Jaap Robben

You Have Me to Love

Translated from the Dutch by David Doherty

World Editions

breda 2016

Published in Great Britain in 2016 by World Editions Ltd., London

www.worldeditions.org

Copyright © Jaap Robben, 2014

English translation copyright © David Doherty, 2016

Cover design Multitude

Image credit © Menno Schaefer

The moral rights of the author and translator have been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

First published as Birk in the Netherlands in 2014 by De Geus bv,

po Box 1878, 4801 bw Breda

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library

isbn 978-94-6238-066-0

This project has been funded with support from the European Commission. This publication reflects the views only of the author, and the Commission cannot be held responsible for any use which may be made of the information contained herein.

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Dutch Foundation for Literature

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Phone: +31 (0)76 523 3533. Email: info@worldeditions.org.

#

1

My tongue felt like it was crawling with ants. My feet were heavy. I was standing at the back door in my swimming trunks, towel around my neck. Mum had come into the kitchen, but she hadn’t looked at me yet. ‘There you are,’ she said without raising her head as she lifted the lid off the pot. She ladled my bowl full of soup, then hers.

She dipped a finger into my soup and stirred. ‘Just right. Tuck in.’ I sat down on my chair and stared at the steam rising sluggishly from my bowl. ‘Don’t leave too much for Dad. If he’d wanted a decent helping, he should’ve been back on time.’ Spooning soup into her mouth, she returned to her sewing machine in the living room. ‘Just finishing this off. Won’t be long.’

My hands lay motionless on the table. Inside they were shaking. I could hear the scraping of gulls sharpening their beaks on the gutter above the window. I knew I should be eating my soup, but it was all I could do to take hold of the spoon.

I took a gulp of water from my glass. It felt like I was choking. I gagged and a little of what I sicked up disappeared into my soup. I wiped away what had landed next to the bowl with a furtive sweep of my hand. Mum hadn’t noticed. She was leaning forward in her chair, staring intently at the rattling needle of her sewing machine, only letting up to see if she was still going in a straight line.

After a few minutes, Mum came back into the kitchen to fetch the Worcester sauce from the spice rack. She rested her hips against the sink and leaned toward the window.

‘Taking his own sweet time again.’ My heart wanted to leap out of my chest. I stuck the empty spoon in my mouth. ‘Don’t take after your father,’ she smiled. ‘You can never count on a man like that.’ Before I could answer, the sewing machine had started rattling again.

The harder I bit down on my tongue, the more the ants prickled. Dusk made a mirror of the window. I knew it held my reflection, but I couldn’t bring myself to look. Mum went over to the bin, trod on the pedal, and let a few scraps of material fall from her hand.

‘Aren’t you going to eat anything?’

I gave a jerky shrug.

‘Nothing to say for yourself?’

‘I’ve had enough,’ I said.

‘Well, that wasn’t much.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t come crying like a baby that you want something else later.’ She tipped my soup back into the pot, placed my bowl next to hers by the sink, and left the pot and one bowl on the table for Dad. She caught me looking at them. ‘That father of yours can heat up his own soup.’ When she called him ‘that father of yours’, it meant he’d done something he needed to make up for. She rubbed dark-brown stripes across the table with a damp cloth.

‘He swam away.’ The words stumbled out of my mouth.

‘Hmm?’

‘Dad swam away.’

‘“Swam away”?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Dunno.’

She looked at me, puzzled. ‘Where to?’

I shrugged.

‘Didn’t he tell you?’

Again, I shrugged.

‘But you must know if he said something.’

‘I don’t think he said anything.’

She cupped her hands around her eyes and put her face to the window.

‘Did you two have a row?’

‘No.’

She tossed her head as if to shake loose a couple of strange thoughts.

‘That waster does whatever he likes.’ She turned the tap on full, put the plug in the sink, and squirted in some washing-up liquid. I heard the muffled clunk of plates and mugs, the scrape of knives, forks, and spoons. The boiler hummed away in the cupboard below.

At the slightest sound, Mum looked up and turned her head toward the front door, though they were only the noises the house makes. When she was finished, she draped a tea towel over the clean dishes on the draining board.

‘He was underwater.’

‘What?’

‘All of a sudden.’

‘What was all of a sudden?’

