Molly stared down at her feet in the pink trainers. ‘We spoke about most things,’ she said.
Axel offered her his arm. ‘Will you walk with me?’ he asked.
Molly started walking in the opposite direction, back to the hospital. She walked quickly now. ‘No, not at all.’
‘Don’t be so ill-tempered,’ he said. ‘There’s no need. I was only asking.’
Molly strode on. Axel sauntered after her. Melis growled from the depths of his throat.
‘Has Hanna Wigert been asking you a lot of questions?’ Axel wanted to know. He was walking effortlessly beside her now.
Molly continued to walk as quickly as she could.
‘About Jon, I mean,’ Axel continued. ‘If you have information which might explain his suicide.’
She stopped and gave him an irritated look. ‘He was having a hard time. It’s that simple. Jesus Christ, stop prying!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Axel said. ‘I don’t mean to interrogate you, but Jon was my best friend. It’s a huge loss.’
‘I’m quite insightful,’ Molly said. ‘All you’ve lost is control.’
That night she climbed into bed with Melis.
The darkness crept out from the corners and she felt the warmth from the panting dog. She was thinking of the things Jon had told her. I’ve got such a guilty conscience, he had said, I’ve made some big mistakes. I’ve discovered something terrible about myself. I’m a coward. This is what he used to say. But everybody makes mistakes and only a few of us are truly courageous, Molly thought, Jon must be thinking of something quite specific. She was startled when the door opened. A beam of light fell across the floor and she saw Ruth, the night nurse. Melis raised his head to suss out the intruder. Ruth entered and looked down at Molly in the bed. Molly had removed the black make-up and without it she was another person, a pale and blurry child against the white bed linen. Ruth perched on the edge of the bed and Molly clasped her arm with both hands.
‘You’re so good to touch,’ she said. ‘You’re like warm dough.’
Ruth laughed heartily. She carried some extra weight, and she was used to Molly being direct.
‘So what’s keeping you awake?’ she asked.
‘I’m thinking about Jon. And everything Jon said. And how to manage without him.’
‘There are other people out there you can trust,’ Ruth said. ‘Time is on your side. You’ll find someone.’
‘But no one is like Jon,’ Molly said. ‘And what we had, I’ll never find that again.’
Ruth patted Molly’s cheek with her chubby hand.
‘Did he ever tell you what was on his mind?’ she asked.
Molly sat up in bed. She pulled the duvet to her chin. ‘Yesterday I saw a man on TV,’ she said. ‘He was one of those explorers. He was going to live in the wilderness for thirty days. In Canada. Where the Inuit live. He packed everything he would need on a sledge. It weighed a hundred kilos. He could barely drag it across the ice.’
Ruth waited for her to continue.
‘Jon’s conscience was that bad,’ Molly said. ‘He had so much to drag along.’
Ruth sighed. ‘He never should have gone to that cabin,’ she said. ‘He didn’t want to. Perhaps he sensed that something might happen. All the staff here at Ladegården feel responsible. We so wanted him to go. God knows what we were thinking. But if he had killed himself here on the ward, we would have felt even more responsible. And if we had discharged him and he had killed himself afterwards, then we would also have felt responsible. And if he had done it at home in his own bed, then his mother would have felt responsible. Do you see what I’m saying? That’s how it is with suicides.’
Molly held Melis up to her face. She inhaled his smell. It made her think of sweet spices.
‘If you like, we can visit his grave one day,’ Ruth said. ‘You and I together. We can take some flowers. We can say a few words and imagine that they’ll reach Jon. You never can tell.’
Molly shook her head. ‘He won’t hear one word,’ she said. ‘Of that I’m certain.’
‘Molly,’ Ruth implored. ‘You need to hold on to some mystery in your life. You don’t know everything.’
‘Those friends of his,’ Molly said. ‘Do you think they were good friends?’
Ruth frowned. ‘You mean the ones who took him to the cabin? I imagine so. They had known each other a long time. Why do you ask?’
Molly returned Melis to the foot of her bed. ‘Not all friends are good ones,’ she said. ‘Some are there purely out of habit. Or because they benefit from knowing you.’
Ruth listened in silence.
‘They profit from you,’ Molly continued. ‘Or they need you for some reason. To outsiders, it looks like a friendship.’
