by Rachael Blok
‘I’ve had better days,’ Ebba says. ‘But all in all, you bloody well saved all of our lives. Thank Christ you were there. Honestly, Filip. I’ve never seen anything like it. You became like Superman. A proper fucking modern-day hero.’ She bursts into tears.
‘Well,’ he says, ‘I bet Superman could manage a better cup of coffee. I’ve just given you something that tastes like soil. I’ll make some more. I hate tea.’
Still crying, she manages a laugh, and wipes snot and tears away with both her hands. ‘I’m a mess. Honestly. You’re a fucking superhero and I’m a total mess.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Lois says. ‘You looked worse an hour ago.’
‘We made an effort for Halloween?’ Filip says, laughing too. The knots that are wound tight in his stomach need unclenching, and the three of them clutch mugs and their laughter becomes hysterical.
‘And to think,’ Ebba says, ‘I was worried my witch costume wouldn’t be sexy enough for the party we were supposed to have.’
‘How about this?’ Filip says, lifting back his jacket and showing them the bandage that dresses his shoulder wound, red seeping through. ‘Blood-soaked enough for trick or treats?’
‘Think the little kids might cry? I could carry a pumpkin, offset the dried blood?’ Ebba gestures to the cuts on her head. ‘Christ,’ she says again.
She holds Filip’s hand, squeezing it tight. ‘I’m not kidding, Filip, thank you. I was only just working out what the hell had happened when you carried Marieke out. Seconds later and you and Richard would have been in the explosion. If you’d not been in there, pulling us all out, making us act, we might have just sat there waiting to be saved. I owe you my life.’
Filip shakes his head. How could he have ever thought Ebba intimidating? What has he been thinking of these past few months? This life is not to be taken for granted. These people are not his enemies. They’re alive, which is what counts. Most of them.
He will call Ruben. He will call him tonight and tell him to release the signatures. He believes in the product. It’s time to stop worrying.
Lois checks her phone. ‘Richard hasn’t regained consciousness yet.’
‘Oh God, do they think he will?’ Ebba asks.
Lois shrugs. ‘He’s breathing on his own, his back is OK. He’s just not awake.’
Ebba closes her eyes. ‘Fuck.’
‘Poor Sarah,’ Filip says. He thinks of her laughing last night. There’d been something, though – Aksel had offered Richard his hand at some point before dinner and Richard hadn’t taken it. There is so much from last night he doesn’t remember. His brain had been alcohol soaked. Kak, he’d even arrived drunk.
Yesterday, he’d been swamped with a sense of nothingness, of numbness. Of thinking that life held nothing for him.
And now, his blood rages round his veins as though his life has been given back to him, anew.
Aksel’s mouth had already been cold when he’d leaned in. Two rescue breaths, then he’d begun on his chest. He’d felt the ribs breaking beneath his hands as he’d pummelled. He’d known from that first touch that Aksel had already been dead. He hadn’t given up. The rhythmic presses, the pressure. His shoulders still ache.
He’d stopped when the paramedics had arrived and taken over.
But the taste of his mouth – he was giving the last kiss to a dead man.
Aksel was dead before the crash, he’s convinced of it. He’s heard discussion, the police, the doctors… Aksel had died in an unfortunate crash, and how sad. But it just doesn’t feel right to Filip. Those lips. They’d been so cold. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d died before the helicopter hit the ground.
‘What happened to Aksel? Does anyone know?’ Ebba speaks, her eyes still closed. ‘Was there something wrong with the helicopter? I wondered if he’d stood up to tell us?’ She pulls her legs up on the chair and circles her arms around them. Her face is covered in tiny pieces of tape, pulling together cuts, preventing scars.
‘He stood up?’ Lois says. ‘I heard you say it before. He stood up when the helicopter was taking off?’
‘I think a heart attack,’ Ebba says. ‘It looked like a heart attack.’
There’s silence for a few seconds. Filip thinks of the screaming on board. He’d never seen anyone have a heart attack, but it didn’t look how he’d imagined a heart attack would look. ‘Maybe food poisoning? He clutched his stomach. Maybe a poison?’
