23

       tuesday, december 8: evening

      Benjamin has locked himself in his room. Simone is sitting at the kitchen table with her eyes closed, listening to the radio; it’s a live broadcast from Berwald Concert Hall. She tries to imagine life as a single person. It wouldn’t be all that different from what I have now, she thinks ironically. I might go to concerts, galleries, and the theatre, as all lonely women do.

      She finds a bottle of single malt Scotch in the cupboard and pours herself a drop, adding a little water: a weak yellow liquid in a heavy glass. The front door opens as the warm notes of a Bach cello concerto fill the kitchen; it is a gentle, sorrowful melody. Erik stands in the doorway looking at her, his face grey with exhaustion.

      “That looks good,” he says.

      “Whisky,” she says, handing him the glass.

      She pours herself a fresh drink; they stand opposite each other and raise their glasses in a toast, their expressions serious.

      “Difficult day?” she asks quietly.

      “Pretty difficult,” he replies, with a pale smile.

      He suddenly looks so worn out. There is a lack of clarity to his features, like a thin layer of dust on his face.

      “What are you listening to?” he asks.

      “Shall I turn it off?”

      “Not on my account—it’s beautiful.” Erik empties the glass, holds it out to her, and she pours him another. “So Benjamin didn’t get a tattoo, then,” he says.

      “You’ve been following the drama on voicemail.”

      “Just now, on the way home. I didn’t have time before—”

      “No.” She breaks in, thinking about the woman who answered when she called the number last night.

      “I’m glad you went and picked him up,” says Erik.

      She nods, thinking about how all emotions are interconnected, how no relationship is autonomous and separate, how everything is affected by everything else.

      They drink again, and suddenly she notices that Erik is smiling at her. His smile, with those crooked teeth, has always made her go weak at the knees. She thinks how she would love to go to bed with him now, without any discussion, any complications. One day we will all be alone anyway, she says to herself.

      “I don’t know what to think,” she says tersely. “Or rather … I know I don’t trust you.”

      “Why do you say—”

      “It feels as if we’ve lost everything. You just sleep or else you’re at work, or wherever it is you are. I wanted to do things, travel, spend time together.”

      He puts down the glass and takes a step towards her. “Why can’t we do that?”

      “Don’t say it,” she whispers.

      “Why not?” He smiles and strokes her cheek; then his expression grows serious again. Suddenly they are kissing each other. Simone can feel how her whole body has longed for this, longed for kisses.

      “Hey, Dad, do you know where—” Benjamin falls silent as he walks into the kitchen and sees them. “You’re crazy.” He sighs, and goes out again.

      Simone calls after him. “Benjamin.” He comes back. “You promised to go and pick up the food.”

      “Have you called?”

      “It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,” she says, giving him her purse. “You know where the Thai place is, don’t you?”

      “Mum!” He sighs.

      “Go straight there and back,” she says.

      “Oh, please.”

      “Listen to your mother,” says Erik.

      “I’m just going to the corner to pick up a take-away; nothing’s going to happen,” he says, going into the hallway.

      Simone and Erik smile at each other as they hear the front door close and their son’s rapid footsteps on the stairs.

      Erik gets three glasses out of the cupboard, stops, takes Simone’s hand, and holds it against his cheek.

      “Bedroom?” she asks.

      He looks embarrassingly pleased, just as the telephone rings. “Leave it,” he says.

      “It could be Benjamin,” she says, picking up the phone. “Hello?” She hears nothing, just a faint ticking sound, perhaps from a zipper being undone. “Hello?” She puts the telephone down.

      “Nobody there?” asks Erik, uneasily.

      Simone watches as he goes over to the window and looks down at the street. Once again she hears the voice of the woman who answered her earlier call. Stop it, Erik. She had laughed. Stop what? Fumbling inside her clothes, sucking at her nipple, pushing up her skirt?

      “Call Benjamin,” says Erik, his voice strained.

      “Why do I need to—” She picks up the phone just as it rings again. “Hello?”

      When no one speaks she cuts the connection and dials Benjamin’s number.

      “Voicemail.”

      “I can’t see him,” says Erik.

      “Should I go after him?”

      “Maybe.”

      “He’ll be furious with me,” she says with a smile.

      “I’ll go,” says Erik, moving into the hallway.

      He is just taking his jacket off the hanger when the door opens and Benjamin walks in with a plastic bag stacked with cartons of steaming food.

      They sit down in front of the TV to watch a movie, eating straight out of the containers. Benjamin laughs at the snappy dialogue, and Erik and Simone glance happily at each other as they