Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

Daniel doesn’t stop before he’s rounded the headland and is on his way back towards the city. He turns off at Stokka and brings the moped to a halt beside Stokkavannet Lake. He removes his helmet. Walks along the lakeshore. After a few minutes he sits down on a bench. He throws a few stones out into the water before taking out his phone.

Two messages. The first is from Sandra.

Dear Daniel, what have I done wrong?

The other is from Veronika.

You’re a wolf, Daniel. I’ll never forgive you.

He takes a breath. Writes back to Sandra.

You talk too much.

A few seconds pass before she replies:

Yes, I know. Sorry! I’ll do anything you say!

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath from far down in his stomach. It feels right. That she should apologise outright.

He sends her another text:

OK. Fine.

A few moments later:

Will I see you tonight? Usual time?

He answers:

OK.

Then a few seconds after that:

Thank you, I love you. Yours forever.

He goes back to the text from Veronika. He looks at it as though it were a photo. You’re a wolf, Daniel. I’ll never forgive you.

He places the phone on a rock, squints out over the calm water. He takes out a cigarette and lights it. I’m in love with you, Sandra, he thinks. I’m not in love with you, Veronika, he thinks. But I like you better than Sandra.

He grabs the mobile, types in:

Sorry Veronika. I didn’t mean to hurt u

Then he takes out a well-used notebook and pencil stub he has in his pocket. He writes. A few lines.

Me the wolf, you the rabbit

Go deep, go deep

Me the sword, you the casket

Go deep, go deep

Dearly beloved, truly disgusted

Go deep, go deep

Do not think I can be trusted

Go deep, go deep.

Into the slicing dark

That’s where it ends. He likes the rhythm of it. He likes the dirty humour. It’s from something he read on some blog a while back: a girl was asked what she liked least about sex and she said, ‘When the guy applies pressure to the back of my head as I’m blowing him so it’s not me who decides when I’ll go deep.’ But he can’t think of any more lyrics to add. And he doesn’t know if ‘slicing dark’ actually works. Is it good enough English? He can easily picture it, how the darkness could be a knife. It might be dead good. It might be shite. Sometimes the stuff he writes is like that, wavering between genius and crap and it’s impossible to say where it actually falls.

Daniel closes the notebook and puts it back in his pocket along with the pencil. Zips up his jacket. He’s starting to get into this writing thing. When he manages to put it down on paper he feels the pressure in his head ease. At first they come cascading, the words, the sentences, and a lot of the time he doesn’t have any idea where they’re coming from or where they’re going to, but it makes for a raging torrent in his head, and then, when the words flow on to the paper, bringing other words with them — it’s a kick. He feels a tingling in his fingertips, just like when you push yourself to the limit lifting weights.

Daniel makes his way back to the bike. He puts the helmet on, sits down and starts to ride.

A wolf? He thinks, watching the needle of the speedometer rise.

A few minutes later he dismounts outside the block of flats.

In the lift he feels the upward motion tug at his stomach.

Not long after that he walks in the front door.

He stops, looks around the hall. Everything is the same as it was this morning. The lights are on. Her clothes are there. Her schoolbag is there. He kicks off his shoes, hangs up his jacket and tosses his helmet on to the hall bureau. He walks into the living room.

‘Veronika,’ he calls out, as though she could hear him.

Daniel feels his pulse rate rise. He sticks his head into the kitchen, the sight of the fridge door ajar gives rise to a feeling of faint unease. He shuts it. He makes his way back through the living room and out into the hall. He walks towards her room.

‘Veronika?’ he calls out again, as though she really could hear him, and opens the door. There’s nobody in there. Just a half-made bed, her books, her posters, the computer and her clothes.

He returns to the hall.

He glances at the bathroom door.

He takes a few steps then halts outside. He puts his ear to the door, listens.

Daniel takes hold of the handle, presses down. The door is locked.

Bunny’s bloody little brother. He is such an unbelievable douche-bag. What does he want? Every single day it’s one thing or the other. Tiril just wants to lamp the guy. After all, he is only a dwarf — he looks like a little duplo man. Are his parents retarded? Were they on heroin when they conceived him? If it’s not something about her clothes then it’s her make-up, and if it’s not that then he’s poking or prodding her. Jesus, he’s annoying. He can’t pass by her without bumping into her or making some moronic comment — the other day he spat in her hair during music. She was trying to follow what the teacher was saying about the difference between major and minor, really interesting as a matter of fact, and then she felt something wet in her hair and heard Bunny’s little brother’s toady laughter behind her. Christ, how much of a mongo can you possibly be?

Here he comes now, with the wigger walk, the crappy hoodie and the unlaced trainers, and those eyes of his, blinking nonstop, is there something wrong with them? Soon be able set your watch by the pint-sized reject. Lunch break. Pling, and he appears: ‘Hey, Hanna Bad Karma, been talking to your sister, have you? She’s suddenly all best mates with Daniel Moi’s slapper!’

Tiril’s just about to open her mouth, just about to tear into him.

‘Don’t even bother, like,’ says Thea.

Tiril extends her middle finger, narrows her eyes as much as she can and says: ‘What is your problem?’

‘AIDS!’ shouts Bunny’s little brother. ‘Do you want it? Come on, I’ll smear it all over your tits!’

Thea takes a hold of Tiril. ‘Lets go. Just ignore him.’

Jesusfuckingchrist. Tiril just stands there, even though Thea’s expression is imploring her to move. What is with him? There’s definitely something wrong with him. God, she’s glad she’s not in the same class. Tiril feels her heart pound, feels it thump with wicked clarity when he talks about Malene. That’s how it’s always been. She and Malene might argue like mad, fall out all the time, like yesterday when Malene clobbered her, but if someone says a bad word about her sister then Tiril flies off the handle. She’ll clench her fists, go for them and beat the shit of them.

‘Come on,’ says Thea once more. ‘Just drop it.’

‘Just let him stand there shooting his mouth off?’

‘No, but … don’t bother your ass, like.’

Tiril makes her way towards Bunny’s little brother. She walks as quickly as she can. The silver chain, which loops from her hip down the outside of her thigh, jingles in time with her strides. Little bastard. He can say what he likes about her singing, can call her an emo until he pukes, but no way is she going to listen to this. There have been rumours flying all around the school since this morning, loads of people saying one thing and the other about what happened. Some are saying Daniel rode into the schoolyard, got off his moped and hit Sandra, while others are saying he snogged her, some people are saying he grabbed her between the legs, others that he bawled her out, but Malene was there. And Malene told her, loud and clear: ‘We’re the only ones who know anything, Tiril. Understand? Suddenly we — you and me — are the only ones Sandra has. Do you understand? She loves him. He loves her. No snitching, okay? Sandra isn’t like we thought she was.