“Too busy spending your evenings on the sofa next to Mr. Right? Doesn’t sound very exciting.”
“I have a very boring life,” she joked.
Saskia walked on, chuckling to herself.
10
Ralf walked through the entrance to the apartment block, sprinted up the concrete staircase two steps at a time, and briefly pushed the bell. He looked around nervously, pulling up the collar of his jacket.
Jeffrey opened the door. “What’s going on, dude? Why did you want me to wait for you?”
“I need something,” said Ralf quietly. He scratched his neck.
Jeffrey stepped over the threshold and looked left and right to make sure that Ralf was alone. “Come in.”
Ralf followed him into the living room. It was smoky and it stank. The coffee table was covered in empty beer cans and full ashtrays. The curtains were drawn, and a strip of sunlight illuminated the filthy floor. On Tuesday, the twins had been lying in a crib in the corner of the room; now, an old racing bike was leaning against the wall instead.
“Where’s Denise?” he asked purely for form’s sake.
“Gone. At her mother’s place. Took the kids.” Jeffrey plopped down on the leather sofa and started rolling a joint.
“Shit, man.”
“She’ll be back. What do you need?”
Ralf looked at the floor.
“I don’t have any work for you, I already told you,” said Jeffrey. “Sorry. There’s a lot of—”
“It’s not about work.”
“What is it about, then?” He picked up his joint like a pen and held it up. “You don’t smoke, right?”
Ralf shook his head. Glanced at his sneakers and rubbed the back of his hand over his nose. “I need a gun.”
11
“How come you were so late this morning?” Lex was walking alongside Helen as she left the hospital.
“I fainted on the way to the ward.”
“So I heard. Any idea why?”
“No.”
“Of course you know; come on.” He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her to a stop.
“I had a panic attack. It’s all getting a bit much for me, I think—everything all at once. The kids, chores, work.”
His hands slid down to her arms. Lingered there for a moment. Then he let her go, as if he’d suddenly realized that his touch was too intimate. He kept looking at her. “Why don’t you take some time off and rest?”
“I already am. Werner and I are leaving tomorrow for a few days in England.”
“A few days,” he scoffed. “That’s not resting. Resting is doing absolutely nothing for as long as it takes you to get bored.”
“Are you saying I should go on sick leave? There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“If you’re fainting at work from stress, that means there’s something wrong. You know that as well as I do.”
She turned her face aside. “It’ll pass.”
“When?”
“At some point.” It came out as a squeak.
“You look so sad all of a sudden.”
“The kids are having a movie night, and Werner has to work.” Why did I say that?
“And you’re getting kicked out.”
“So it seems.”
Lex’s expression shifted. He looked around pensively. Rubbed his forehead. “Helen, I’ve asked you before if you wanted to come out with me for dinner or a drink.” He lifted his hand apologetically. “You didn’t want to, and I understand why. You’re married, I’m single, people talk . . . But I don’t see any harm in it. Really.”
She was silent for a moment, allowed his words to sink in. “Maybe you’re right,” she said softly.
His face brightened. “So you’ll come out with me?”
“Just for dinner, OK?”
“Of course. What else did you think we were going to do?”
Despite everything, she had to smile.
12
What was that all about, Ralf?
Such a joke.
Ralf scrolled somberly through the messages Naomi had sent him over the last hour. Floris and Sara hadn’t split a taxi with her. After his sudden departure, they’d become totally absorbed with each other and had barely noticed that Naomi was still there. She’d gone home on the bus. Alone.
Ralf liked Sara less and less. But he was the one who had disappeared so abruptly.
Sorry. I mean it. I’ll make it up to you.
Ralf laid his phone on the passenger seat next to him and looked through the window. His car was parked on a small shoulder. Diagonally opposite, close to the road and partly concealed behind tall trees and perfectly maintained boxwoods, stood a large, thatched farmhouse. “The Horn of Plenty” was written on the roof in illuminated lettering. This was the biggest of the four restaurants. Brian used to work here. At the front, the building bordered slightly on the road. To its left was a broad driveway, and immediately behind that was a large parking lot surrounded by shrubs and a tall hedge. The office was also at the back, as Ralf knew, with a separate entrance.
It was a gamble, but there was a good chance Werner Möhring would finish his rounds here. And then he would have the daily takings for all four restaurants with him.
Ralf’s phone buzzed again.
I’m not that kind of girl.
He immediately tapped out a reply.
I know.
Ralf sat and stared at his phone. No response. His thumbs hovered over the screen as if paralyzed. She had read his message, but she wasn’t answering.
He pursed his lips and typed:
I care about you.
He had never said that to a girl before, let alone admitted it in writing. But she wouldn’t know that, of course.
Ralf started his car and drove off. As the restaurant shrank in his rearview mirror, Tupac’s voice played from the speakers, singing about how all he needed was his girlfriend. Girlfriend was a metaphor, Ralf knew—the song was really an ode to a firearm. Ralf would much rather have a flesh-and-blood girlfriend than the beaten-up piece of crap currently sitting in his glove compartment. He could smell the faint odor of oil and metal. Once he had used it, he would dump it somewhere. Tonight would be the first and also the last time in his life that he would aim a gun at somebody.
