I Will Miss You Tomorrow

by Heine Bakkeid

  ‘It’s not here,’ I say when he stops at the car park in front of the boathouse.

  ‘I see that.’ Harvey takes out his mobile phone. ‘I’ll call Skjervøy again.’

  ‘Hi! The boat’s not here in the marina.’ He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Wait, and I’ll check.’ He gives me a brief nod before disappearing out of the car, heading for the boathouse.

  As soon as he is out in the rain, I find my own phone and call Anniken Moritzen.

  ‘Where are you?’ she asks when she eventually answers. It sounds as though she’s just woken up, or maybe she too has been to see Ulf and wheedled some more medicine, more of those painkilling, sleep-inducing preparations to sustain the numbness and keep some distance between day and night.

  ‘I’m at the marina in Blekøyvær.’

  ‘I thought you were on your way home.’

  ‘We’re searching for the boat belonging to the police chief and his sergeant.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I found a dead woman in the sea.’ Thrusting my hand into my jacket pocket, I open the packet of OxyNorm and pop out two capsules. ‘At Rasmus’s lighthouse.’ I gulp them down. ‘The local police chief and his sergeant were to pick me up from the lighthouse last night after I spoke to you, but they never turned up.’

  ‘A woman,’ she says hesitantly when I’m done talking. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. She’d been in the water for some time, but even though it’s not always easy to see, it’s definitely not him, Anniken. It’s not Rasmus.’ I realise I’m regretting this phone call. It’s far too early, and I haven’t taken time to plan the conversation in advance.

  ‘I have to see for myself.’ Anniken’s voice has lost its listlessness, and she is speaking faster now, pursuing the words as panic spreads through her body. ‘Maybe you’re mistaken, a mother—’

  ‘I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘But how can you know? After all, you just said yourself it isn’t easy to see.’

  ‘Don’t come,’ I interject as a black figure emerges from the boathouse, breaking into a run as he heads through the rain to the car. ‘Not yet. There’s nothing to find up here. I’ll phone when I know anything further.’

  ‘No, wait,’ she whimpers desperately. ‘I don’t understand—’

  I hang up. ‘Bloody idiot,’ I mutter to myself as I put my mobile back in my pocket. ‘What the hell are you doing, Thorkild?’

  Harvey jumps inside and slams the car door. ‘No one can get hold of them. The ambulance boat has been here in the marina all week, but was gone this morning when the first person arrived.’ He turns on the heater full blast, blowing on his fingers. ‘The police chief on Skjervøy has talked to the police in Tromsø as well as to the rescue coordination centre.’

  ‘What now?’ I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, but let it be.

  ‘They’re sending a boat up,’ Harvey says. His eyes follow the wipers as they race back and forth over the windscreen. ‘They’ll probably find them soon. The ambulance boat is rock solid and its equipment tip-top. For all we know, they’re just having engine trouble or they’ve gone to one of the islands farther out.’

  I attempt to see past the wipers to the rain-soaked seascape in the distance. ‘I just spoke to his mother,’ I say. ‘Rasmus’s mother.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I put my foot in it.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I gave her hope.’

  Harvey leans over the steering wheel and looks at me. ‘Well,’ he begins, ‘there’s something I have to ask.’

  ‘Ask away,’ I murmur, without taking my eyes off the rain dance out there on the pier, above the boats and the surface of the ocean.

  ‘What actually happened at the lighthouse last night? With this … woman you claim you found?’

  ‘She was floating in the sea: a young woman, maybe in her twenties. With no face, and one lower arm missing. Wearing a nightdress and a T-shirt on top. Barefoot. As if she was lying asleep in among the seaweed.’

  ‘And then you say a man came up out of the sea and took her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you see who it was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Were you drunk?’

  I turn to face him. His complexion is glistening with raindrops and his hair is sodden. ‘No.’

  ‘Fine,’ Harvey roars with laughter, tapping a beat with his fingers on the dashboard. ‘Just had to ask.’

