A couple of times she received visits from friends in Arendal, a couple of times from old student friends in Oslo and a couple of times friends she had made in Kristiansand. For them I was the grown-up son, I joined them and chatted away to surprise and impress them, he’s so grown-up they said to mum after I had gone and it was ridiculously easy to make them believe I was.
I spent most of my time outside school writing the three weekly record reviews, but since I wasn’t paid in kroner and øre I also worked several evenings at the floor factory. During these months I was especially careful to drop in on grandma and grandad because they knew what dad was doing and it was up to me to show that I was my old self while also, in a way, representing dad, if life was going well for me this helped to offset the impression that dad’s life gave.
At school I made a few new acquaintances. Bassen hung out with someone called Espen Olsen from the second class, an arrogant kid from Hånes with self-confidence that bordered on the insufferable and knew everyone it was worth knowing. I was aware of his existence, he was one of those you noticed, the way he mounted the speaker’s platform without a second thought when it was election time and spoke to a packed canteen, the self-assurance he had as chairman of Idun, the gymnas association. I stood next to him one break. ‘See you review records for Nye Sørlandet,’ he said. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I saw you once in the first class and I had to laugh,’ he said. ‘You were wearing a Paul Young badge next to one of Echo and the Bunnymen! How is that possible? Paul fuckin’ Young?’ ‘He’s underrated,’ I said. He scoffed, loudly. ‘R.E.M. are good though,’ he said. ‘Have you heard Green on Red?’ ‘Of course.’ Had he heard Wall of Voodoo? Are you joking? Stan Ridgway is the king!
A few weeks later, out of the blue, he invited me to a pre-loading session at his house. Why had he invited me? I wondered. I had nothing to offer; there was nothing he could conceivably need. But I said yes anyway. He would get in the beer, don’t worry about it, he said, you can pay for it when you’re there, and I caught the bus early one Saturday evening, jumped off at the ‘Rebel Yell’ stop and plodded up the hill to Hånes, where he lived, not so far from the shopping centre where we’d had the catastrophic gig the year before.
It turned out he lived in a terraced house. A man who must have been his father opened the door.
‘Is Espen in?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said, stepping aside. ‘Come in. He’s upstairs.’
A woman who must have been his mother was a bit further back in the hall, bending over, putting on her shoes.
‘I don’t think we’ve met, have we?’ the father said.
‘No,’ I said, shaking his hand. ‘Karl Ove.’
‘So you’re Karl Ove,’ he said.
The mother smiled and shook my hand as well.
‘We’re going out, as you can see,’ she said. ‘Have a nice evening!’
They left and I went up the stairs with some hesitation, this wasn’t a house I knew.
‘Espen?’ I called loudly.
‘In here!’ his voice answered, and I opened the door to where I had heard it.
He was lying in the bath, his arms down by his sides, with a broad grin on his face. The second I saw him there, naked, I mustered the utmost concentration to look him in the eyes. I couldn’t — not for anything in the world — look down at his dick, which was floating on the surface of the water, even though that was my first impulse. Do not look at his dick. Do not look at his dick. And I steeled my gaze, looked him straight in the eye, thinking as I stood there, I had never looked anyone in the eye for such a long time before.
‘Found your way here then?’ he said with a smile. Lying totally at ease in the bath, as though he owned the whole world.
‘Yes, it was easy enough,’ I said.
‘You seem ill at ease,’ he said, laughing. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘No,’ I said.
He laughed again.
‘You’re looking at me strangely.’
‘No, I’m not,’ I said, staring him in the eye.
‘Have you never seen a cock before? Is that what it is?’
‘When are the others coming?’ I persisted.
‘At eight, of course. That’s what I told you. But you would come so bloody early.’
‘You told me seven.’
‘Eight.’
‘Seven.’
‘Listen, you pig head. Chuck me the towel, will you?’
I grabbed the towel and threw it to him. Before he had a chance to stand up I turned and went out. My forehead was covered in sweat.
‘Is it all right if I wait downstairs until you’re ready?’ I said.
‘Be my guest,’ he said from inside. ‘Don’t sit down anywhere though!’
I knew he was teasing, but I still didn’t sit down anywhere, just strolled around carefully examining everything.
He had said seven, hadn’t he?
There were pictures of him on one wall, as a baby and a teenager, with another boy who must have been his brother.
When he came down, wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt, no socks on his feet, he went straight to the stereo and put on a record. Sent me an arch glance as the first chords resounded in the room.
‘Do you know who that is?’ he said.
‘Naturally,’ I said.
‘Who is it then?’ he said.
‘Violent Femmes.’
He nodded and straightened up.
‘Isn’t it bloody brilliant?’ he said.
‘It is.’
‘Beer?’
‘Yep, sounds good.’
I didn’t know any of the others who came, although I had heard about them at Katedralskolen. Trond, tall, thin, fair-haired with a triangular face, an impressively large mouth and equally impressive verbal skills, he knew how to express himself and was never, as far as I could ascertain, tongue-tied. Gisle was his polar opposite, small, black-haired with dark clever eyes, he didn’t say much but what he did say was direct rather than eloquent. Then there were the twins, Tore and Erling, whom it took me several months to tell apart. They were obsessed by music and were always happy, always keen, talking over each other and looking at people around them with warmth in their eyes. They had seen me on the train to Drammen the winter before, they said, on the way to the U2 concert. They said nothing about me going on my own, standing on my own watching U2 or that it was quite strange. Bassen already knew everyone and belonged to the same group, but something had happened between Espen and him, they barely tolerated each other, although I never found out the cause of their disagreement.