I shrugged.

‘Stop shrugging your shoulders every time I ask you a question.’

‘He wanted to climb out of the water after me.’

‘Did you two go swimming?’

‘No.’

‘You knew that wasn’t allowed.’

I shook my head.

‘What happened? Tell me.’

‘I looked round and all of a sudden Dad was swimming underwater.’

‘Underwater? Just like that?’

I tried my best not to shrug, but I couldn’t help myself.

‘He must have said something?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Well, where did he go?’

‘I don’t know that, either.’

‘Dunno, dunno, dunno… Where was he heading?’

‘I couldn’t see.’

‘But you just said he climbed out of the water after you.’

‘Didn’t.’

‘What do you mean, “didn’t”?’

‘I didn’t go for a swim.’

Her hand shot out and felt at my swimming trunks. ‘Are you telling me lies?’

My head wouldn’t stop shaking.

‘Where were you?’

‘On the sand.’

‘And that’s where he went swimming?’

I shook my head. ‘Over by the rocks.’

She looked deep into my eyes. Then she rushed into the hall, yanked open the dresser drawer, and took out a torch. She flashed it on and off three times and went outside. By the time the light on the outside wall flickered on, she had disappeared round the side of the house. Quick as I could, I pulled one of Dad’s jumpers from the drying rack and put it on. It was way too big for me. I wormed my feet into my boots and had to run to keep up with her.

2

The red light of a buoy appeared in the distant dusk. We scrambled down the path to the beach, curled like a half-moon around the cove. I kept trying to take hold of Mum’s hand, but she was walking too fast.

Dad’s sunglasses, his towel, and our flip-flops lay waiting on the sand, but not where we’d left them. I felt a surge of relief. Dad must have climbed out of the water and moved our things further from the breaking waves. Seconds later, my legs turned weak and wobbly again as I realized the tide had gone out.

Mum shoved the torch into my hands and turned over the things on the sand, as if he might be hiding under them. ‘Birk!’ she shouted across the water. ‘Where are you?’

When no answer came, she turned to me. I accidentally shone the light in her face.

‘Where did you see him last?’

I pointed the torch at the rocks.

‘There?’

I was close to tears.

‘Are you sure?’ She didn’t see me nod. She was staring out to sea again. ‘Birk!’ she shouted. ‘Birk!’

Unbroken silence. Not even the gulls were squawking.

As soon as Mum started walking, I followed her with the torch so she could see where she was putting her feet. Without hesitation, her shoes walked into the sea. The water was soon up to her knees. She seemed to be in shock as she took in all that dark water tugging at her shoes, growing wider with every step.

I tried to shine the torch in the direction she was looking. Any second now, Dad would surface, coughing and choking, and here she was, ready to grab hold of him and haul him up onto the beach. Any second now, he would emerge from the water. He had to. Especially now that Mum was here. We’d see his head above the waves, like a football floating toward us. ‘Look! Look over there,’ I’d shout, jumping onto Mum’s back and catching him in the torchlight. We’d wade further into the sea, put his arms around our shoulders the way they do in films, and help him ashore. After that he’d probably belt me one across the face, but I wouldn’t care. At least he’d be back.

‘Tell me.’ Mum gripped my chin between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Tell me what happened here.’

‘He was swimming, I think. That’s what it looked like. And all of a sudden he was underwater and further and further away.’

‘And what did you do?’

I fell silent.

‘Why didn’t you tell me right away?’

‘But I did tell you.’

She snatched the torch from my hands and we rounded the cove till we reached the rocks. We balanced on the boulders and tore open our hands on the barnacles. Normally she’d be nagging me to be careful up here, but now she kept climbing on ahead and calling out his name.

Suddenly I caught sight of something in a small inlet. A dark object was floating in the water a few feet below me, thumping and splashing. I wanted to jump in, but I wasn’t brave enough. I shouted to Mum a few yards up ahead. ‘I’ve found something!’

She slipped and dropped the torch. It rolled away but came to rest in a crevice between two rocks. She scrambled to her feet, picked up the torch, and lunged toward me. ‘Where? Where?’ Anxiously, she aimed the torch at the dark water beneath us. A tree trunk covered in seaweed was slamming into the rocks. ‘Oh Christ,’ she shouted. ‘Jesus fucking Christ.’

