Exactly.
It is the same performance every time. Everyone knows that proper journalistic work starts after the press conference.
Henning decides to find Iver Gundersen and agree the best way to cover this story.
After all, he is supposed to be working again.
And the very idea of that strikes him as bizarre.
Chapter 9
The reporters try to squeeze in more questions, but are brusquely dismissed by the uniformed trio and the reporters file out. Henning is hemmed in by people he doesn’t want to be near, someone shoves him in the back, he bumps into a woman in front of him, he mutters an apology and desperately longs for more space and greater distances.
They spill out into the foyer and he looks for Iver Gundersen. This would have been easier, if he knew what Gundersen looked like; there are at least fifty journalists present. Henning decides to find Vidar from NTB and ask him, but he doesn’t have time to do anything before Nora appears in his field of vision. And he in hers.
He stops. They can’t avoid talking to each other now.
He takes a tentative step towards her, she mimics him. They stop a few metres apart. Eyes meet eyes. All he can see is a face which contains a multitude of sentences that have never been uttered.
‘Hi, Henning.’
Her voice is like a blast of icy wind. The ‘hi’ rises in pitch and the ‘Henning’ drops. He senses she is speaking to a creature that has done her a severe injustice, but to whom she is forced to relate. He says ‘hi’ to her. She hasn’t changed, but he spots her grief just behind her eyelids, from where it could erupt at any moment.
Nora is shorter than most women and she tries to compensate for this by wearing high heels. She has short hair. Not like a boy, it is not ultra-short at the back, but her fringe is high up her forehead. She used to have long hair, but the short style suits her. The last time he saw her, she was ashen. Now her skin and her face glow. He suspects it might have something to do with Corduroy. The glow suits her.
Christ, how it suits her.
Many expressions inhabit Nora’s face. When she is frightened, she opens her mouth, her teeth show and she closes her eyes slightly. When she is angry, she raises her eyebrows, she frowns and her lips narrow. And when she smiles, her whole face explodes, it widens, and you have to smile with her. Change is weird, he thinks. Once, he couldn’t imagine life without her. Now, it would be hard to live with her.
‘You’re here?’ he says, failing to disguise his nerves which choke him.
Nora simply replies: ‘Yes.’
‘Had enough of business?’
She tilts her head to the left, then to the right.
‘I needed a change after — ’
She breaks off. He is relieved that she doesn’t finish the sentence. He has an overwhelming urge to go to her, to embrace her, but turning thought into action is out of the question. There is an invisible wall between them and only Nora can break it down.
‘So — so you’re back then?’ she says.
‘My first day today,’ he says and tries to smile. She studies his face. It’s as if she focuses on the areas where the flames did their worst, but doesn’t think it’s bad enough. He sees Corduroy behind her. He is watching them. I hope you’re jealous, you tosser.
‘How are you, Nora,’ Henning says, though he doesn’t actually want to know. He doesn’t want to hear that she is happy again, that — at last — she can face the future with hope. He knows he can never win her back; That Which He Doesn’t Think About will never go away. All the same, he doesn’t want her to be lost to him.
‘I’m good,’ she says.
‘You still living in Sagene?’
She hesitates. Then she says: ‘Yes.’
He nods, sensing she is trying to protect him against something. He doesn’t want to know what it is, though he has an inkling. And then it comes.
‘You might as well know now, and it’s best that you hear it from me,’ she starts. He takes a deep breath, puts up a steel barrier which melts the moment she says:
‘I’m seeing someone.’
He looks at her and nods. He thinks that it ought not to hurt, but he can feel his stomach lurch.
‘We’ve been together for six months now.’
‘Mm.’
She looks at him again. For the first time in a long time, there is warmth in her eyes. But it’s the wrong kind. It’s the warmth of pity.
‘We’re thinking of moving in together.’
He says ‘mm’ again.
‘I hope you’re okay,’ he then adds.
She doesn’t reply; all she gives him is a cautious nod. It’s good to see her smile, but he realises he can’t take much more of this, so he employs the only defence mechanism he has and changes the subject.
‘You wouldn’t happen to know who Iver Gundersen is?’ he says. ‘I’ve never met the man, but I think we’ll be working together.’
Nora looks away.
He should have guessed it when he saw how awkward it was for her to tell him she had met a new man. But why should it? She has moved on, slammed the lid on their shared past. The future is where it’s happening. She sighs and he realises why, when she turns to Corduroy.
‘Iver Gundersen is my new boyfriend.’
Chapter 10
He glares at Corduroy, whose eyes flicker around the room during an absent-minded conversation with a fellow reporter. Henning imagines Nora’s fingers running though Corduroy’s revolting hair, gently caressing his stubble, tender lips against lips.
He remembers how she used to snuggle up to him at night, when they had turned off the light, how she put her arms around him, eager to spoon. And now it’s Corduroy who enjoys her small, loving hands.
‘Right,’ Henning says, and instantly hears how defeated he must sound. This was the moment he should have flown into a rage, scolded her, left her with the certain knowledge of having trampled on his heart, torpedoed it, chewed it up and spat it out again. You should have called her a heartless bitch, insensitive, the definition of selfishness, but you didn’t. All you said was:
‘Right.’
Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
He can’t bear to look at her. And now he has to work with Iver.
A cruel twist of fate, he thinks, it has to be.
He goes over to Gundersen. He hears Nora asking him not to, ‘Please don’t — ’, but he ignores her. He stops a metre from Gundersen and looks at him. Gundersen is halfway through a sentence, but he stops and turns.
He knows who I am, Henning thinks. I can see it in his eyes. And I can see that it makes him nervous.
‘Hi,’ Gundersen says. Henning sticks out his hand.
‘Henning Juul.’
Reluctantly, Gundersen takes his hand. Henning presses it hard.
‘Iver G-’
‘I understand we’re both covering this story. How do you think we should go about?’
He knows he has put Gundersen on the spot, but he doesn’t care.
‘I’m not entirely sure.’
Gundersen swallows, then he recovers.
‘I suggest updating the story we’ve already published, with quotes from the press conference,’ he begins, and looks over Henning’s shoulder at Nora, who is observing their first meeting.
‘I thought about following up this honour killing theory,’ Gundersen continues. ‘See if there’s something in it. In which case, the list of suspects will be fairly short and it won’t be long before the police arrest someone.’
Henning nods. ‘Has anyone talked to her friends?’
Gundersen shakes his head.
‘Then I’ll visit her college and do a story about her life and who she was.’
‘Human interest.’
‘Mm.’
Henning makes eye contact with Gundersen, who nods.
‘All right, sounds good. I could try contacting the man who found the victim, but I’ve heard that he doesn’t want to talk to the press. So — ’ Gundersen shrugs.
Henning nods, he sees that Gundersen is still uncomfortable, that there is something he feels the urge to say. He inhales, but Henning beats him to it.