  ‘I had a kind of accident some time back,’ I start to say, directing my gaze out into the rain once more. ‘Sustained a brain injury, some damaged connections that no longer work as they should. Sometimes I see things that might not be there. Smell, or feel someone close to me even though I’m completely alone. You start to doubt yourself, your own senses, but this isn’t one of those instances.’ I speak the final sentence mostly to myself.

  ‘Hey,’ Harvey fleetingly raises one hand before gripping the wheel again. ‘Don’t think about it. I believe all that stuff, you know that. All the way.’

  The boats, tied up in serried ranks alongside the pier, are rocking lazily from side to side, tugging at their ropes between the waves.

  ‘Do you think it was one of them?’ he asks.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That it was either Bjørkang or Arnt you saw come out of the sea and take the body?’

  ‘Maybe it was Rasmus.’

  ‘Rasmus is dead,’ Harvey answers.

  ‘Sure? All we have is his boat that drifted ashore in the cove. No body, no crime scene, nothing.’

  Harvey looks at me in surprise. ‘OK, I’ll give you that,’ he says. ‘But why would he hide somewhere out on the island like some sort of ghost?’

  ‘Maybe he had something to do with the faceless woman?’

  ‘And doesn’t want anyone to know about it.’ Dimples suddenly appear in his cheeks. ‘Aha, I see what you’re doing. This is some real detective shit you’re talking about.’

  ‘I need somewhere to stay.’ I take out another OxyNorm and pop it into my mouth, in the hope that it will tip the balance in my battle against these stomach pains.

  ‘So you’re planning on staying?’

  ‘Looks as if I have no choice.’

  Harvey swings out of the car park behind the boathouse and sets off on the return drive to the main road. My mouth is completely dry, and I can’t produce enough saliva to swallow the capsule that is now stuck to my tongue. I have to dislodge it with the aid of my front teeth before rolling it between my molars and chewing hard. It tastes intensely sour, and I lose no time swallowing the contents before spitting the remainder of the gelatine capsule onto my hand and slipping it into my jacket pocket.

  ‘Do you know of a guest house hereabouts, or somewhere I can rent a room for a few days?’ I ask, cleaning my teeth with my tongue. ‘It’ll be too far to commute between here and Tromsø, and I’m not keen on having to sleep in the hire car until I wind things up here.’

  Harvey stops at the main crossroads and turns to face me again. ‘I might have a solution that would suit us both,’ he says. ‘We’ll pick up your hire car first, then you can just follow me.’

  CHAPTER 24

  I park the hire car beside Harvey’s truck and head out across the car park in front of the Skjellviktun Residential Centre’s main entrance. The downpour is over but the wind is stronger here at the summit of the hill above the bay.

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘No,’ Harvey says, laughing, nodding towards the building directly opposite the centre. ‘I bought the place six or seven years ago – it was originally built as a shower block for German soldiers during the war. The local council didn’t use it, so I bought it, renovated it and divided it into three units that I rent back to the council care services. I’ve also got a similar project in Tromsø, where I own six bedsits that I rent out.’

  ‘Enterprising,’ I mutter, leaning against the boot of the hire car.

  ‘Every little helps. All the
same, one of the apartments is empty at present and you can rent it for, well, let’s say three hundred and fifty kroner a day?’

  ‘OK, then,’ I say, glancing suspiciously at the building in front of me. ‘I guess it’ll be better than sleeping in the car.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Harvey holds out his hand. ‘You’ll pay in advance, won’t you? By the way, it’ll be a bit difficult to give you a receipt – hope you don’t mind that?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I answer, handing over the money just as Harvey’s wife appears on the scene. She is dressed in an unbuttoned brown winter coat with mottled grey fur collar, white hat, jeans and matching heavy shoes trimmed with the same grey fur.

  ‘Hi,’ she says, wrapping her hands around her husband’s neck. ‘You got back safely from the farm. Thank goodness for that.’

  Harvey nods. ‘Yes – I had to drive through the valley.’

  ‘Have you just arrived?’

  ‘No, I’ve been to Blekøyvær with Thorkild.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Bjørkang and Arnt are missing.’