We clambered on. At the highest point she stopped and sent a beam of light skimming across the water. Her shouting had turned to pleading. I yelled out, ‘Dad-dad-daaaaad!’

Half walking, half running, we headed back home, torchlight bouncing over the path. I wanted to say something to help us catch our breath. Maybe Dad was already home. Maybe he’d taken another path. We’d probably just missed him along the way. Or maybe he’d swum right round the island, and now he was sitting at the kitchen table, wolfing down a bowl of soup.

The silence hit us in the face. Everything in the kitchen was just as we’d left it. The big pot of soup, his bowl, the spoon beside it. I almost forgot to breathe.

Mum moved like a restless animal that’s sensed a change in the weather. ‘Karl,’ she said. ‘I have to get Karl.’ The door handle rammed into the wall. Grains of plaster crumbled to the floor. I went to follow her, but she jabbed a pointed finger toward the kitchen. ‘Stay here, you.’

3

Now that I was alone, the cupboards around me seemed to grow taller. The bright kitchen light left dark specks floating in my eyes. I couldn’t bring myself to look at anything, didn’t dare sit down. It felt like I was being stared at from all sides. I switched off the big light and then the light in the hood above the cooker. I waited till my eyes got used to the dark, and crept upstairs.

Still wearing my boots, swimming trunks, and Dad’s jumper, I hid under the blanket. My breathing was ragged. When I closed my eyes, a pale shape appeared. I could see gulls circling around me, terns sitting on the rocks or diving for fish, and all the while that same pale shape. I switched on the bedside lamp, but that only scared me more, crushing any doubt that I might not be awake. I turned the lamp off and the shape returned. Other things, too: the towel that seemed further from the sea, a hand that would not break the surface. The pale shape blurred, grew vaguer. I pressed my fingers against my eyes till all I could see were flashes of light.

It was like I’d accidentally held a burning candle too close to the curtains, and there was no putting out the fire. Like I’d dropped something and it had shattered, something I wasn’t allowed to touch. I wanted a hand to slap me hard enough and long enough to start up that constant whistling in my ear. Once I’d been punished, it would all be okay again. Done and dusted.

Somewhere outside I could hear the engine of Karl’s cutter starting up. Pressing my ear to the mattress, the drone became clearer, as if someone was scratching at the underside of my bed.

Karl would turn on the big searchlight on top of his cabin and point it at the beach and the rocky inlets. From the water he would scan all the places we had searched, in the hope that we’d missed something. He’d sail further from the beach, past the rocks where it’s too dangerous to swim, and then further out. Perhaps he’d sail right round the island and then go round again, just in case, sailing in ever increasing circles till the waves grew too wild and the sea too big. Then he’d turn the wheel, look at Mum and shake his head.

No, no, no. They would find Dad. He would wave to them. He’d have found my red ball, he’d been able to hang on to it all along. And Dad wouldn’t need any help from anyone. He’d climb aboard all by himself.

4

A mosquito was whining its way into my ear. I woke with a start and crushed it. Turning on the bedside lamp, I saw wings, blood, and legs stuck to my finger.

Light was coming from downstairs, hurried footsteps across the floor, talk from the kitchen. The net around my chest tightened again. I leapt out of bed and ran downstairs.

Mum was standing at the sink with her back to me, the hair on her neck spiky with sweat. She was on the phone. Catching sight of me in the doorway behind her, she jumped but kept on talking.

The coastguard, harbours, ferry companies, the fish-processing plant, she called them all. It was the same conversation every time. Birk Hammermann was missing. At sea. No, further west. West of Tramsund. Early that evening, a few hours ago. Swimming. In which direction? No, no idea. Looked everywhere. No, it’s a small island, no other place he could be. Impossible to get lost, that’s how small it is. Wait? No, why? He must be at sea. The water’s cold. Search now before it’s too late. She spelled his name. ‘B-I-R-K, and Hammermann with two Ns.’ As if that would help them recognize him at sea. Then Mum gave our telephone number and begged them to call the moment there was any news. Without saying goodbye, she’d break the connection and start punching in a new number.

