Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

He walks slowly into the hall, holding Zitha tightly by the neck, firmly enough for her to understand how quiet she needs to be.

In for it now. He takes a furtive peek through the glass beside the door.

He pulls his head back quickly. A young girl with her face all cut up. Flaming red hair. Pål slumps against the wall and closes his eyes. He grabs hold of Zitha’s snout as she begins to whine. ‘Shhh!’ What is it Rudi has sent my way now? His psycho niece? A heroin addict he’s planned to include in this insane scheme?

The doorbell rings again. Zitha beats the floor with her tail, uneasy in her body.

Pål orders Zitha to sit. He places two fingertips on the bridge of his nose, then sweeps them under each eye while opening his mouth and feeling the skin tightening over his gums. Okay. He rehearses a few opening lines in his head, grabs hold of the dog and opens the door.

Before Pål can speak he recognises the guy from under the floodlights at the football pitch the night before. The beautiful, young man with the disquieting eyes, the one that laughed at his Metallica T-shirt. What’s he doing here with a girl who looks like a patient from a psych ward?

‘Hi,’ Pål says, holding Zitha back as she makes to go closer to the visitors, and keeping the door only half open to indicate that this needs to be quick: ‘Tiril and Malene aren’t home yet.’

‘Good,’ says Daniel.

‘Eh…?’

‘I didn’t come to see them,’ says the boy.

A unpleasant feeling begins to takes hold of Pål. Young people, strange how they can knock adults off their stride. Are they working for Videoboy?

‘Okay?’

The girl looks terrible. Someone has slashed her face. She’s freaking Pål out the way she’s just standing staring at his lips, studying his face intently.

Daniel takes a step closer.

‘I don’t know what you’re up to,’ he says.

Pål feels like he has a lead apple in his throat.

‘What I’m up to?’ Pål straightens up. ‘Listen, I don’t think I need to stand here and—’

‘I don’t know what you’ve got yourself mixed up in,’ Daniel continues, as though he didn’t hear what Pål said. The girl keeps on staring at his lips. ‘But I—’

‘Listen,’ Pål cuts in, ‘I really think you need to g—’

‘I saw you in the woods.’

‘Eh?’

The girl bends down to Zitha, pats her.

Daniel shrugs. ‘You might be getting yourself into something stupid.’

‘What is this? I think you better—’

The girl continues rubbing Zitha’s snout.

‘I get that you can’t stand here and admit that something fucked up is going on, but I did see you, and I thought about it afterwards, without really knowing if I should say it to anybody — I haven’t, by the way — but I decided to ride up here. And tell you straight out. That I don’t know what it is you’re involved in. But it might be stupid for you to see it through. And I know what I’m talking about.’

She opens her mouth to speak now, the girl with the cut-up face. Her voice is strange and her eyes shine like burnt copper. She says: ‘It’s true. He knows what he’s talking about.’

Zitha barks and Pål feels saliva accumulate in his mouth again. He shakes his head. ‘It might well be you know what you’re talking about,’ Pål gives Daniel a gentle, lofty pat on the shoulder, ‘but I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I have to make some food for Tiril and Malene now, because they’ll soon be home and it’s a busy day. Tiril is going to be singing at the school in—’ he checks his watch, ‘yeah, in just over a couple of hours. All right?’

Daniel smiles. ‘That’s fine,’ he says. ‘You have to lie. You need to protect yourself. I know. That’s the way it works.’ He extends his hand to Pål, who shakes it, remaining nonplussed, as Daniel puts his helmet back on, climbs on to the moped together with his girlfriend and disappears down the street.

Pål sinks down on to the doorstep.

Zitha places her snout in his lap and emits a faint whimper. He runs his hand over her warm coat. ‘Dad was seen, Zitha,’ he whispers.

God, I should never have got mixed up in this.

Pål takes out his mobile and composes a text: ‘I’ll let you know when the girls have left. Just have to make them something to eat and then you can come. It’ll be a real blast!’

Five, ten minutes pass, Pål sits with September light all around and he’s barely aware if he’s alive or dead, then he hears them. He has a sinking sensation in his chest and wishes it were a simpler day, say around six years ago, when the girls were small and he was the safe, secure dad. A plain, maybe slightly boring dad they could count on, one who could look his own girls in the eyes.

He jumps up, affects an air of energy as he sees them approach. Tiril has a pained expression on her face, Malene is calm and collected and alongside them walks a guy who looks like a warped ball, with moist eyes and a hoodie. Zitha runs towards the girls.

‘Hi! I haven’t had a chance to sort out food today, things just got on top of me, but we’ll throw a frozen pizza on, will we? So, getting excited? Eh?’

‘Dad, this is Shaun,’ says Tiril, patting the dog.

Pål looks at the little guy, who gives him a crooked smile, revealing a row of rust-coloured teeth. He isn’t exactly what Pål was expecting; is Tiril actually going out with that there?

‘Okay? Hi, I’m Pål,’ he says, putting his hand out and feeling a feeble grip, like shaking hands with a mollusc.

He accompanies them inside, he can tell by their body language that something is up, he sees them exchange uncertain glances, but he neglects to ask what’s happened. He understands that they have something behind them that’s hard to put aside and just as hard to talk about, as though he realises it’s not for grown-ups’ ears. That’s how he’s raised them, always allowed the girls plenty of space, never went into their rooms and asked what they were up to, but has made himself available to them whenever they feel the need to talk. Sometimes it’s gone too far, and Pål has been left standing at a distance when their world has begun to catch fire.

That may be how it is now, but he can’t face going into the flames today. All he wants is for them to eat some food and be on their way, because they need to get out of here; what’s going to happen is just too degrading.

It doesn’t seem as if Daniel or the girl with the face have spoken to them.

Zitha has taken her place on the mat, safe and secure; for a dog the house is as it usually is. Dad is here, the girls are here. Pål lets the kids go to Tiril’s room. He puts a pizza on and stands facing the oven for a quarter of an hour watching the cheese slowly begin to bubble, and he finally takes it out and carries it into Tiril’s room where the three teenagers sit in a sort of youthful darkness that somehow seems to glow.

The voices fall silent as he enters, all expression on their faces wiped clean and their eyes dim.

‘Pizza, girls.’

‘Great, we’ll just eat and head off.’

‘It’s going to be exciting, this here,’ he says.

‘Very,’ says Malene.

He can see she’s lying. Or rather, keeping something to herself.

‘Dad?’ Tiril turns to him, looking lost.

‘Yes, honey?’

‘Do you know what happens to people who suffer concussion?’

It’s a strange question.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, just if they’re concussed and everything seems fine, but then they get problems. Do you know what can happen?’ Tiril’s eyes are moist. ‘Like, could she, you know, die?’

Pål looks at Shaun. Is Tiril really with this guy? He doesn’t seem able to speak, his teeth are rotting in his head and he has a black eye, what sort of boy is he?