Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

‘Hello! Thea! Are you coming or what?’

She turns off the radio as Rihanna’s new single comes on, can’t bear that slut or her music.

‘Thea! Come on! Let me have a look at you!’

What was that?

Tiril straightens up and looks out.

She catches sight of some movement in the garden.

She cranes her neck and squints against the strong light above the lawn. The sun shining in beams through the branches of the apple tree. No, nothing. A cat, probably. She gets to her feet, walks over and opens the fridge. It’s filled with food. Always is in Thea’s house. Apple juice and orange juice. Always both. Milk and yoghurt. Cold cuts, several types of cheese and lots of vegetables. A bowl of fruit on the table. As well as one in the living room. Fresh grapes. They’ve plenty of money, Thea’s family. They’ve two cars. One for each parent. They’ve a cabin, up in Ålsheia. Big place. Bigger than their house. Always smells nice in their home — they have a cleaning lady who comes once a week, a Polish girl. They’ve paintings on the walls, the whole hall is filled with framed family photos. Sort of prim, in a way, but nice as well. Thea has an iPad with retina display and she’s ordered an iPhone 5. It’s difficult not to be jealous of her.

Tiril takes out the apple juice, reaches for a glass in the cupboard above and pours herself some.

There it is again.

She stands stock-still. Squints.

A disturbance in her field of vision once more, as though something or other passed by out in the garden.

Tiril takes a sip of juice while her eyes narrow. She scans the lawn, between the trees and lets her gaze sweep along the hedge.

No, there’s nothing.

‘Thea!’ She turns towards the hall. ‘What is taking you so long, you coming or what?’

Tiril gives a start when she hears a thud, a loud one, as if something fell against the house. As though someone hurled a hammer at the wall. She feels a chill take hold and spread across the back of her neck, right below the hairline, like a cold hand was just placed there. Her chest tightens.

‘Thea!’

She takes a few steps backwards across the floor of the kitchen, reaching the table and remaining there, one hand on the back of a chair, her eyes flitting from window frame to window frame. A door opens behind her, she turns quickly. Thea comes gliding across the floor all in white.

‘What was that?’ she asks, knitting her brows. ‘Did you hear it?’

Tiril swallows, doesn’t manage to comment on the outfit, just nods.

‘What was it?’

Tiril shrugs, Thea draws up beside her.

‘Tiril, what is it? Say something — do I not look good?’

‘Yeah, yeah, you look good,’ she mumbles.

Thea follows her gaze as Tiril turns to look in the direction of the window. They remain standing beside one another. Thea is dressed up in the clothes she’s going to have on when they perform. It looks just like Tiril had imagined, because white isn’t a colour either: white top, white dress, white tights, new white shoes, bright red lipstick, her hair up and black nail polish on her fingernails.

‘What was that banging? What is it you’re trying to see?’

Tiril takes a step closer to the window. ‘Nah,’ she says, ‘nothing. Just some sounds was all. Probably some building work or blasting going on someplace. I took a glass of juice, by the way.’ She looks her friend over. ‘Really good, Thea. The shoes are lovely. Your mum’s?’

Thea nods.

‘It’s exactly how I pictured it,’ Tiril says, nodding. ‘It’s going to be brilliant. A black piano. You in all white. Your lips all red. Heh heh, you’ll be able to put that pout of yours to good use.’

‘Lay off.’

Thea waves a hand in protest.

‘The black fingernails.’ Tiril nods in satisfaction. ‘The hair. It looks amaz—’

It comes out of nowhere. Slamming into the kitchen window like a bullet. In a microsecond everything turns red, the white pane of glass covered in a viscous, red pulp. The girls jump, spin around. Thea lets out a shriek and they both stagger backwards into the kitchen. Then the banging begins again, the thick, red muck runs slowly down the windowpane, the thumping builds, it intensifies, it’s as though there are a load of people pounding on the house, striking it with hammers on all sides.

Tiril takes hold of the sleeve of Thea’s dress and pulls her into the living room. The banging continues, they breathe in short gasps. Tiril places her hand over her mouth, she tugs Thea in against the wall, out of sight of the windows.

They both breathe heavily, and in time.

‘You know who it is, right?’ Tiril whispers.

Thea is shit-scared, her lipstick is smudged above her top lip, she’s shit-scared. ‘No,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Who?’

‘Don’t you know?’

‘No!’

Tiril nods, as if confirming it to herself: ‘Bunny’s big brother.’

Thea’s eyes open wide. If she looked scared shitless a second ago she looks absolutely terrified now. ‘Bunny’s big br — Fuck! Are you … are you … s-s-sure?’

The banging stops abruptly.

Tiril nods her head slowly.

‘Yeah, certain.’

‘How can you be certain?’

‘Because I am.’

‘What do they want,’ Thea whispers. ‘Bunny’s big brother and them?’

Tiril crouches down, takes hold of her sleeve again and leads her back into the kitchen. The loud pounding noises haven’t resumed. Most of the red muck has run off the windowpane, with only a few leftovers still sliding downwards in slimy streaks.

‘What do they want?’

‘Come on,’ says Tiril. She turns quickly and makes her way into the hall with Thea scurrying after.

‘What if they’re still—’

‘Come on!’

Tiril slips on her shoes and opens the door. Thea stands behind her hesitantly, but when her friend walks out to the front of the house she follows reluctantly. Tiril can feel the tick of her pulse in her throat, the blood pumping in her fingers and she sucks on her tongue. She rounds the corner of the house to the garden. Takes a few steps on to the lawn.

Thea follows after, stepping gingerly, her white outfit shimmering as she walks across the grass. She looks like an elf.

Tiril’s gaze sweeps the garden; it seems deserted. The lawn bears the imprint of feet. She looks at the window, soiled and smudged from the red pulp.

Thea’s scream fills the garden.

Tiril turns to look. Her friend is pointing towards the big apple tree. Tiril follows her finger. Somebody has driven a huge nail through a cat’s head and into the tree trunk behind. Dark blood still drips from the skinned, feline body.

‘Bunny’s big brother,’ Tiril whispers, looking at the dead animal. She feels a shudder at the back of her neck. She takes her cigarettes and lighter from her shirt pocket almost by reflex.

‘You can’t smoke here,’ Thea sniffles. ‘Mum and Dad will go spare.’

Tiril lights the cigarette.

‘What will we do now?’ says Thea and swallows, her make-up running over her cheeks. ‘What if they come back?’

‘If they come back,’ Tiril says, taking a deep drag of the cigarette and exhaling, ‘if they come back, they come back. We’ll handle that. That family are seriously fucked up, Thea. Because I gave his little brother a wallop, he’s sent his big brother after us; now all we’re missing is Bunny.’

Thea closes her eyes.

‘Relax,’ Tiril says. She looks around. ‘Have you got a garden hose? And a hammer? That’s what we need, a hose and a hammer — and a black bin bag.’

‘Yeah, I think so,’ Thea says, reaching out her hand. ‘Here, gimme a drag.’