I was still standing by the door. She pressed her bony hands against my cheeks, trying to squeeze an answer from my mouth. ‘Where is Birk? Where is he?’ All I could do was cry.

‘Tell me.’ She forced her fists harder into my face. ‘Stop your blubbering. Tell me where Dad is.’

We went out searching, again and again. Each time I had to point out where we’d been sitting, and exactly where he’d gone into the water. The light from the torch grew dimmer. Mum shouted to Karl out in his boat, but he couldn’t hear her over the din of his engine. He kept on sailing in circles, churning up the water. A gull squawked from time to time. Back in the kitchen, the phone calls began again.

Gradually everything around us began to glow dark blue. Morning came unnoticed.

5

A helicopter flew over. Our whole house rattled. Trees thrashed around, shedding yellow leaves. Plastic garden chairs tumbled and flew into the hedge. The helicopter circled above the island and then swooped low across the waves, whipping up the surface of the water as if to expose what was underneath.

After a while, it flew back in our direction and hung for a short while above the grassy slope behind the house. It tried to land but didn’t seem able to. I could see two men behind the glass. They both raised a hand and flew off toward the horizon.

Later the coastguard called to say they had found nothing, and that the slope on our island was too steep for the helicopter. They needed to know the exact time of the disappearance to locate Dad in the current that had taken him out to sea. Mum looked at me.

‘What time did you last see Dad?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whispered, and began to cry again. ‘It was still light.’

‘Late afternoon, perhaps as late as six,’ she answered.

The coastguard said they would keep a lookout, and that all shipping had been notified.

Mum kept on phoning. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if they’d been stung. She repeated her story. The answer was always the same: ‘We’ll do what we can.’ Then she headed back outside, wearing Dad’s raincoat. I had to wait by the phone. As soon as she was gone, I retreated into the darkness of the cupboard under the stairs. When the telephone shattered the silence, I let it ring till it stopped all by itself.

Even in my hiding place, the pale shape reappeared. I pressed my fingers into my eyes till the pain made me cry out.

6

Karl knocked on the back door. Mum waved at me to open it.

Solemnly he took off his cap and shook my hand. The air around him was thick and tepid, his cheeks were bristly. He glanced around the kitchen and shrugged. ‘Nothing,’ he said, with a shake of his head. ‘Not a trace.’

We all looked in different directions.

‘They sometimes surface after three days or so,’ Karl said.

I saw Dad rising from the deep, the arc of a diver in reverse: world underwater swimming champion Birk Hammermann. We’d all applaud, and Mum would stick her fingers in her mouth and whistle, and I’d give it a go, too. They’d let me keep the fake gold medal, and everything would turn out all right.

‘Yeah,’ he continued. ‘And if they wash up on shore, they’re all swollen up like that dead seal a while back.’

Mum leaned stiffly against the sink. I tried to imagine how long a person could hold their breath.

‘There’s no knowing where, eh. Could be anywhere. Pull of the water. Currents are treacherous, he should’ve …’ He let the rest of his words evaporate. ‘He was… I mean is… a grown man.’

To prove how thoroughly he’d searched, he listed everything his nets had dredged up. ‘Planks, old nets, seaweed. A plastic crate I lost months ago,’ he chuckled. Flies were orbiting the kitchen light, spinning faster and faster, closing in on one another with a high-pitched buzz. There was no counting them.

Heaving a sigh, Karl looked at the pot of soup, still standing on the table since yesterday evening, along with the spoon and the empty bowl. The grey chunks of fish and broken strands of vermicelli had sunk to the bottom and fat glistened on the top. Karl scratched his head, stuck his little finger in his ear, and poked it around. He examined what his nail had scraped out and wiped it off on his trousers. ‘Can’t say I know what to do now,’ he murmured.

Mum had turned to face the window. She wanted Karl to leave, to go on searching, to turn the sea inside out. He didn’t get the message.

‘Nothing else left to do,’ he went on. ‘You saw the helicopter.’

Karl took hold of Dad’s chair, scraped it toward him, and sat down. The wickerwork seat creaked. He lowered his head. The flies had landed and were scuttling across the table. Nothing else in the kitchen moved.

