Encircling (18 page)

I look at Mum and I look at Egil and Egil’s talking and Mum’s listening to what he’s saying and I smile at them and act as though I’m paying attention. I put my hand to my mouth and stifle a yawn, never taking my eyes off them. It’s like I’m looking straight through them and on through Mum’s flat, but they think I’m looking at them, they think I’m paying attention, and I open my mouth as if to say something, then close it again as if I’ve decided not to say it after all. And Egil talks and talks and Mum murmurs “Oh, really,” and takes a sip of her brandy, then murmurs, “Mm-hmm” and takes a little sip of her coffee, and I pick up my coffee cup and take a sip of my coffee, then put the cup down with a little chink. “Will you run the girls down to the bus station afterwards?” The words blurt out of me and Egil turns to me, taken aback, and I look at him and I realize that he hadn’t quite
finished talking, I realize that my question came right out of the blue. “Er,” says Egil, gazing at me wide-eyed and a little laugh escapes me, but he doesn’t catch it, he has turned to Mum, he shoots her a puzzled glance, but Mum avoids his eye, she looks as if she’s just happy not to have to listen to him any more, she’s tired of all his talk, and she leans quickly over the table and drains the last of her brandy and I hear the hum of the fridge out in the kitchen.

“Oh, come on, Silje,” Egil says. “It’s only a fifteen minute walk to the bus station,” he says. “I don’t like them walking down there on their own after dark,” I say. “Oh, come on, Silje,” he says again, tilting his head to one side and smiling at me. “Okay, okay, then I’ll have to take them,” I say, eyeing him a little wearily and he gives that sweet smile of his and winks gently at me. “No, no!” he says. “I’ll take them,” he says and he cocks his elbow, angling his hand towards his knee, and his watch slides out of his shirt sleeve and hits his slim wrist with a faint clink, and Egil looks at his watch and says, “Hmm” and thinks for a moment. “I can run them down there before I go to work,” he says. “Fine,” I say, and I look at Egil and smile.

“Damn,” I hear Mum say. I turn to look at her and see that she has spilled coffee over herself. She’s sitting with one hand hovering in mid air and coffee dripping from her fingers. “Fetch me a wet cloth from the bathroom, Silje,” Mum says, her eyes never leaving her dripping hand and first one moment passes, then another moment passes and I just sit there and then Egil gets up. “I’ll get it, Oddrun,” he says briskly and I notice that his suit jacket is covered in stray hairs again, I picked them all off before we got
in the car, but it’s almost as thick with them again, and Egil nips out of the living room door and strides off down the hall.

“Nothing about me works any more,” Mum mutters crossly. “I can’t even drink my coffee without spilling it,” she says, and that’s all she says and I just sit here looking at her and a moment passes and now I have to pull myself together. I take a deep breath, blink a couple of times and feel myself waking up slightly. Then I look at Mum and it’s as if only now do I really see her. I see her slack, purplish cheeks, see the dark bags under her eyes. With those cheeks and those bags under her eyes she looks a little like a bloodhound. I smile hesitantly at her. “Oh, we all spill things sometimes, Mum,” I say. “Humph!” she says, whirling round to face me, her slack cheeks quivering slightly as she turns, and she eyes me indignantly. “Stop that,” she says. “You can’t fool me into thinking that I’m younger or fitter than I am,” she says, and just then Egil comes back into the living room. “There weren’t any wet cloths in the bathroom,” Egil says and he stands there looking at Mum and Mum looks at him and frowns. “What?” she says. “There weren’t any wet cloths in the bathroom,” Egil says again, “only dry ones,” he says and I look at Egil and suddenly I realize that he’s joking and I start to laugh and it feels good, the laughter seems to loosen something inside me and I feel myself waking up a little more and I look at Egil and laugh and Egil looks at Mum and laughs, but Mum doesn’t join in. “I’m only kidding, Oddrun,” Egil says and he flicks a hand at Mum and grins. “I’ll go and wet a cloth and bring you it,” he says and he turns and leaves the room again and I stop laughing and look at Mum and Mum looks offended.