‘No.’ Ebba shakes her head. ‘It looked like a heart attack. And if it was food poisoning then we would all have had it.’
Filip nods. He thinks of Aksel. He’d clutched at Filip, and Filip had been unable to do anything. He wished he could remember clearly what Aksel had said. Something uneasy is circling. Something dark.
‘Unless… Well, you know there was another letter delivered last night? To the house? To Marieke?’ Ebba speaks slowly.
Filip wants to speak, to say something, but he’s not sure what it is. There’s something he knows about the letters, and it’s stuck in his brain.
Lois’s mouth falls open. ‘You mean it might have happened on purpose? That it might have been someone’s plan? God, Ebba. You just need to leave it to the police.’
Filip shakes his head. This idea that the sender of the letters had something to do with the helicopter feels wrong, but he doesn’t know why. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
‘I…’ Ebba starts to say something, but Lois stops her.
‘Ebbs.’ Lois’s voice is gentle. ‘The police will work it all out. We don’t know anything yet.’
‘No, Lois. If someone has tried to kill Marieke, and Aksel has died instead, we need to face it. The sooner we find out who has been sending those letters, the better. It could be anyone!’
Filip’s filled with a dread that he can taste, viscous, like a glue, stuck to his tongue. What does he know about the letters? He needs to remember. His heart beats quickly. He needs to remember. Soon.
50
LOIS
Lois makes her way to the kitchen, filling a glass with water and drinking it straight down, then filling another.
There must be answers to the questions, bright in her head.
Had she really seen Iqbal hit Maarten last night? She still can’t quite believe it. She’d been out in the amphitheatre, standing by the steps, following a shadow in the dark, and there’d been a sound.
Swirling, she’d seen Maarten. She called out to him, but then there’d been a flash of movement in the pale light and Maarten had fallen.
The shock of it had made her stand for a second, stunned. Petrified. None of it makes any sense. Why would Iqbal hit Maarten?
The water is cold and she needs more. The smoke has made its way down into her belly and she wants it washed clean.
This idea that Ebba had mentioned. That what happened this afternoon might not be just an accident…
If Iqbal had committed that act, then what else had he done?
She can’t believe it. Ebba had almost died.
The glass clinks in the dark as it makes contact with the hard white of the ceramic sink.
She waits until the silence of the kitchen is so intense she can almost hear the blink of the clock on the oven, and then she steps over the flagstones towards the stairs.
*
The dark of her room is heady and hot. Opening the window, she leans out and drinks in the night air. The cold is a relief.
Lois realises she needs to get some sort of plan ready. Their future, the company, which she had confidently left to Ebba, is now hanging, dangling from a cliff face.
Ebba has thrown everything behind Archipelago. For all her polished performance the last few months, Lois has seen her taking sleeping pills, seen her sitting in her office until late at night. She’s been drinking real coffee, which she never does. Her nails are bitten, beneath the shiny professional job.
And after what happened to their father, the business drive lies in Ebba, like an inherited bone.
Lois thinks the stress lies there too. If the deal collapses – their future, their house, everything they’ve worked for along with it – will Ebba collapse?
She forces herself to confront the awful truth. Aksel is dead. A great sadness wells up in her, but she focuses on the details. Where does that leave Archipelago? Does that mean his signature means nothing? No, although Aksel is the owner, his signature commits his company. The agreements with his company are binding. She’ll need to make sure it’s not railroaded. So much rests on this.
She will ask Filip for his help. She doesn’t know the differences in the distribution deal, but she will ask Filip to release his signature and promise him that she will make it fair. She can do this.
But she needs to get to the bottom of this quickly. Before the delay becomes public and the other parties find out. Before Ebba is hit with the full weight of it. She needs to find a way out for Ebba. If the deal dies, she doesn’t want to lose Ebba, too.
Lying back, she tries to imagine actually killing someone. Could she?
She thinks of the baby growing inside her. Already, she thinks she could kill to save her baby.