Karl nodded toward the pot of soup. When I didn’t respond, he turned to Mum. His neck was covered in blond hair that disappeared beneath the grubby collar of his shirt. Mum used to cut his hair once in a while. He would sit there, bare-chested, on one of the kitchen chairs, his head bent forward as Mum ran the trimmer over his neck. He had one of those belly buttons that stick out a bit. Dad always went outside to chop wood when Karl dropped by for a haircut. After he’d swept up and Mum had tucked the trimmer back in the toilet bag, Karl would hang around the kitchen much longer than he needed to, shirtless.

Karl had pulled the soup bowl toward him. He eyed the spoon, turned it over between his fingers, and tapped it lightly on the table. ‘What can I do?’ he said. ‘I suppose I could let down my nets and sail round the island again.’ Mum didn’t answer.

I began to count. I’d nearly reached a hundred before Karl said, ‘Just don’t know what else to do.’ He stood up and said goodbye. Mum’s lips creased into a thin line.

The chug of Karl’s boat brought her back to life. She lifted the pot from the table and sloshed the soup down the toilet. She took a brick of soup out of the freezer, clattered it into the empty pot, and turned the gas on full. The block of ice steamed and shrank while she stared out the window.

‘We have to keep our strength up,’ she said. She ladled Dad’s bowl full and pushed it toward me. I’d rather have had a fresh one. ‘Even if you’re not hungry, you should try and eat something.’

‘You too,’ I said softly.

‘I can’t right now, love.’ Every word sounded like a gasp, as if she were forcing them out with the last of her breath.

‘What if I make you some soup?’ I asked.

Her gaze turned tender as a kiss.

‘You eat for both of us. Please. When Dad comes back, we’ll eat together again.’

Silently, I began to spoon. A few mouthfuls were all I could manage.

Without a word, Mum went into the hall, wriggled her feet into her boots, and disappeared outside.

As soon as I could no longer hear her, I went to the toilet and poured the rest of my soup away. I rinsed the soup bowl and the spoon under the tap, dried them, and put them back on the table, where they had spent one whole day waiting for Dad.

7

We drank our coffee, awkward, silent. I had never seen Mum smoke, yet here she was, lighting Dad’s cigarettes. She sucked fire into them expectantly, but after a couple of draws she let the fag end drop, hissing, into the last of her coffee. Stretching her arm, she slipped the pack back into the inside pocket of Dad’s raincoat, which was slung over his chair.

It wasn’t long before she fished the pack out again, and her trembling fingers slid a new cigarette between her lips. She saw me looking at her, and they curled into a smile as fragile as a Christmas-tree decoration, the kind you’re afraid might break before you even touch it.

I dashed upstairs to my room, took the atlas from my desk, sat down on the bed, and opened it on my lap. I flicked through the pages, so fast I accidentally tore one. At the back there were maps of the sea, covered in wavy lines with arrows at the end. I was looking for the map with our stretch of sea. Our island wasn’t on the map, but I knew where it was cos Dad had marked the spot with a little cross.

It was Dad who had taught me how to read the map, standing in the grass behind our house with the open atlas. From the top of the slope, we could see for miles.

‘Well? Where are they?’ I asked.

‘Currents aren’t something you can see, but they’re everywhere.’

‘Like God, you mean?’

He laughed. ‘That’s different.’

‘Different how?’

‘God is made up.’

‘And currents aren’t?’

‘No.’ He spread out his arms. ‘They’re everywhere.’

‘So how do you know they’re real?’

‘You can feel them.’

I nodded. I thought I understood. ‘If you can feel something, then it’s real.’

‘Something like that. Yes.’

I found the page with the little cross in the sea and traced my finger along the dark-blue lines in the water. Then I leafed through the other maps. The currents travelled halfway across the world, heading north, then arching right across the ocean to North America, down past Brazil, all the way down to Antarctica, and back. Eventually the currents came out not far from where they started. They came back to us.

That’s how Dad would come back, and when the time came, I had to be the first to spot him. I climbed up on my desk and took the binoculars down off the top shelf.

It was a clear day. My gaze flashed back and forth over the waves and I tried to adjust the focus. Something black shot up from beneath the surface and I dropped the binoculars in fright. It was only a stupid shag.