13
Helen examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Foundation, mascara, lip gloss. That should be more than enough: she was just going out for something to eat with a good friend. A friend who saw her every day without a trace of makeup on and wearing a shapeless blue uniform with a stupid cap on her head, for that matter. So why did she feel the need to add a touch of eyeliner now?
She walked back into the bedroom. There were four outfits lying on the bed. She still hadn’t made a decision. Jeans or a dress? High heels or suede ankle boots?
Friends, Helen. You’re going out for dinner as friends.
In the end, she opted for a dress. Green, not too tight, with low heels on her feet. A few bracelets. She spun around in front of the mirror. Perfect. Feminine, but not too feminine.
“Mom, I’m heading out now.” Thom stuck his head through the bedroom door.
She walked over to him and gave him a hug. He was getting tall—already taller than she was. She felt his firm shoulders, the emerging strength of his young body. A little while longer and Thom would be a man. It was suddenly all happening so fast. “Have fun tonight. We won’t see each other again before I leave for England. Promise you’ll do everything your grandma and grandpa say?”
He sighed deeply. “When are we gonna be allowed to stay home on our own? We can totally look after ourselves.”
“You’re not quite old enough for that yet.”
“Mom, we won’t do anything stupid.”
She stroked his hair. “It’s not about whether I trust you. I’m just worried that something might happen if we aren’t here.”
“Mooom.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course nothing will happen.”
“There
could always—”
“Mom, listen.” He looked at her, deadly serious. “You always get overprotective like this. Nothing has ever happened here, and nothing ever will.”
“Thom—” She swallowed. “There was a break-in at the neighbors’ place last week.”
“Yeah, while they were out. And we have an alarm.”
That you always forget to switch on. “Be patient. Just a few more years,” she said.
Helen watched her son as he walked down the hall. Excited voices came from downstairs. Jackie and Floris were already here and had brought a stack of horror movies with them. The oven was on, and the smell of pizza filled the house.
The kids made everything sound so simple, so carefree. It had all been so simple to her too when she was that age. The whole world lay in front of you; everything was still possible.
And now?
Things only got more and more complicated.
She took a deep breath and hung the rejected outfits back in the closet. For the kids, life not only seemed easy—it was easy. Everything had carried on the same way for the children precisely because she and Werner had chosen to solve this problem together. Werner’s decision meant they hadn’t been exposed to the media, the courts, or the judgment of their classmates, teachers, neighbors, and strangers at the supermarket. And even more important, not to fathers, uncles, brothers, nephews, or short-tempered friends out for revenge.
She had to hand it to Werner—he’d been right after all.
14
On the big flat-screen TV, a girl walked through a dark forest. The camera switched to a lower angle and began to creep toward her. Music swelled, grew louder, sped up. The girl looked around fearfully.
“I can’t watch,” squeaked Naomi, grabbing hold of him.
She was no longer angry; Ralf had told her that he’d forgotten about an appointment for his course, and she’d believed him.
He felt her breath against his belly. Her long, smooth hair fell over his lap. He looked down. His breath caught, and he immediately turned his face away.
Don’t think about it.
According to the clock on the mantel, it was ten thirty. Sara and Floris had gone upstairs at the start of the evening. Jackie and her boyfriend were just coming back down. And now it was his turn to make a move.
He leaned forward. Whispered, “Should we . . . ?”
She looked up at him, her eyes glittering, and the corners of her mouth curled upward.
He held her hand and led her up the stairs. With each step, he felt the tension ratchet up. Brian had been here eight days ago. Coked-up and still in one piece, he had followed Werner Möhring up this very staircase. Ralf looked around curiously, warily. They reached a large square hallway with a high ceiling. There was a chandelier hanging from it. To the right was a long, narrow corridor lined with doors on either side, and another at the end.
Naomi’s slim hands found their way underneath his T-shirt. Her fingertips caressed his belly, explored his back. His body responded automatically, but his mind was elsewhere. He stared down the long hallway, illuminated here and there with wall lamps. The second door on the left was ajar.
“That’s Sara’s room,” whispered Naomi.
“I want to look inside all of them,” he heard himself say. His voice was strained. He continued to take in his surroundings. Searching for a clue.
“Huh? You can’t do that!”
“It can’t hurt to look, can it?”
She followed close behind as he opened door after door. Thom’s room was sparsely decorated and had a video-game console. Emma’s looked like a bomb had gone off: makeup, clothing, and schoolbooks everywhere. A guest room with a queen-size bed. A black-and-white bathroom, so big that the one at his parents’ house would fit inside it four times over. It didn’t have a washing machine—he found that in a separate room, behind a door with a sign saying “Laundry.” Sara’s parents slept at the very end of the hall, it seemed. He flicked the light switch on.
“Wow,” whispered Naomi.