  ‘Missing?’ She lets go of Harvey and takes a step back. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They went out in the ambulance boat last night to collect Thorkild from the lighthouse. He says they never turned up.’

  As Merethe pulls the fur collar more snugly against her cheeks, her neck, mouth and nose disappear into the fake fur. ‘Do you want me to phone Mari?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Harvey replies. ‘We’ll almost certainly have more information shortly. Wait at least until I come back.’

  ‘What?’ Merethe grips her husband’s arm. ‘Are you going out again?’

  ‘I must, but I’ll just stay inside the cove and come home again as soon as I’ve attached the mussel poles tightly enough. In the meantime, you can help Thorkild here, can’t you? He’s renting Andor and Josefine’s old apartment for a few days.’

  ‘I don’t know if we can just rent out apartments to people. After all, the Department of Health and Social Services already has a contract with us.’

  ‘Relax, honey – we’re only talking about a couple of days. Anyway, there are no new residents due, according to what I’ve been told.’

  Shaking her head, Merethe lets go of her husband’s arm and takes a step in my direction. ‘OK, then, Thorkild, come with me and I’ll show you to your … accommodation.’ She turns back to Harvey and says: ‘Be careful.’

  ‘Always,’ Harvey assures her. ‘We’ll talk later, Thorkild.’ He waves us goodbye and drives off.

  ‘What does an occupational therapist do?’ I ask as we cross the car park.

  ‘I organise leisure activities for the residents here through the volunteer centre, such as pétanque, for example, therapy sessions and excursions. We arrange a religious service every third Sunday with the local vicar in the residents’ lounge. I also do some extra shifts here at the centre when required. It’s a good way to spend time with my mother since my father died and she was left on her own, and at the same time earn a few extra kroner.’

  ‘So your mother lives here too?’

  ‘Yes, she has a room in the dementia unit.’

  Merethe produces a key when we reach the apartment at the far end and opens the door. ‘Here,’ she says, handing me the key before we step inside. ‘The man who used to live here died while they were on a bus trip to Sweden with us. Heart attack.’

  ‘Where’s his wife?’

  ‘She died that same night. Of a broken heart,’ she adds in an American accent. ‘It is possible, in fact,’ she continues when she catches my eye. ‘Sad, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, very sad,’ I agree.

  ‘I always get a lump in my throat, thinking of that sort of thing. Oh, and the funeral is on Wednesday. Their daughter lives in the south of Sweden and didn’t want to come to clear out the apartment until after the funeral. We’ve stashed their belongings in the storeroom and the bedroom. I suggest you sleep on the sofa while you’re here.’

  I immediately regret removing my shoes. The floor is icy, like the whole apartment. No heating, and no light in the gloomy living room furnished with an old sofa, chair, sideboard, bookcase and TV table. The rugs are rolled up and stowed in one corner beside a box marked ‘Books’ and another labelled ‘Pictures & Misc’.

  ‘Harvey says you’re some sort of medium?’ I venture as Merethe heads for the fuse box. She is no more than about five foot two and has to stretch on tiptoe to reach the fuses.

  ‘I’m what you call clairvoyant, but also do some healing touch and crystal therapy here at the centre from time to time.’

  ‘And you’re soon going to be on TV? On Spiritual Search?’

  ‘Powers,’ she says, laughing. ‘Spiritual Powers.’ Crossing to the window, she opens the curtains and switches on the panel heater. Soon the entire apartment reeks of burning dust. ‘We’ll start filming after Christmas. Exciting, isn’t it?’

  I nod and sit down on the sofa beside her. Merethe wears big rings with colourful stones on most of her fingers.

  ‘We humans can communicate with one another through healing energies.’ She runs her fingertips along her tight jeans. ‘Energies that we all carry within us and that cross the limits of the physical, spiritual and psychological worlds.’

  ‘You speak to them?’

  ‘Yes, all the time.’

  ‘What … what do they look like?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her nails make a rasping noise as she runs them back and forth across her jeans.

  ‘Whether you—’

  ‘You’re asking whether I see dead people, ghastly corpses and stuff like that?’

  I nod slowly.