My eyes jumped and jerked across the endless grey. I sighted a sailing boat on the horizon. With the naked eye, the sail was as small as a folded piece of paper, but through the binoculars I could see someone standing under the boom in a red coat. Up front there was someone else in a blue coat. I fiddled with the focus and saw it was the jib in its plastic cover.

All at once I lost sight of the boat, and it took a while for me to find it again. I knew that mustn’t happen when Dad reappeared. When I shouted to Mum to come and see, I mustn’t accidentally move the binoculars and lose sight of him, so I practised on rocks, gulls, and a bit of floating timber. I lowered the binoculars and then tried to relocate what I’d been looking at as quickly as possible. To make it more real, I tried shouting. I was getting better and better at it, though the gulls were tricky cos they moved so fast and I could never really tell if I’d found the right one again.

The door swung open. Mum stood there, staring at me wide-eyed. She was wearing Dad’s nightshirt. I could see a bushy triangle of hair below it.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ she replied, breathless.

‘Nothing.’

‘Did you see something?’

‘No.’

‘But you were shouting.’

‘Wasn’t.’

‘But I heard you.’

‘I’m practising.’

‘For what?’

‘For when Dad comes back.’

She grabbed the binoculars, which were hanging from a cord around my neck, peered out to sea in no particular direction, and then let them fall. They slammed hard against my chest. It hurt, but I didn’t let on.

8

A blue boat came motoring toward us, POLICE in big letters on the bow. It had a steel arc at the back with aerials sticking out, a kind of lunchbox on a pole, and two blue lights that weren’t flashing. A searchlight was mounted on the roof of the cabin. Gulls came swooping in, thinking there was grub to be had. I chucked my binoculars on the bed, thundered down the stairs, and ran outside without my coat on.

The boat was already turning alongside the quay. The tyres on the bow scraped and groaned against the concrete. The engine sputtered. A boyish man in a baseball cap stood up front. You could tell right off he wasn’t important cos they only let him hold the rope. Another man came out of the cabin and held up his hand to me. He ducked back inside and came out again wearing a policeman’s cap. He was much more important, I reckoned. A third policeman stayed behind in the cabin.

‘Why didn’t you have the siren and the flashing lights on?’

The policeman with the cap smiled.

‘Because there’s no need.’

They let me take the rope and wrap it around the mooring post. I tied three different knots so they could see they weren’t just dealing with some dopey little kid.

‘That’s tight enough. We’re going to have to untie them in a bit.’ The policeman with the cap stepped over the rail and jumped onto the quay. ‘The Hammermanns?’

‘I’m the son.’

‘Sorry about your father.’

‘He’s called Birk,’ I said. ‘And Hammermann is with two Ns.’

‘Yep, that’s what we have here.’ He held up some papers that were stapled together.

‘Admundsen.’ He held out his hand to me. ‘You can call me Johan. I work for the police in Tramsund.’

‘I’m Mikael.’

Johan was tall and had nicks on his throat from shaving. ‘Clean cut,’ Mum would call it. A couple of dark hairs were sticking out of his nose. ‘So, here we are,’ he said as he looked around. ‘I’ve seen bigger places.’

‘Two houses.’

‘No one else?’

‘There’s a house over on the other side of the island, but it’s been empty for a few years. It used to be Miss Augusta’s.’

Smoke curled hesitantly from Karl’s chimney. He had closed the curtains in his kitchen and living room.

‘Who lives there?’

‘Our neighbour,’ I said.

‘So that must be your house,’ he said, pointing to ours.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Does your neighbour have a name?’

‘Karl.’

‘Karl what?’

‘Just Karl.’

‘And is this Karl at home?’

‘Do you want to talk to him?’

‘Maybe in a little while.’

I looked at his papers. ‘Shouldn’t you be writing stuff down?’

‘Like what?’

He saw me look startled. ‘Writing stuff down comes later. I can remember everything for now. First things first: can you take me to see your mother?’

‘What about those two?’

‘They’ll be all right where they are.’ The man from the cabin was leaning against the bow and pouring coffee from a thermos flask into a plastic cup. The boy who was only allowed to hold the rope was strolling across the quay, kicking stones as if they were in his way.

‘Before we go back, would you like to take a little trip with us?’

‘Maybe,’ I said, though I really, really wanted to.

Mum came running toward us, her eyebrows two desperate little arcs. ‘Is there any news?’

