If Luke hadn’t told me, I would never have guessed, and I don’t think anyoneelse knows either. He’d rather keep it that way. At other schools he worked at, his contracts were terminated without clear reason and while he’d rather just tell people he’s got a boyfriend, this time he’s going to keep it quiet until he’s got a permanent contract.
Our shared secret quickly forged a bond between us and I’ve met his boyfriend Sven a few times. I’ve never told anyone. Apart from Jasmine, but that doesn’t count. Jasmine is my best friend and I know she can keep her mouth shut.
‘If you have any problems, just come to me,’ Luke says.
I smile at him and thank my lucky stars that he came to work at this school.
Elisa
13.
The school entrance was a sea of flowers. They set up a makeshift altar, with Lydia’s photo in the middle, surrounded by candles and flowers. The teachers and students held a minute’s silence for her.
The police investigation is still in full swing. Bilal Assrouti was questioned and released. Everyone Lydia knew has been questioned, including me. For the first few days, the newspapers were full of the brutal murder, and my sister’s photo was on the news.
Detective Noorda called around all the time after Lydia’s death. I would hear him ringing the bell, but I never opened the door. I didn’t answer the telephone either. Finally I let him in and heard him out. He asked me all kinds of questions and assured me that they’d find the murderer. He talked about gunpowder spores, ballistics and cartridge cases. In the beginning he’d talk to me for a long time, but now he gets up faster to leave and the intervals between visits are longer.
Sylvie and Thomas pulled me out of the black hole. They come round every day with shopping, and they talk to me even though I barely respond. They cook for me and open the windows from time to time so that the fresh spring air blows away the stale smell in the house.
Today Thomas is visiting.
‘Have you done anything recently?’ he asks.
I tell him that I’ve been keeping busy, that I don’t lie in bed the whole day. That I’ve made a collage of pictures of Lydia and myself, a collage covering a whole wall. I’ve used recent photos as well as ones from our childhood so that in the morning when I open my eyes our whole life stretches out before me.
Thomas goes into the bedroom and looks at the wall, speechless. Then he says that we’re going out to eat tonight.
Later I go out to dinner with him, dressed in my pink and orange skirt with the matching top. Thomas looks at me in surprise when he comes to pick me up, but all he says is, ‘You look…different.’
Once we’re seated in the restaurant, he says, ‘That’s what you wore for Lydia’s funeral.’
I nod without looking up from the menu.
‘Are you going to wear skirts now because Lydia wore them?’
I close the menu and put it down on the table. ‘Of course not. Why are you saying that?’
‘Because you’ve got one on now! Those are the clothes you bought with Lydia – that last time you went shopping together?’
I sigh and look to see if the waiter is coming. I should never have told Thomas about the shopping trip. It was a lovely afternoon – I’ve got precious memories of it – and it’s annoying that he’s bringing up that one false note. What does it matter if Lydia wanted to give me a makeover? What does it matter that she wouldn’t take no for an answer, that I was more or less forced to buy these clothes? She meant well. And I’m wearing the clothes a lot now.
Thomas had come round that evening after I’d been shopping with Lydia. The clothes were spread out on the sofa.
‘What’s all this?’ He held the bright skirt and top up, his eyebrows raised.
‘I bought them with Lydia.’
‘Aha,’ Thomas said.
That was all, but his voice was layered with many different things.
‘I like them,’ I said. ‘I’m not used to wearing skirts, but I don’t
Our shared secret quickly forged a bond between us and I’ve met his boyfriend Sven a few times. I’ve never told anyone. Apart from Jasmine, but that doesn’t count. Jasmine is my best friend and I know she can keep her mouth shut.
‘If you have any problems, just come to me,’ Luke says.
I smile at him and thank my lucky stars that he came to work at this school.
Elisa
13.
The school entrance was a sea of flowers. They set up a makeshift altar, with Lydia’s photo in the middle, surrounded by candles and flowers. The teachers and students held a minute’s silence for her.
The police investigation is still in full swing. Bilal Assrouti was questioned and released. Everyone Lydia knew has been questioned, including me. For the first few days, the newspapers were full of the brutal murder, and my sister’s photo was on the news.
Detective Noorda called around all the time after Lydia’s death. I would hear him ringing the bell, but I never opened the door. I didn’t answer the telephone either. Finally I let him in and heard him out. He asked me all kinds of questions and assured me that they’d find the murderer. He talked about gunpowder spores, ballistics and cartridge cases. In the beginning he’d talk to me for a long time, but now he gets up faster to leave and the intervals between visits are longer.
Sylvie and Thomas pulled me out of the black hole. They come round every day with shopping, and they talk to me even though I barely respond. They cook for me and open the windows from time to time so that the fresh spring air blows away the stale smell in the house.
Today Thomas is visiting.
‘Have you done anything recently?’ he asks.
I tell him that I’ve been keeping busy, that I don’t lie in bed the whole day. That I’ve made a collage of pictures of Lydia and myself, a collage covering a whole wall. I’ve used recent photos as well as ones from our childhood so that in the morning when I open my eyes our whole life stretches out before me.
Thomas goes into the bedroom and looks at the wall, speechless. Then he says that we’re going out to eat tonight.
Later I go out to dinner with him, dressed in my pink and orange skirt with the matching top. Thomas looks at me in surprise when he comes to pick me up, but all he says is, ‘You look…different.’
Once we’re seated in the restaurant, he says, ‘That’s what you wore for Lydia’s funeral.’
I nod without looking up from the menu.
‘Are you going to wear skirts now because Lydia wore them?’
I close the menu and put it down on the table. ‘Of course not. Why are you saying that?’
‘Because you’ve got one on now! Those are the clothes you bought with Lydia – that last time you went shopping together?’
I sigh and look to see if the waiter is coming. I should never have told Thomas about the shopping trip. It was a lovely afternoon – I’ve got precious memories of it – and it’s annoying that he’s bringing up that one false note. What does it matter if Lydia wanted to give me a makeover? What does it matter that she wouldn’t take no for an answer, that I was more or less forced to buy these clothes? She meant well. And I’m wearing the clothes a lot now.
Thomas had come round that evening after I’d been shopping with Lydia. The clothes were spread out on the sofa.
‘What’s all this?’ He held the bright skirt and top up, his eyebrows raised.
‘I bought them with Lydia.’
‘Aha,’ Thomas said.
That was all, but his voice was layered with many different things.
‘I like them,’ I said. ‘I’m not used to wearing skirts, but I don’t
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