  ‘Good heavens, no,’ she exclaims with a burst of laughter and lays her hand gently on my thigh. ‘Who on earth would manage to live like that?’

  ‘Yes, true enough,’ I mumble.

  ‘All life is surrounded by its own energy field that some of us can see and sometimes also communicate with.’ Blinking, she pats my leg with the flat of her hand. ‘Our bodies are electric, Aske. Didn’t you know that?’

  ‘No.’

  Merethe places her hands on the table, palms facing up. The stones rattle as she raps her knuckles on the table surface. ‘Do you want to tell me about her?’

  ‘Wh … who?’ I croak, noticing that this has jolted me out of the abyss of thought into which I have allowed myself to sink.

  ‘Take it easy.’ Merethe leans in closer and takes my hands in hers. They are warm, smooth; even the metal of the rings on her fingers is warm against my skin. ‘I felt her the first time we met. A soft cloak that hangs about you, wraps itself around you. I can feel it now too.’ She closes her eyes and uses her thumbs to caress the backs of my hands. ‘Were you together?’

  ‘No.’ I automatically pull my hands away from her touch. ‘I hardly knew her at all.’

  Merethe opens her eyes once more. ‘But you’re connected?’

  I refrain from answering, and slump back on the sofa, thrusting my hands into my jacket pocket where I keep the blister pack of OxyNorm.

  ‘I think she’s angry with me,’ I finally tell her.

  ‘Angry?’ Merethe looks quizzically at me. ‘Why would she be angry?’

  ‘She doesn’t want to come any more.’ I note how my voice trembles and at the same time how hard it is to breathe while I talk. ‘No matter how much I try, she doesn’t want to come.’

  ‘So you know she’s there?’

  ‘Of course. She did come back, you see.’

  ‘Back?’ Merethe cocks her head slightly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was driving, she died, then she came back,’ I say, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘But now she doesn’t want to come any more. I don’t know what I could have done, whether it’s this place or whether there’s something wrong with my pills. I’ve already thrown away some that didn’t work.’

  Merethe stretches out her open hands towards me again, making a sign that I should do th
e same. I let go of the blister pack in my jacket pocket and do as she wishes. ‘I need to speak to her,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll have the strength to keep up this kind of thing.’

  ‘Thorkild,’ Merethe begins. ‘As a clairvoyant, I pick up information in the form of feelings, images, smells and symbols that I can try to interpret and then impart to the person I’m working with. What you’re talking about, being a spiritual medium, is something completely different. That relies on lending part of your own self to the spiritual world. It’s a very painful business, and I’m reluctant to hold séances like that because of the stress they cause.’

  ‘Please,’ I whisper, clutching her hands. ‘I must know. I can’t go on like this.’

  Merethe stares earnestly at me for a long time before she looks away. ‘OK,’ she says, patting my leg carefully with one hand. ‘I’ll give it some thought, Thorkild.’ She stands up. ‘Just give me some time.’

  I remain seated, motionless, for several minutes after she has gone. In the end I walk over to the sink, fill a glass with water and drink it down with two OxyNorm tablets before returning to the sofa. I try to think of Frei, but don’t succeed.

  CHAPTER 25

  At five to two, I hear a knock on the door, and rise from the sofa where I’ve been dozing since Merethe left.

  When I open the door, the woman outside holds out an unnaturally tanned hand and we make eye contact. ‘Siv,’ she introduces herself. ‘I’m a nurse here at the centre.’ Dressed in a lilac uniform, she has clogs on her feet and blonde, shoulder-length hair.

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’ I return her handshake.

  Siv, small and slight with rough hands and bitten nails, can hardly be older than forty-something, but nevertheless her skin is paper-thin and wrinkled as if she is a chain smoker with her own sunbed.

  ‘I’ve to show you the canteen.’

  ‘OK.’ I grab my jacket from the hook in the hallway, put on my shoes and close the door behind me.

  ‘Skjellviktun Centre has three sections,’ Siv starts to explain as we hasten along the short path between the two buildings. She talks in a detached and mechanical voice, as if I’m a relative with a senile father waiting outside in the back seat of my car, or maybe a new patient.