Johan shook his head. ‘’Fraid not. I’m sorry about your husband.’ He held out his hand. ‘Admundsen. I’m in charge of the investigation. I’ve come to take care of the formalities for the missing-at-sea report, and I have a few questions to ask you.’

Without looking at him, Mum gave Johan a limp handshake and trudged back to the house. I followed behind her with Johan. I felt a sudden urge to hold his hand but luckily I stopped myself just in time. He saw me looking up at him and gave me a friendly nod.

‘Am I interrupting your meal?’ Johan pointed at the soup bowl.

‘That’s for Dad,’ I said.

‘Naturally.’

I didn’t understand what he meant, so I said, ‘Yes, naturally.’

Dad had taught me that you’re supposed to offer visitors something to drink, but nothing too nice or you might never get rid of them. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘That’s nice of you.’

‘There’s some coffee left,’ said Mum.

‘Coffee would be just the ticket.’

‘What do you take?’

‘Sugar.’

I nodded and walked over to the sink.

‘I can drink it without, too.’

‘You want sugar, you’ll get sugar,’ said Mum.

It was only when we had visitors from somewhere else that I noticed how different our words sounded. Outsiders spoke more forcefully, and their voices took a funny turn at the end of their sentences. Mum could talk like that, too. ‘Town talk’ Dad called it, and always gave her a kiss as soon as he’d said it cos he knew she didn’t like it. ‘I didn’t learn much from my mother, but at least she taught me to speak properly,’ she’d say, pushing Dad away, though she’d end up letting him kiss her neck anyway.

Johan sighed. ‘So… no news for the time being, it pains me to say.’

Mum stared straight at him.

‘It’s been forty-eight hours. The sea is a big place, Mrs Hammermann. But we’re doing our best. Everyone is hoping for a miracle or suchlike.’

‘Suchlike?’

‘The strangest things happen. You’d be surprised.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Sometimes people turn up out of nowhere. Things aren’t always what they seem.’

‘My son was there when it happened.’ She pointed at the sea. ‘That’s where my husband is.’ She’d slipped from her town accent back into her normal way of talking.

I put a mug of coffee on the table and fetched the sugar bowl from the cupboard. Johan flickered a faint smile at me and unfolded his papers.

‘Let’s hope for a miracle.’ He took a sip of coffee, even though it was still far too hot and he hadn’t put any sugar in it. ‘Right, then, we’ll start with the details.’ Like the man on the news, he began to read out what was on the paper. ‘Birk Hammermann, born 22 April 1963. Married to Dora Hammermann. That’s you.’ He nodded at Mum. ‘Missing since the evening before last. Your report came in at forty-six minutes past eight. The coastguard was notified at twelve minutes past nine, after which time the standard procedure for “person missing at sea” was initiated. Yesterday morning a fellow officer attempted to make a landing on the island in the coastguard helicopter but unfortunately this did not prove possible. Okay… And then we have your witness statement.’

Mum breathed heavily through her nose.

‘To enable us to obtain a full picture, could you tell me once again exactly what happened?’

‘You already know what happened.’

‘Please, tell us again,’ he said. ‘So we have the full picture. It’s standard procedure in cases like this.’

Mum snatched the papers from his hand and clutched them to her chest. ‘You’re giving up your search?’

‘May I have my forms back?’

‘What exactly are you doing?’

‘Everything in our power, Mrs Hammermann.’

‘And that is?’

‘Shipping has been notified. The coastguard has been conducting a search with two boats and a helicopter and a heat sensor. But due to the currents…’

Mum kicked the table leg, sending coffee spilling over the brim of the mug. ‘I insist you keep on searching.’

Johan got up, walked over to Mum, and carefully removed the crumpled papers from her hands. For a moment no one made a sound. ‘Your son is the last person to have seen him?’ Mum crossed her arms and held them high against her chest. Johan turned to me.

‘You were there with you father. What happened? Can you tell me?’

‘Maybe.’

He looked back at Mum. ‘May I speak to your son alone for a moment?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I should be here with him.’

‘He’ll be all right on his own for a minute or two. Why don’t you step into the hall and I’ll call you when you’re needed.’

Mum didn’t budge.