So does that mean it could have been Iqbal? Can anyone kill, given the right motive: jealousy, power, love…?
She looks at the clock. It’s 3 a.m.; she has until 7 a.m. Monday morning, before the stock market opens in Norway, the Netherlands and later here. She has twenty-seven hours. To stop it all falling apart.
There is a knock on her door.
‘Hello?’ she says, opening it a fraction, angry that she’s afraid to open the door in her own home.
‘Lois? It’s Marieke. Can I come in for a bit? I went to my room, but it’s difficult to settle. Just for five minutes, can we talk normally? Like nothing extraordinary happened this weekend?’
‘Of course.’ Lois opens the door and walks back to the bed. ‘It’s been unreal. I read that letter. If I were you, I’d be frightened. Can I get you a drink? A hot chocolate?’
But Marieke is still standing by the door, her mouth open. ‘Lois. That top.’
Lois glances down. She’s wearing the T-shirt she’d borrowed after her one-night stand at the conference. She’d never given it back. She’s been wearing it to bed since the test result. She wants the baby to feel it has a mother and a father. Silly, really.
‘Yes?’ she says.
Marieke clutches the door. ‘Oh my God, Lois. It’s Aksel’s shirt. It’s his hockey number. Aksel is the father, isn’t he? Oh, Lois.’
Clutching at the shirt, Lois stares at Marieke, scared she’ll judge her.
Then the grief, like a wave, rolls up and out. She stumbles towards her, finally able to tell it all.
51
FILIP
Sleep will not come. Filip lies in bed, listening to Sophie breathe. He’s convinced she’s awake.
‘Filip?’ Sophie sits up, confirming it. ‘I keep thinking about you on that helicopter. I keep thinking about the flames. About Aksel, dying.’
The clock above the fire chimes gently: 4 a.m. He puts his arm around her. Pulls her in close.
‘I’m pleased you came back to me,’ she says, her voice speaking into his chest. His Sophie. Although he still can’t remember what they talked about after Friday’s dinner, he had awoken on Saturday to feel they were united. Now it’s early Sunday morning. Less than thirty-six hours, and so much has happened.
‘God, Filip. What a nightmare this has all been. These last six months, this weekend.’
He holds her close.
She pulls back. Stares at him. ‘You don’t remember anything I told you in that amphitheatre, do you?’
He shakes his head, bites his lip. ‘I’m so sorry! Please, tell me again.’
‘Oh, Filip, why would I think you would, after the crash! I thought you’d died. I thought my life was over, without you.’ She looks down. ‘But the last months. Well, you shut me down, shut me out.’ Her words sound as though they were once angry, but her voice is empty of it now; quiet in the early morning hours. It’s like she’s learning lines to a powerful argument – the words come from her mouth but land flatly, almost a whisper. She touches his face. There are tears in her eyes.
‘I don’t…’ He really doesn’t know what to say. All he had ever done was love her and not be enough. Whatever they had said on Friday night had fixed them. He’s nervous he will undo it all.
‘We went over it all. Sitting under a tree, on the wet grass.’
She sinks her chin lower still, head hanging, more defeated than anyone he has seen.
‘I’d tried everything, Filip. Filip. Filip.’
She says his name over and over, and each time sounds hollower than the last.
A flicker in the back of his mind. A tree had brushed his head and he’d been holding her hand. It had been dark. He’d been dizzy. His feet had been wet.
What had she said?
Clarity arrives, like a shot of ice.
She had told him who had sent the letters.
His head had ached, and he’d thrown up under a tree. She’d stroked his back. He’d said over and over how sorry he was. Sorry, Sophie. Sorry.
Despite the damp, he’d sat back against a tree. Everything had spun, and the night had been cold and dark.
‘It was me, Filip,’ she’d said. The words soft but clear in the dark. ‘I guessed you were having an affair. I listened to you, watched you. How much brighter your face was after you’d seen her. How much you mentioned her, how much you checked your phone… I knew. And I had just started to feel dead about us. I tried not to care, but I cared. I just had to get her away from you. And you were seeing her all the time, over this fucking business agreement…’
‘But you… But you didn’t want me?’ he had said. Echoes of it leave his mouth now. ‘You want me?’
