Read Online The Boy in the Suitcase by Lene Kaaberbøl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lene Kaaberbøl
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to him about important things. Just little everyday fibs that would make life run so much more smoothly. Like being able to say that her new top had cost 200 kroner rather than 450, or that it hadn’t been she who had forgotten the picnic invitation from Anton’s school. Other people got away with such things, why couldn’t she? She was an adequate liar with everyone but Morten, she thought. But Morten saw through her feeble attempts in seconds. Somehow, she lacked her usual protective coloration when she was with him. It seemed to her that he could look directly into the bubbling mass of unfinished thoughts churning inside her. It was why she had fallen in love with him, and why he was so hard to live with now. Sometimes a lie would go by without comment, but it didn’t feel like success; it was more as if he couldn’t really be bothered to discuss it with her. He let her off the hook.
Nina touched the call button tentatively; the phone was already damp from the heat of her hands. Then she pressed it, and raised the phone to her ear, careful not to disturb the boy with her shift of position.
There was a tiny click as he answered, followed by a faint, surf-like noise. She could hear Morten’s fumbling with the phone, and distant children’s voices in the background. Thank God. He was picking up Anton, then. It might even be his turn today. Her mind felt curiously blank when she tried to remember.
“Yes.” Morten’s voice succeeded in being angry and resigned at the same time. “Where are you?”
It was the voice of a man who felt that she no longer deserved to be talked to as an equal. Or even as an adult.
Nina moistened her lips, looking down at the child in her arms. She had to come up with something not too far from the truth, she thought, or he would slice her explanations into ribbons before they were half finished.
“Karin called me, earlier today,” she finally said. “She wasn’t feeling very well. She really needed help. I’ve had to stay with her so that I can take her to a doctor if it becomes necessary.”
Silence at the other end. Then she could hear shouting again, and Anton’s thin voice asking for something.
“No,” said Morten without putting down the phone, “No ice cream. It’s Monday, and you know the rules.” In the background Nina could hear Anton’s voice rising, getting ready for the full campaign. Which might be her good luck.
“Okay,” said Morten. “But I didn’t think the two of you were that close anymore?”
He didn’t sound angry anymore, just a little tired.
“I’ve known her for fifteen years. With history like that, you don’t just turn your back on people.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “But perhaps you might have called me, instead of leaving that to the staff here.”
Damn. Nina shrunk a little. It had been her turn, had to have been, and somehow she would have felt better about it, more secure, if Morten had thrown a fit. Now there was just the unrythmic rattle of the receiver and the indistinct snatches of a new heated argument between Morten and Anton. Morten had already forgotten she was there.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, trying to press her ear more closely to the phone. “I just forgot.”
“Yes, I suppose you did,” he said, his voice cold and weary. “I thought things were better. I thought you were going to stop forgetting your own family. Any idea when you will be home?”
Nina swallowed. The boy had turned slightly, and one small hand opened and then closed around her arm. His eyes were still closed.
“Oh, I suppose I can leave here around eight,” she said, trying to sound carefree and unworried. “It won’t be very late, I promise.”
Again the static hiss of wind and a connection on the point of breaking up.
“I’ll see you when I see you,” said Morten, the last few words nearly lost in the roar of the wind and the sound of Anton’s eager pestering. “Or not. It’s up to you.”
Morten’s voice had gone
Nina touched the call button tentatively; the phone was already damp from the heat of her hands. Then she pressed it, and raised the phone to her ear, careful not to disturb the boy with her shift of position.
There was a tiny click as he answered, followed by a faint, surf-like noise. She could hear Morten’s fumbling with the phone, and distant children’s voices in the background. Thank God. He was picking up Anton, then. It might even be his turn today. Her mind felt curiously blank when she tried to remember.
“Yes.” Morten’s voice succeeded in being angry and resigned at the same time. “Where are you?”
It was the voice of a man who felt that she no longer deserved to be talked to as an equal. Or even as an adult.
Nina moistened her lips, looking down at the child in her arms. She had to come up with something not too far from the truth, she thought, or he would slice her explanations into ribbons before they were half finished.
“Karin called me, earlier today,” she finally said. “She wasn’t feeling very well. She really needed help. I’ve had to stay with her so that I can take her to a doctor if it becomes necessary.”
Silence at the other end. Then she could hear shouting again, and Anton’s thin voice asking for something.
“No,” said Morten without putting down the phone, “No ice cream. It’s Monday, and you know the rules.” In the background Nina could hear Anton’s voice rising, getting ready for the full campaign. Which might be her good luck.
“Okay,” said Morten. “But I didn’t think the two of you were that close anymore?”
He didn’t sound angry anymore, just a little tired.
“I’ve known her for fifteen years. With history like that, you don’t just turn your back on people.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “But perhaps you might have called me, instead of leaving that to the staff here.”
Damn. Nina shrunk a little. It had been her turn, had to have been, and somehow she would have felt better about it, more secure, if Morten had thrown a fit. Now there was just the unrythmic rattle of the receiver and the indistinct snatches of a new heated argument between Morten and Anton. Morten had already forgotten she was there.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, trying to press her ear more closely to the phone. “I just forgot.”
“Yes, I suppose you did,” he said, his voice cold and weary. “I thought things were better. I thought you were going to stop forgetting your own family. Any idea when you will be home?”
Nina swallowed. The boy had turned slightly, and one small hand opened and then closed around her arm. His eyes were still closed.
“Oh, I suppose I can leave here around eight,” she said, trying to sound carefree and unworried. “It won’t be very late, I promise.”
Again the static hiss of wind and a connection on the point of breaking up.
“I’ll see you when I see you,” said Morten, the last few words nearly lost in the roar of the wind and the sound of Anton’s eager pestering. “Or not. It’s up to you.”
Morten’s voice had gone
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