living outside my body. My body does things, and I stand next to it thinking, ‘What are you doing? You’re getting in the bed, you’re eating larvae, what are you doing?’
What am I doing? What am I going to do?
I think I’m coming down with something. He’s going away. I’m not in love, but I…I have to be near him. Perhaps I do love him. Her. Maybe that’s what it is.
Love.
Yes.
I’m falling apart.
On Thursday afternoon Roland packed a suitcase and put it in the car along with Tara and some dog food. The attack of mange had turned out to be a mild one, and he decided to risk going to the show even though he shouldn’t have done. There was virtually a price on the head of anyone who brought mange into kennels.
Tina stood at the bedroom window and watched him go. She had taken the day off work because she wasn’t feeling well. Something to do with her stomach, her chest, her heart. It was the first time in her entire working life that she had been off sick. When she rang work to say she wouldn’t be coming in, they asked if she’d calledthe local health insurance office. She didn’t know what to do, so she didn’t bother.
When the Volvo had disappeared down the drive she went and sat on the patio for a while and read
Comet in Moominland
. It was an unusually warm autumn day, and there was the same feeling in the air as there was in the book: a damp, highly charged warmth as if everything was holding its breath, waiting for a change.
The air pressure made her head ache, and she found it difficult to concentrate. She went inside and stood by the kitchen window for a while, looking down towards the cottage.
What’s he doing in there?
As usual when Roland went away she had been shopping for a private party. The snails were on ice in the fridge. This time she had bought extra, but hadn’t yet dared ask the question. She was afraid. Everything had conspired to create a situation where this evening could be crucial. Roland was away, Vore was leaving the next day.
And what is it that’s going to be resolved tonight?
If she had been in her right mind she wouldn’t have been standing here dithering about, putting off asking Vore if he’d like to come over for dinner. She would have called the police. Because she was convinced he had a child in there. Her hearing was better than most people’s, and she’d heard it.
She ought to ring Ragnar at the police station in Norrtälje and explain the situation. They’d come straight away. They knew her.
Nobody knows me.
A long time ago she had read an article about how people choose their partner by smell. At least women did, she thought. Five women had been allowed to smell five T-shirts that had been worn by five different men. Or it might have been more women. The whole thing had seemed slightly shady and perverted—the combination of a laboratory environment and sweaty clothes.
She had felt some sympathy with the result, and snorted at it. As if you could choose.
She had chosen Roland
in spite of
his smell. Not that he smelled unpleasant, exactly. But he smelled wrong. Wrong for her. He wasn’t the only one who had answered her ad, but he was the only one who had shown any interest after the first meeting. There’s your freedom of choice.
But Vore. The smell of him, the aroma of him was like coming home. It couldn’t be described in any other way. Lying in his sheets was like crawling into Mummy and Daddy’s bed. Tina’s parents had slept in separate beds, and it wasn’t that smell she was thinking of, but something different, something safe and associated with home rather than anything based on a real memory.
So she didn’t call the police.
Night fell quickly, helped along by black clouds rolling in from the east. The air was heavy, pressing down on her head. Odd raindrops trickled down the kitchen window, and the light went on in the cottage. Anxiety was a trembling sparkler inside her body.
There’s going to be a thunderstorm.
She
What am I doing? What am I going to do?
I think I’m coming down with something. He’s going away. I’m not in love, but I…I have to be near him. Perhaps I do love him. Her. Maybe that’s what it is.
Love.
Yes.
I’m falling apart.
On Thursday afternoon Roland packed a suitcase and put it in the car along with Tara and some dog food. The attack of mange had turned out to be a mild one, and he decided to risk going to the show even though he shouldn’t have done. There was virtually a price on the head of anyone who brought mange into kennels.
Tina stood at the bedroom window and watched him go. She had taken the day off work because she wasn’t feeling well. Something to do with her stomach, her chest, her heart. It was the first time in her entire working life that she had been off sick. When she rang work to say she wouldn’t be coming in, they asked if she’d calledthe local health insurance office. She didn’t know what to do, so she didn’t bother.
When the Volvo had disappeared down the drive she went and sat on the patio for a while and read
Comet in Moominland
. It was an unusually warm autumn day, and there was the same feeling in the air as there was in the book: a damp, highly charged warmth as if everything was holding its breath, waiting for a change.
The air pressure made her head ache, and she found it difficult to concentrate. She went inside and stood by the kitchen window for a while, looking down towards the cottage.
What’s he doing in there?
As usual when Roland went away she had been shopping for a private party. The snails were on ice in the fridge. This time she had bought extra, but hadn’t yet dared ask the question. She was afraid. Everything had conspired to create a situation where this evening could be crucial. Roland was away, Vore was leaving the next day.
And what is it that’s going to be resolved tonight?
If she had been in her right mind she wouldn’t have been standing here dithering about, putting off asking Vore if he’d like to come over for dinner. She would have called the police. Because she was convinced he had a child in there. Her hearing was better than most people’s, and she’d heard it.
She ought to ring Ragnar at the police station in Norrtälje and explain the situation. They’d come straight away. They knew her.
Nobody knows me.
A long time ago she had read an article about how people choose their partner by smell. At least women did, she thought. Five women had been allowed to smell five T-shirts that had been worn by five different men. Or it might have been more women. The whole thing had seemed slightly shady and perverted—the combination of a laboratory environment and sweaty clothes.
She had felt some sympathy with the result, and snorted at it. As if you could choose.
She had chosen Roland
in spite of
his smell. Not that he smelled unpleasant, exactly. But he smelled wrong. Wrong for her. He wasn’t the only one who had answered her ad, but he was the only one who had shown any interest after the first meeting. There’s your freedom of choice.
But Vore. The smell of him, the aroma of him was like coming home. It couldn’t be described in any other way. Lying in his sheets was like crawling into Mummy and Daddy’s bed. Tina’s parents had slept in separate beds, and it wasn’t that smell she was thinking of, but something different, something safe and associated with home rather than anything based on a real memory.
So she didn’t call the police.
Night fell quickly, helped along by black clouds rolling in from the east. The air was heavy, pressing down on her head. Odd raindrops trickled down the kitchen window, and the light went on in the cottage. Anxiety was a trembling sparkler inside her body.
There’s going to be a thunderstorm.
She
Similar Books
