Death By Water Read Online Free Page B

patting the edge of the mattress.
    He does as she says. Can’t be bothered telling her what he thinks about her drinking and making a fool of herself so that everyone laughs at her.
    – You’re a nice boy, Jo, she says, and he wants to ask her to shut up. Or explain what she means by that. – You know, things haven’t been all that easy recently, she says. He knows all about that. And nothing about it. Doesn’t want to know either. He’s afraid of what will happen if she starts discussing it. – It’s not always easy for me, she says, and he wants to get up again, can hear in her voice that any moment now she’s going to start whimpering again. – There’s a lot you don’t know, Jo. She strokes the back of his head. – I need a proper cuddle, she says. He can’t face the thought of bending over her. But he can hear her snivelling, in complete silence. He moves his legs, about to stand up; she probably thinks he’s doing it to turn towards her, and she pulls him down on to the bed. One leg remains on the floor, the other is on the covers. – You’ve always been my best boy, you know. I’ll always take care of you. She’s lying, he thinks, and the lilac smell is so strong he feels he’s going to puke at any moment. And behind it, the smell of her skin, sweat and onions, and something that reminds him of the kitchen cloth when it hasn’t been wrung out for several days and he finds it under the dishes in the sink. His leg is aching; he has to pull it up into the bed, lies there with his whole body next to her. She has one arm round him. The other is lying along his thigh. He feels something happening down there, something she mustn’t notice, but he can’t manage to turn away, and she holds him even tighter. – You’re a nice boy, Jo. So nice … so nice.
     
    Mother is whimpering in the bedroom. Drowned out by Arne’s snoring. Jo has seen something about snoring on TV. They said people who snore don’t live as long. They get bad hearts before other people and can die without warning.
    – I’m hungry, Nini whines.
    – I’ll get something for you.
    – Mum should do it.
    – She’s sleeping.
    – Mum should do it!
    – Then you’d best do it yourself, Jo snarls. – There’s a yoghurt in the fridge.
    She has tears in her eyes.
    – Don’t like yoghurt.
    He feels like lashing out at her, standing there moaning. Or throwing open the bedroom door and grabbing hold of Mother by the hair and dragging her out of bed. Nini is hungry, do you hear, you fucked-up cow? She’s three years old and hungry. And if Arne wakes up and starts throwing his weight around, getting a beer can from the shelf in the fridge and smashing it down on his sleepy, bad-tempered face.
    – Let’s go and eat breakfast, Truls suggests as he pulls on his shorts. – Then afterwards take Nini down to the beach.
    Jo spins round, lifts his arm to give him a clout. Truls starts and jumps back. Jo leaves him alone. Kid brother is always having bright ideas about what to do. Irritating, but he means well.
    – Okay. Jo’s anger slips off him. At least some of it. – Help Nini on to the toilet. I’ll go over and save a table for us.
    The time is 8.30. As usual, the dining room is packed. He stands in the doorway and looks round. Fortunately everybody’s bound up with their own business. Only a few old people near the door stare at him. A woman with a white headband round her grey hair whispers to an old bloke, and Jo is certain it’s something about him. About Mother, and Arne. He turns, about to leave. Someone calls his name. Daniel stands up at a table out on the terrace and waves to him. When Jo doesn’t respond, he comes over.
    – Do you want to sit with us?
    Daniel’s wearing a Metallica T-shirt and dark-red shorts, and cool sunglasses that look like they cost a lot. – We’ve got room.
    Jo glances across. A woman in a thin dress sitting with her back to them. Her hair is darker than engine oil. Next to her a powerfully