“Oh, Mum,” I say, putting my head to one side and regarding her. “It was a joke,” I tell her. “Oh, I’m sure,” she says. “Hey,” I say. “Yes, yes,” she says and a moment passes and I feel the life ebbing out of me again and I take a breath and sigh, pause, then force a little smile. “Well, Mum, was it fun to see the old house again?” I ask but she doesn’t answer. “Hmm?” I say and she turns to me again and looks at me with that same indignant look on her face. “Humph!” she says. “You’ve asked me that five times since we got back,” she says. “Do you want me to say how grateful I am to you for taking me there, is that why you keep going on about it?” she says and a moment passes and I feel myself getting upset now. “No, I’ve no such hopes,” I say, it just comes out and I look at her and give a weary little smile. “What?” she says, frowning and glaring at me. and I’m about to repeat it, but I don’t, I can’t be bothered arguing with her, can’t be bothered starting anything. “Nothing,” is all I say, still smiling that weary little smile. “Anybody would think it was you, not me that was getting old, with all the questions you ask,” she says. “Yes,” I say, saying it with a little intake of breath, saying it with a little sigh, and I feel myself growing more and more fed up with her. Then Egil comes back, this time with his fingers wrapped round a cloth, those slender shopkeeper fingers, and he hands the cloth to Mum. “Here you are,” says Egil. “Thanks,” mutters Mum.

“Well,” Egil says lightly, glancing at his watch, “I’d better be on my way if I’m to drop the girls off at the bus station before I go to work. He looks at me and smiles then turns to Mum. “Right, then,” he says. “Well, thanks for coming with us today, Oddrun,” he says. “Thanks for taking me,” Mum says. “Are you quite sure you can’t take
the time off, Egil?” I ask, eyeing him beseechingly. I know very well that he can’t take the time off, but I ask anyway and give him a rather strained smile. “Yes, Silje,” he says. “Oh, please,” I say. “The kids will be out and we’d have the whole evening to ourselves,” I say. “It’s been so long since we had an evening to ourselves,” I say. “We could go out. Book a table at Credo maybe and have dinner together, share a bottle of wine?” I say. “A romantic evening, just the two of us,” I say, and I hear what I’m saying and I don’t really know why I’m saying it, I don’t even feel like going out. “Silje, please,” he says and he looks at me, smiles gently at me and I smile wanly back. “No, never mind,” I say. “Some other time, eh?” he says. “Anyway, it’s not that long until we’re off to Brazil and then we’ll have a whole two weeks to spend together, just you and me.” “Yes,” I say. “And play golf,” I add. “Hey,” he says, “I promise not to overdo the golfing this time,” he says, looking at me. “Okay,” I say and a moment passes and I close my eyes and nod, then I open my eyes and give a faint smile and he tilts his head to one side and smiles back. “Hey,” he says. “Don’t go making me feel guilty,” he says. “No, of course not,” I say and we look at one another and a moment passes. “A three-course dinner at Credo,” I say, it just slips out. “Oh, come on,” I say quickly and I crease my brow and send him a coy little look. “Silje, please,” he says and he flashes me an indulgent, almost paternal smile, holds my gaze for a couple of seconds, then bends his head and plants a kiss on my forehead, “Bye-bye, then,” he says. “Bye,” I say, then Egil turns to Mum. “Bye, then, Oddrun,” he says. “Bye,” Mum says.

And Egil turns away. His back is covered in stray blond hairs, he sticks a hand into his suit trouser pocket, jingles
his car keys as he walks out of the door and Mum and I sit there, staring into space, and the fridge hums and hums, and I pick up my cup and and drink the rest of my coffee, then set the cup down on the table. “He works a lot,” Mum says. “We both work a lot, Mum,” I say, giving her my weary little smile. “Yes, I suppose you do,” she says. “I worked till half-past ten last night,” I say. “Yes, well,” Mum says, “I don’t know why, but there it is,” she says. “You’re rolling in money, but you can hardly ever afford to take a break. I don’t know what you want with it all,” she says, “all the stuff you buy,” she says. “No,” I say, and I look at her, still with that weary smile on my face. I can see that my smile irritates her. “I don’t know how you can get any pleasure out of it all,” she says. “It’s not as if you’ve time to spend any of it anyway,” she says. “No,” I say, saying it with a little intake of breath, saying it with a faint sigh, keeping the smile on my face. I can see that she’s getting more and more irritated and I realize I get a little kick out of the fact that she’s irritated. I’m so sick of listening to her harping on about this, it’ll do her good to see that I don’t care. “And yet you always want more,” she goes on. “You’re never content,” she says. “No, you know what, we never are,” I say. “And the kids are becoming exactly the same,” she says. “Don’t start complaining about the kids, Mum,” I say, smiling that weary smile. “I’m not,” she says. “It’s not their fault they’re spoiled.” “No, it’s my fault, of course,” I say. “That’s not what I said,” she says. “But it’s what you meant,” I say. “Well, you do have a certain responsibility for how your kids turn out, don’t you, as all parents do?” “Of course,” I say. “Just as you have a certain responsibility for the fact that I’ve turned out the way I have,” and I hear what I’m saying and how much
anger there is in what I say and I search inside myself, to check whether I really have so much anger inside me, but I feel more tired and indifferent than angry and I smile wearily at her. “Oh, no,” Mum says. “It’s your father who’s most to blame for that,” she says and I hear what she’s saying and I know she’s saying it to provoke me, because she knows I hate to hear her criticizing Dad. “Yeah, yeah, if you say so,” is all I say and I smile that weary smile and I close my eyes then open them again and I picture how calm I look as I do this and I can see that Mum is getting more and more irritated.