Ruth tried to follow her thoughts.
‘But if Jon didn’t want to be a part of that trio,’ she said, ‘then why didn’t he end the friendship?’
‘Perhaps that was what he was trying to do,’ Molly said. ‘Perhaps he sought refuge here, at the hospital.’
‘You’re saying he was escaping from his friends?’
‘He was trying to hide here,’ Molly said, ‘but they came and got him.’
‘Why do you say that?’
Molly tossed her head. ‘I notice things.’
‘You’re going to be all right, Molly,’ Ruth said, ‘because you’re sharp.’
‘I’m not going to be all right,’ Molly said, fluffing her pillow gently. ‘I’m going to be here at Ladegården for ever. In this bed. In this room. With you.’
Ruth was wise and so she did not protest. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we’ll both be here for ever, you and I.’
She got up from Molly’s bed. Her heavy body moved across the floor.
‘You remind me of a container ship at sea,’ Molly said.
Ruth grunted by way of reply.
‘You lie quite low in the water. And you’re heeling a bit. But your sails are full, I’ll give you that.’
‘Go to sleep,’ Ruth laughed, ‘and give that sharp tongue of yours a rest.’
CHAPTER 13
Ingerid Moreno was standing by the window.
Her hands were resting on the windowsill. She still wore Tony Moreno’s ring on her right hand. He had left her, but she liked the ring with the pink pearl. Her eyes swept across the garden and the other houses in the residential area where she lived. Everything was pretty, well maintained and green, every hedge trimmed, every fruit tree pruned, because the people who lived there were hard-working. For a long time she admired birds on a branch, the early autumn foliage and the damp grass. Tumbling clouds, the sound of music from an open window, all these things Jon had lost. She turned and glanced at the coffee table where the diary glowed red. I may not have the right, she thought, but I’m a human being in need. She curled up in an armchair with the diary on her lap. On the back of it she discovered a white label with the text MADE IN CHINA and also a yellow price sticker. This is Jon’s life, she mused, and the price is 29.99 kroner. She switched on the reading lamp and opened the first page.
My name is Jon Moreno. I’m a patient at Ladegården Psychiatric Hospital and I have sat down to write. Is there any point in writing things down?
Will everything become clearer, will it be a relief? Does it serve as a confession, and as a result will I be forgiven for everything? I need absolution. But I have ended up in a situation where it is unobtainable. People will say that my actions were unforgivable and that is true. But if I don’t confess then I will go tainted to my grave. I don’t believe in God, but I cannot bear the thought of being consumed by remorse in my final hour. But then there are always other considerations. There are other people and their dreams and plans for the future. Should I destroy even more than I have already? I’m not very strong. Sometimes, at night, when I lie in the darkness, tossing and turning, I end up praying to God anyway. It helps for a few minutes. Then I feel even more of a fraud than before because I’m praying to someone I don’t believe in, but then again He might exist and He is watching my hypocrisy and that makes it even worse. When I finally fall asleep I have nightmares. Someone is hammering on my door, they have come for me and it’s all over. Perhaps I have this dream because deep down this is what I want. Someone to expose me finally and call me to account. That black December night haunts every second of my life. When I woke up the next day, I felt confused. I tried to recall what had happened. Did we drive off the road and end up in a ditch? Perhaps that’s one way of looking at it: we lost our way and I’m still in that ditch. I have been so privileged. I had a good childhood. My mum taught me right from wrong. All my life I have imagined that my morals were high, that I was decent and honest and truthful. But what happened to my morals when I was tested? A nasty voice started whispering in my ear: it was all right to run away, besides there were more of us, a lot was at stake. I don’t understand where that voice came from, I didn’t know it even existed. Perhaps it had been dormant for a long time and then, when I needed it, it started its vile whispering. Reilly does have a conscience, he is a humble guy, but Axel Frimann is a Master of the Universe. It was a battle of wills I was bound to lose. No matter how I handle this I will be exposed to contempt. At times I can see the contours of a devil, someone who watched us that night and laid a trap for us. I know that’s nonsense. Life is full of coincidences. Yet I feel so bitter because we’re not bad people. How can you know you’re a good person if your life has been nothing but plain sailing?