‘When did I ever say I didn’t?’
The news that she might be jealous of Marieke had been so startling, he’d lost the grain of something important in the exchange.
He’d been sick again, and then he couldn’t remember a single word.
What has he caused? ‘Oh my God. This is serious. We need to move quickly.’ He thinks fast. ‘Are there any more letters?’
‘I have two more,’ she says, fear in her voice. ‘I thought of ripping them up, putting them in the bin… but what if they find them? They’re searching for a murderer now! I had nothing to do with the helicopter. Christ…’
‘Give them to me, any more you have,’ he says quickly. ‘The paper, the pen… Now.’
He bends, lighting the fire in the grate.
‘Is that all of them?’
She hesitates. ‘No. I planted one for the mat on Friday night. I had a cigarette outside with one of the catering girls. I knew she’d do it.’
‘Fuck, Sophie. The police have that letter!’
Crying now, she pulls out letters from her suitcase, wet with her tears, soggy at the edges. ‘I wondered – I searched in her room, when you were all at the hospital. I didn’t mean any of this. I just said stupid stuff. I called her a whore. I wanted to hurt her. I thought maybe she’d disappear from view. From you.’
Handfuls burn and hiss. And he fights a thought, What if Sophie is responsible for it all? But he silences this, like you tell yourself the noises in the night aren’t real.
‘I wore gloves, to hide fingerprints,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. I just wanted her to be afraid. As frightened as I was, when I thought I might lose you. Everyone wants something from me. You made me feel like I didn’t need to be anyone except myself.’
‘Sophie, no! I only talked to Marieke, she’s been my friend – how could you think anything else?’ He shakes his head. ‘I’ve always wanted you, Sophie. Always. I didn’t dare touch you because I thought you couldn’t want me—? I’ve been consumed with self-doubt. I can’t… I can’t perform.’
‘Oh, Filip. I just want you back. I want you to talk to me again!’
>
Slowly, he shuffles next to her. With a tenderness he never thought he was capable of, he strokes her cheek. ‘I’ll never leave you.’ He curls an arm around her. She lowers her head to his shoulder, and they sit and stare at the fireplace, where the flames eat the paper.
‘Even if it’s not sex, you can betray me, Filip. When you talked to her, it made me feel so alone. Even when I tried my hardest to get your attention, you couldn’t seem to hold it for me. You’d phone her before you’d phone me. You saved your smiles for her. She’s been the one you’ve turned to. Not me.’
‘I’ve let you down,’ he whispers. ‘Not any more. Not any more.’
52
MAARTEN
‘Sir!’ Adrika shouts, running into his office. He’d gone back to finish up the paperwork on the incident scene. So far there was nothing suspicious about the helicopter crash.
‘We’ve got them!’ She slows, slapping down a printout. ‘The results came back – they can’t identify what it is yet, they will need longer. But there’s something in his blood – some toxin. They think it’s plant based.’
‘This is it!’ Excitement lifts him off the chair, and he calls out across the open-plan floor to Sunny, who sits, white as a sheet, lack of sleep slowing him like a clock winding down, going over the interviews from earlier.
‘Get your Bible, Sunny, I’m sending you out to the magistrate’s house now. You should be able to get there in about thirty minutes. Adrika, can you amend the application form for the search warrant with the forensic info?’
She nods and is already moving backwards, turning to the computer.
‘I’ll call now. If we can get a search warrant signed within the hour, we should be able to get a team going soon.’
Lifting the phone, he thinks of the lawn, of the croissants on the table, of the cocktail glasses. ‘Adrika, can you call back and find out if there was the same toxin on the cocktail glasses? The glass that Aksel drank out of could be a match with the toxin in his blood. Now I think about it, I don’t think the glass he drank out of was his glass – it was Marieke’s. Maybe a poison was intended for Marieke? Maybe it was given to Aksel when the glasses were switched?’