“It was beyond belief the way he spoiled you,” she says. “Yeah, right,” I say. “It’s Dad’s fault that my life is such a mess,” I say and for a second or two there is total silence and I feel myself getting more and more upset and I close my eyes, I draw breath and let it out again with a little sigh. Then I open my eyes and look at Mum again. “Why are you like this, Mum?” I ask in a slightly exasperated voice. “Here we are, Egil and I, trying to be nice to you, taking you to Namsos to see the old house again,” I say, “and then you carry on like this,” I say and I hear what I’m saying and I really can’t be bothered bringing this up right now, but I do it anyway, it just comes out, all unbidden and there’s nothing for it but to let it come. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty now?” she asks, smirking at me and I look at her and sigh, then I pause for a moment. “No, I’m not that ambitious,” I say, with a sad little laugh. “No, because I don’t have a conscience, do I,” she says, and she gives that smirk and I realize that I can’t take this, not right now, and I raise my eyebrows, look down at the table and sigh again. “Humph,” I say, then I look up at her again. “Let’s stop this now, Mum,” I say. “By all means, let’s stop,” she
says. “Oh, Mum, please,” I say, putting my head to one side and eyeing her imploringly, and a moment passes and I picture how weary I look when I do that. “What?” Mum says. “I was only saying that we’ll stop it,” she says and gives that little smirk of hers and I give my weary smile and nod at her. “Good!” I say. “I fancy some more coffee,” I say. “Shall I go and get us some more?” I ask. “No, thanks, I’ve had enough,” she says. “Okay,” I say.

And then there’s silence and Mum looks at me, smirks at me. “But there’s nothing to stop you getting a cup for yourself,” she says. “No, no,” I say, “I don’t need any more, either.” “No, you don’t need any more. But you fancied some more,” she says. “Yes, I know, but it doesn’t matter,” I say and Mum smirks at me and shakes her head. “Sometimes you look and act as if it was you that nailed Christ to the cross,” she says. “Do you realize that?” she says and a moment passes and I feel myself growing more and more sick of her, it’s like she’s sucking all the strength out of me and I’m growing tireder and tireder and I give her that weary smile again. “No, I didn’t realize that,” is all I say. “You look so burdened with guilt it’s just not true,” she says. “Is that so,” I say, still smiling. “Have you any other holes to pick in me while you’re at it, because if you have I’d be grateful if you’d just tell me,” I say. “Because then, you see, I’ll know exactly what I ought to work on,” I say. “Well, well, it’s good to know you’ve still got a bit of spirit, Silje,” she says. “So there is a little bit of you left,” she says, smirking at me, and there’s a moment’s pause and I’m getting more and more sick of this and I look at her and sigh.

“Oh, Mum,” I say, trying to sound sincere. “Please stop,” I say, but she doesn’t stop. “You haven’t shown nearly
enough spirit over the past few years,” she says, smirking at me. “Oh, that’s good, coming from you,” I say and a sad little laugh escapes me. “If there’s anybody who’s tried to teach me what nice girls should and should not do it’s you,” I say. “Hah,” she says, “I allowed you more freedom than most parents give their daughters,” she says. “After Dad died, yes,” I say. “You couldn’t be so strict with me once you’d made up your mind to realize yourself and live life to the full,” I say. “I’m talking about when I was younger,” I say. “Yes, well it was up to me to keep you in check, I had to be a bit strict, what with the father you had,” she says. “It was beyond belief the way he spoiled you,” she says and I hear what she’s saying, now she’s trying to get at me by criticizing Dad again, and in my mind I see my dad, dear sweet Dad, and I realize how sick of her I am, I realize how weary I am and how weary I must look, I picture my drawn face and tired eyes, and picturing this makes me feel even more weary. “You know what, Mum,” I say. “It’s no fun coming to see you when you’re like this,” I say. “It doesn’t matter what I do, all I get from you is a smirk or some negative comment,” I say. “Nothing I do ever pleases you,” I say and I hear what I’m saying and I hear how much hurt there is in my words and it’s as if my words bring out an ache in me, an ache that seems to wake me up. I look straight at Mum, a couple of moments pass and I’m feeling more and more awake. It’s as if I’m actually seeing her now, seeing how mean she can be. It’s as if I’m only now fully awake.