self-assurance.
‘It wasn’t just that last time,’ she said. ‘It’s the whole situation, as it were. I can’t cope with it. I like you, but not as my lover. I simply can’t handle that . . . It was okay for a short time, but it can’t go on any longer. You are more than twice as old as me, and you’re in a relationship with my mother.’
He didn’t remove his hand. Sat there in silence for a few seconds and looked thoughtful. Contemplated different parts of her face. Mouth, hairline, eyes.
‘Are you quite sure about that?’
‘As sure as I can be.’
‘All right,’ he said, leaning back. ‘Maybe it’s best to do as you say. Shall we pay the bill and leave?’
She nodded, excused herself and went to the toilet.
It started raining as they were driving back towards the centre of Maardam. Instead of turning right at the Richter Stadium, he continued straight on past the Pixner Brewery and Keymer church.
‘How’s your mum?’ he asked.
‘She’s ill today, I told you that. Why are we going this way? Aren’t you going to drive me home?’
‘I don’t mean how your mother is feeling today: I mean in general.’
She shrugged.
‘So-so. You know what her problem is. Why are we going this way?’
‘I just thought I’d show you where I live. You don’t have anything against that, I hope?’
She glanced at her watch and hesitated. It was a quarter past nine. She sat in silence for a while, staring out into the rain.
‘I want to be home before ten.’
He patted her forearm.
‘Don’t worry. Couldn’t we talk a bit how you feel, at least? It’s not good to break off relationships willy nilly. Believe you me, you have to make sure the scars heal over as well.’
‘I think I’ve talked enough about that.’
She was feeling quite angry now. He put his hand back on the steering wheel.
‘Talked enough about it? What do you mean by that?’
‘What I say. I’ve discussed it long enough.’
‘I don’t understand. With whom have you discussed it?’
She could hear that tone in his voice again. The tone she had noticed when she first got into the car. Like a dash of spice that didn’t suit the taste. Something acrid, a little bitter. The word ‘dangerous’ came into her mind for the first time.
‘With a priest.’
‘A priest?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why have you spoken to a priest?’
‘Because I needed somebody to talk to about it, of course.’
‘I didn’t know you had a priest among your friends.’
‘I don’t. He was visiting the school and telling us what programmes the church was organizing for young people. I went to see him after that.’
‘Which church?’
She tried in haste to decide whether or not she wanted to reveal the name of the church, and made up her mind that she did. I might as well, she thought, so that he doesn’t get the impression that I’m making it all up. It struck her also that it was a sort of insurance – an independent person who knew all about it. Even if it was only a priest bound by vows of silence.
She didn’t have time to ask herself why on earth she should need that kind of insurance.
‘Which church?’ he asked again.
‘The one out at Leimaar. Pastor Gassel. I’ve met him twice – it’s part of their job description to listen to what people tell them, but not say anything about it to anybody else. A sort of confession, although they are not Catholics.’
He nodded vaguely, and scratched his neck.
‘But you haven’t told your mother at least?’
‘Of course not.’
He turned left behind the university into Geldenerstraat, and parked in one of the lanes leading up to the Keymer churchyard. It was raining quite heavily now, and there was not a soul to be seen in the dark alley. He switched off the engine and took out the key, but made no move to get out of the car. He just sat there, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
‘And what do you think would happen if she found out about it? If somebody were to tell her what
‘It wasn’t just that last time,’ she said. ‘It’s the whole situation, as it were. I can’t cope with it. I like you, but not as my lover. I simply can’t handle that . . . It was okay for a short time, but it can’t go on any longer. You are more than twice as old as me, and you’re in a relationship with my mother.’
He didn’t remove his hand. Sat there in silence for a few seconds and looked thoughtful. Contemplated different parts of her face. Mouth, hairline, eyes.
‘Are you quite sure about that?’
‘As sure as I can be.’
‘All right,’ he said, leaning back. ‘Maybe it’s best to do as you say. Shall we pay the bill and leave?’
She nodded, excused herself and went to the toilet.
It started raining as they were driving back towards the centre of Maardam. Instead of turning right at the Richter Stadium, he continued straight on past the Pixner Brewery and Keymer church.
‘How’s your mum?’ he asked.
‘She’s ill today, I told you that. Why are we going this way? Aren’t you going to drive me home?’
‘I don’t mean how your mother is feeling today: I mean in general.’
She shrugged.
‘So-so. You know what her problem is. Why are we going this way?’
‘I just thought I’d show you where I live. You don’t have anything against that, I hope?’
She glanced at her watch and hesitated. It was a quarter past nine. She sat in silence for a while, staring out into the rain.
‘I want to be home before ten.’
He patted her forearm.
‘Don’t worry. Couldn’t we talk a bit how you feel, at least? It’s not good to break off relationships willy nilly. Believe you me, you have to make sure the scars heal over as well.’
‘I think I’ve talked enough about that.’
She was feeling quite angry now. He put his hand back on the steering wheel.
‘Talked enough about it? What do you mean by that?’
‘What I say. I’ve discussed it long enough.’
‘I don’t understand. With whom have you discussed it?’
She could hear that tone in his voice again. The tone she had noticed when she first got into the car. Like a dash of spice that didn’t suit the taste. Something acrid, a little bitter. The word ‘dangerous’ came into her mind for the first time.
‘With a priest.’
‘A priest?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why have you spoken to a priest?’
‘Because I needed somebody to talk to about it, of course.’
‘I didn’t know you had a priest among your friends.’
‘I don’t. He was visiting the school and telling us what programmes the church was organizing for young people. I went to see him after that.’
‘Which church?’
She tried in haste to decide whether or not she wanted to reveal the name of the church, and made up her mind that she did. I might as well, she thought, so that he doesn’t get the impression that I’m making it all up. It struck her also that it was a sort of insurance – an independent person who knew all about it. Even if it was only a priest bound by vows of silence.
She didn’t have time to ask herself why on earth she should need that kind of insurance.
‘Which church?’ he asked again.
‘The one out at Leimaar. Pastor Gassel. I’ve met him twice – it’s part of their job description to listen to what people tell them, but not say anything about it to anybody else. A sort of confession, although they are not Catholics.’
He nodded vaguely, and scratched his neck.
‘But you haven’t told your mother at least?’
‘Of course not.’
He turned left behind the university into Geldenerstraat, and parked in one of the lanes leading up to the Keymer churchyard. It was raining quite heavily now, and there was not a soul to be seen in the dark alley. He switched off the engine and took out the key, but made no move to get out of the car. He just sat there, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
‘And what do you think would happen if she found out about it? If somebody were to tell her what
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