The room was spacious and impressive, with a high, white, beamed ceiling that tapered to a point—you could see the ridge of the roof. On the right was a large bed with a chic quilt. There was a patchwork rug on the floor, and on the left stood a few smaller items of furniture beneath an overhanging wall. He walked through the room, poking through the contents, unsure what he was searching for. Had Werner run up here, into this room? Had the shots been fired in here? A good deal of time had passed between the men running upstairs and the gunshots ringing out. They could have been anywhere in the house by then. The kitchen, the living room, the garage . . .
“Should we go to Sara’s room?” Naomi insisted.
He pretended not to hear and pushed the closet open.
“What are you doing?”
Men’s clothes. Suit jackets, shirts, arranged by color. He crouched down. Drawers full of socks and underwear. To the left of the dresser was a safe with a keypad. The panel was black and the size of a large shoebox. Ralf feverishly tapped in a few obvious codes—0000, the postal code, 1234—but nothing happened.
“Ralf? This is messed up, Ralf. We shouldn’t be in here.” She sounded panicky, but he barely noticed.
Was this where Werner kept his cash? And the gun that killed Brian?
“Stop it!”
He grabbed the safe and tried to lift it. The metal block didn’t budge. It was anchored to the floor.
“Are you trying to rob Sara’s family or something? You’re crazy!” Naomi tugged at his shoulder, then grabbed his arm with both hands and hauled him away from the safe.
He scrambled to his feet. “Calm down, OK? I’m not doing anything.”
“You call that nothing? That’s private, man. It’s their stuff.” She looked at him breathlessly, her cheeks flushed with exertion. “What are you looking for?”
“Nothing. I’m just curious.”
15
She was so used to her colleagues’ baggy uniforms that it had initially felt strange to see Lex sitting opposite her in his normal clothes. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a blue cardigan that suited him perfectly. His short brown hair was graying slightly at the temples. In addition to his dark eyes and his surname, he had inherited his hair color from his grandfather—Carlito Melo, a Brazilian sailor who had started a family in the Netherlands, but who hadn’t let that stop him from embarking on intimate relationships in other countries too. Lex’s father had ended up with half brothers and half sisters all over the world.
Helen used her spoon to break the caramelized sugar on her crème brûlée. “Your childhood sounds very exotic.”
“It was completely normal other than that. We mainly kept in touch via letters and photos.” He put his dessertspoon down on his plate. “My own father was a good deal less adventurous than my granddad. He thought Belgium was far away. We only ever went on one trip, when we stayed with a half uncle in Italy.”
“I always used to be jealous of children from big families.”
“They were probably jealous of you, because you had your mother’s full attention and you didn’t have to share your bedroom. Or wear your sisters’ hand-me-downs.”
“I never thought of it like that before.” Helen had to raise her voice to be heard. The Last Stand was one of the most popular bistros downtown. The food was tasty, and despite the crowds and the chaotic service, it always had a good atmosphere. There had been only one table left when they arrived—tucked away in a dimly lit corner close to the coatracks—but it didn’t matter. Lex was great company. There were no awkward silences; one topic of conversation flowed seamlessly into the next. Helen enjoyed listening to him but realized that she perhaps liked looking at him even more. He gestured enthusiastically as he talked about his family, and his open expression made it difficult to suppress the desire to touch him. Her good sense warned her not to compare him with Werner, but she couldn’t stop herself from doing so.
“I just don’t understand how you can still
be single after three years,” she suddenly heard herself say.
Most men would have taken that as a compliment, but Lex responded seriously. “Andrea set the bar so high—I find most women aren’t fun, interesting, or attractive enough.” He looked at her so intensely, she felt bashful.
“Well, you won’t meet any of those fun single ladies if you keep spending your Saturday nights with married women,” she joked.
“You’re the only married woman I spend time with, Helen.”
She lowered her chin to her chest. “As friends, right?” She expected him to start laughing so they could dispel the awkwardness. But he didn’t laugh.
He regarded her in silence.
When he finally opened his mouth to speak, Helen pushed her chair back and stood up. “I need to go to the restroom.”
16
Sara’s bedroom looked like something straight out of an American teen movie. It was bigger than her brother’s or sister’s, with a deep-pile carpet and plenty of pink, white, and red. Her bed was soft and smelled good.
Naomi was lying half underneath Ralf, her clothes still on. She had unhooked her bra, but he hadn’t gone near it yet. The moment he put his hands on her breasts, he would lose all track of time. It was difficult enough to keep his head in the game as it was.
“You’re an odd one, Ralf,” she whispered.
Ralf smiled dreamily. He stroked her hair. Smooth, thick strands slipped through his fingers.
Her hand, which had been resting on his bare stomach, now made its way downward; her fingers disappeared nimbly beneath the taut elastic of his boxer shorts.
He trembled; his breath caught. Swiftly, he grabbed her wrist.
“What’s the matter?” she whispered against his lips. She threw her leg over him; her foot ran up his calf. “Don’t you want to?”
“Of course I do.” He was ready to explode.
“Then why are you stopping me?”
He extricated himself from her. “I care about you. I don’t want to do it here—in Sara’s room, like this.” He looked around as if searching for something. “This just isn’t right.”
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