‘Please, Mrs Hammermann. We want to find your husband as much as you do.’

She left the room but stood in the hall listening. I could see her face, distorted by the pebbled glass window in the door.

‘Sorry about Mum,’ I whispered.

‘It’s completely understandable. She’s upset. It’s no small matter, losing your husband.’

‘Dad isn’t lost.’

He bent down toward me. I caught the glint of a gold chain between two buttons of his shirt.

‘You don’t think so?’

I stared at the tabletop. ‘No.’

‘Well,’ Johan continued. ‘Tell me. How old are you?’

‘Nine.’

He nodded as if I’d said something very important.

‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

‘Dad teaches me everything.’

‘Everything?’

‘Yes, we’ve got schoolbooks for arithmetic, English, geography, all sorts. A couple of hours a day. They send me tests every three months. Do you want to see them?’ I was giving him my very best attempt at town talk.

‘In a little while, perhaps. First we need to talk about what happened the day before yesterday. Do you remember what time it was?’

I was a bit shaken to find that we were talking about Dad again. ‘It was almost evening, I think.’

‘And you were there when he drowned.’

‘You’re not allowed to say that,’ I hissed.

‘So what did happen?’

‘He was swimming underwater for a while. All of a sudden.’

‘For a while? And then he came back up again?’

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Did he come up again?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Try to remember as clearly as you can. Did your father shout anything?’

‘I was playing football.’

‘With him?’

‘On my own.’

‘Where exactly?’

‘There.’ I pointed in the direction of the rocks and the beach.

‘And then?’

‘Nothing.’

‘So after you played football you did nothing?’

I shook my head.

‘And where was your father at this point?’

‘Over by the towels.’

‘And then he went for a swim?’

I wanted to say something, but other words kept getting in the way.

‘Was anyone else there?’

‘Just us.’

‘Your neighbour?’

‘No.’

He clicked his pen but he still hadn’t written anything down. I needed to look at something solid and hold onto it with my eyes. The table. A wall. A block of concrete would be best. ‘He was a white shape underwater.’

Johan nodded.

‘After a while I couldn’t see him anymore.’

‘And then he was gone?’

Mum swung the door open.

‘Mrs Hammermann, would you please stay in the hall just a moment longer?’

‘You know all you need to know.’

‘Madam, please!’

‘You’ve already heard all this from me, haven’t you?’

They glared at each other.

‘Fair enough,’ he sighed. ‘Let’s leave it at that for now.’

He clicked his pen and scribbled the word Drowning inside a big box on the form. One word in an expanse of white. ‘Your son has been a big help.’ He handed Mum his pen. ‘Could you sign here, please?’

She left a jagged scribble on the line he’d been pointing at. I noticed he’d spelled my name wrong: Michael.

‘Are there any other family members?’

‘Why?’

‘Parents still alive? Brothers or sisters?’

‘Only my mother, I think. We’re not on speaking terms.’

Johan nodded.

‘Circumstances,’ said Mum. ‘It’s personal.’

‘Yes, naturally.’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘A formality. Only asking because we might be able to help track people down, inform them.’

‘The only person you need to track down is my husband.’

‘If you need any help at all, please contact us.’ He shook Mum’s hand and then mine. ‘All the very best. I, or one of my colleagues, will be in touch if there are any developments.’ He put on his cap and left the house without a backward glance. On the quay he said something to one of the other policemen, who was trying to clean the portholes with a dirty rag. Johan stepped over the rail, went into the cabin, and emerged with a new set of papers in his hand. He strode up to Karl’s house, knocked on the door, and took a step back.

After waiting a while, he knocked again. The curtains stayed closed. He hunched his shoulders and walked off under the overhanging branches in the front garden. When he reappeared round the other side of the house, he knocked on the door again. Karl didn’t open. Johan leaned against the wall with his papers and wrote something on them, then folded them in half and slid them under the door. On his way past Karl’s cutter he gave the bow a couple of thumps.

The boy from the police boat had trouble undoing the knots cos I’d done such a good job of fastening them. I hoped Johan would notice and take me with him from now on to tie their ropes.

They sailed slowly out of the bay. I ran upstairs so I could follow them for a while through my binoculars. The sky was as grey as the sea. A container ship crawled across the horizon.