cigarette again.
– Do?
– To get talking to her. Don’t just sit here having fantasies about her.
Jo doesn’t have any plans and is open to advice from someone who probably knows a lot about this kind of stuff.
– What’s her name?
Jo shrugs his shoulders.
– You want to find that out, says Jacket. – It’s important to know the names of things. It gives you a head start. Which apartment are you in?
– 1206.
– And the girl’s, is that further down? Wait here.
Jacket gets up and disappears in the direction of the hotel. It’s good to be sitting there after he’s gone. On the far side of the wall, way down below the terrace, he hears the breakers. A light blinking out there in the darkness, a ship making its way through the night. And if he leans his head back, he can see constellations he doesn’t recognise, with a satellite gliding in and out between them.
Four or five minutes later Jacket comes back. He’s carrying two Cokes, gives one to Jo and flops down into the deckchair again.
– Her name is Ylva.
– Who?
Jacket grins. – The girl you were talking about. Her name is Ylva Richter. All I had to do was ask at reception.
Jo’s eyes narrow to two slits.
– Thought maybe I could get things started for you, Jacket adds, in a slightly different voice, maybe noticing how uneasy Jo looks. – Girls are a healthy interest. Better than the Boy Scouts and sport and schoolwork.
Jo relaxes again. Jacket’s a cool guy. Hard to figure out how he can be bothered to take an interest, to sit and talk like that with a twelve year old. Not pretend conversation, but the real thing. About stuff that matters. Jo doesn’t need to think about Mother and Arne making fools of themselves in there in the restaurant. He isn’t them. Doesn’t give a shit about them.
He’s walking in the sand. It’s burning, but he doesn’t feel it. The white light forces its way in everywhere. Ylva Richter is walking alongside him. She’s wearing the bikini with the red hearts on. I know a place where no one can see us ,she says. A cave where we can be on our own . They carry on towards the end of the beach. Around them are flowers growing straight up out of the sand. How can anything grow in a place like this? asks Ylva. Jo doesn’t know the answer to that, so maybe she doesn’t ask that after all, but snuggles up to him as he puts his arm around her naked shoulder.
Just then he hears the chinking of keys outside. He grabs a towel and pulls it over himself.
Mother is standing there. Leaning up against the door post.
– Hey, sweetie, she smiles as she peers into the room at him. She’s spilt something red on the strap of her dress. – Sitting in there in the dark, are you?
He makes a face in reply.
– I felt a bit tired, me, she explains as she steps out of her high-heeled sandals.
She gets a bottle of water from the fridge, fills a glass, drinks. It dribbles from the corners of her mouth and down into the red, sunburnt gap between her breasts.
Afterwards she comes into the living room, strokes his hair as she passes, bends over Nini, listens to her breathing, turns again, standing right up close to him.
– Wonderful to have such a smashing big brother.
Her voice is woozy at the edges, and overflowing. But she isn’t sloshed. She gives him a hug, kisses him on the cheek. Her breath smells of wine, and the perfume is like lilac. He turns away, but not completely.
She goes to the toilet. Pees for a long time. Flushes, washes her hands. Directly after, she opens the door slightly.
– Are you going to sit here like this in the dark all evening?
He shrugs his shoulders. – There aren’t any more rooms.
– Come in here with me for a bit. We need to have a chat now and then.
He follows her. She clears clothes away from the double bed, knickers and tops and a wet bikini, hangs it over the suitcase lid in the corner, lies down on the blanket. Jo leans up against the wall.
– Sit down here, she says,