the girl who just went in?’

He nods. ‘The one you were talking to?’

‘That was Malene,’ Sandra says, then blinks. ‘I mean, that was one of the daughters of the guy in the woods last night. I didn’t know what to say to her, I just ran into her—’

Daniel smirks. He points behind her. ‘Is that your class?’

She doesn’t turn around. ‘Are they looking at us?’

‘You can say that all right. Heh heh.’

That laugh. She’s never heard it before.

‘Forget about it,’ Daniel says. ‘You just need to keep your mouth shut, act like nothing’s happened. Don’t mention it to her. We need to find out more, know what I mean? See you tonight, okay?’

She nods. She’ll do as he says, that’s what she wants to do. She wants to trust the person she loves.

‘Sure. But … I’ve told her.’

‘Told her what?’

‘About…’ She draws a breath. ‘About you and me. That we’re … that we…’

‘Heh heh. So what? Makes no difference to me.’

Makes no difference to me? Why is he talking as though it didn’t mean a thing? Sandra doesn’t like that laughter, doesn’t like those words, but she thinks about how she has to be careful, how she has to respect him for who he is, because that’s what love is: to strive to do your best for the other person.

He laughs and kisses her again.

She pulls away. She doesn’t mean to but she does.

‘But,’ Sandra stammers, ‘but … why did you come here? Why now?’

‘What are you asking me that for? I told you, I had to see you.’

She gives him a quick kiss, to rid his voice of the hurtful tone.’

‘No reason,’ she whispers, trying to bring her lips to his, but he avoids her kiss. ‘No reason,’ she whispers again, ‘I didn’t mean anything by it, I just didn’t quite understand…’

‘What? What the fuck was it you didn’t understand? Me coming here? Me having to see you? What’s so hard to understand about that?’

This can’t happen

‘Nothing,’ she says, seeking out his lips once again, that bright mouth, wanting to kiss away all the bad, ‘I understood, I won’t bug you. You probably have lots on your mind. You’ve probably been through loads of stuff that you don’t want other people to bug you about, I realise that … People say so many weird things after all, but I’ve never asked you about anything … I just don’t always understand what’s going on with you, but I won’t ask any more questions, I won’t—’

He tears himself away. His features are cold. He puts on his helmet. Climbs on to the moped.

‘So shut up, then,’ he says, starting the Suzuki.

Daniel rides out on to the street.

A window opens behind her and a voice calls out: ‘Way to go, Sandra!’, followed by another voice, just afterwards: ‘Joachim! That’s uncalled for. Now, close the window, leave her be.’

Dear Lord, Sandra thinks, I’ve gone and done something really stupid. She feels the oxygen leave her body, as though she were a balloon someone had stuck a hole in. Dear Lord, she whispers, have I ruined the most beautiful thing there is? If I have, I want to die. If that’s what I’ve done then I don’t want to live on this earth. I’m sorry for my horrible thoughts, I’m sorry for being suspicious of the one I love, but love doesn’t tolerate anything at all.

‘Right, I’m heading out for a little while,’ he calls out in the direction of the kitchen.

Jan Inge stands in front of the hall mirror checking his hair. It’s always been thin and now there’s a bald patch to boot. The Haraldsen curse, Dad always called it. My granddad, his dad, the whole bunch, scraggly bird-nests atop the lot of them.

But we make up for it in other ways, Jan Inge!

That’s what Dad always said.

Is that right, what ways were you thinking of, Dad?

He runs a pair of plump fingers through his fringe, trying to work the small tuft into some kind of style, to give it some pizzazz.

‘Hitting the gym, hombre?’ Rudi’s voice is cheery. ‘Probably take a mosey on out myself later, after I’ve removed the skirting boards. Little bit of air under the flippers of the old seal.’

Rudi appears in the kitchen doorway, his hair sticking out in all directions, his eyes lively. He leans his long body against the doorframe, an almost-eaten slice of bread in one hand, the crowbar in the other. ‘Chessi’s at the skincare place. That’s the way things are going — soon she’ll want me to pay for facelifts and botox. But, you know. You’re not a man if can’t meet a woman’s needs.’ Rudy gives Jan Inge a gentle tap on the shoulder with his fist. ‘You and your workouts. Every week. The gym bag is taken out, come rain or shine. Respect, brother. Lift those weights! Work those pedals!’

Jan Inge hooks the bag over his shoulder, the one they found at Metro Bowling in Åsen in 2007. They’d been tipped off that there was plenty of cash in the place. A paltry 3,700 kroner. Max. Might as well face it. There’s less and less real money around. Bloody cashless society. The human factor matters less and less, no matter where you look. The bag had been left behind by a customer. They took it with them. It had been full of kids’ clothes.

Jan Inge nods. ‘We’ll drive over to Hansi afterwards, then.’

Rudi nods in response. ‘Have you talked to Buonanotte, by the way?’

Kein Problem, mein Sohn ,’ Jan inges says, opening the front door. ‘All good in the hood.’

He hears Rudi’s laughter behind him. ‘ Gute Reise, Bruder! The gym awaits, see you in a couple of hours!’

Jan Inge walks out to meet the day. Heads uphill towards the main road, toward Hillevågsveien.

As soon as he rounds the corner and is out of sight of the house, his breathing quickens. Jan Inge walks as fast as he dares without running the risk of sweating — he doesn’t want to arrive with patches under his arms, with sticky hair, as well as being out of breath. He reaches the bus stop in time, waits a few minutes under the shelter. Beside him, an old man in a cap stands staring vacantly into the Stavanger air, on the bench behind them a girl sits with her knees together and her fingers on an iPhone.