“Oh, yes.” She put the cigarette back between his lips. “When I was working in Basra, there were mostly British people in the coalition forces around the hotel where the Red Cross team were living. And the British are different, you know. The Americans work broadly, they sweep streets and talk about ‘snake procedure’ when they’re out to get someone; they go straight forward and literally smash through walls that are in their way. They claim it’s quicker as well as more terrifying, which shouldn’t be undervalued. Whereas the British...” — she traced her fingers across his chest — “they sneak along by the walls, they’re invisible. There was a curfew after eight o’clock, but sometimes we used to go out onto the hotel roof outside the bar. We never saw them, but occasionally I would see a couple of red dots on the person I was standing next to. And he saw the same on me. Like a discreet message from the Brits that they were there. And that we should go back inside. It made me feel safer.”
“Mm.” Harry took a drag on his cigarette. “Who was he?”
“Who?”
“The guy you saw the dots on.”
Kaja smiled. But her eyes looked sad. “Anton. He was with the ICRC. Most people don’t realise it, but there are two Red Crosses. There’s the IFRC, who are regular health workers under the command of the UN. And then there’s the ICRC, which mostly consists of Swiss nationals and has its headquarters outside the UN building in Geneva. They’re the Red Cross equivalent of the Marines and Special Forces. You don’t often hear about them, but they’re the first in and the last out. They do everything the UN can’t do because of safety considerations. It’s the ICRC who go around at night counting bodies, that sort of thing. ICRC staff keep a low profile, but you can recognise them by the fact their shirts are more expensive and they exude a feeling that they’re a bit superior to the rest of us.”
“Because they are?”
Kaja took a deep breath. “Yes. But they’re just as liable to die of shrapnel from a mine.”
“Mm. Did you love him?”
“Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“I was jealous.”
“Of Rakel?”
“I hated her.”
“She hadn’t done anything wrong.”
“That was probably why.” Kaja laughed. “You left me because of her, that’s all the reason a woman needs to hate someone, Harry.”
“I didn’t leave you, Kaja. You and I were two people with broken hearts who were able to comfort each other for a while. And when I left Oslo, I was running away from both of you.”
“But you said you loved her. And when you came back to Oslo the second time, it was because of her, not me.”
“It was because of Oleg, he was in trouble. But yes, I always loved Rakel.”
“Even when she didn’t want you?”
“Especially when she didn’t want me. That seems to be how we’re made, doesn’t it?”
Kaja’s four fingers began to retreat.
“Love’s complicated,” she said, curling up closer and laying her head on his chest.
“Love’s the root of everything,” Harry said. “Good and bad. Good and evil.”
She looked up at him. “What are you thinking about?”
“Was I thinking about something?”
“Yes.”
Harry shook his head. “Just a story about roots.”
“Come on. Your turn to talk.”
“OK. Have you heard about Old Tjikko?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a pine tree. One time Rakel, Oleg and I drove to Fulufjället in Sweden because Oleg had learned in school that’s where Old Tjikko, the oldest tree in the world, was growing — it was almost ten thousand years old. In the car Rakel explained that the tree was born back when human beings first invented agriculture and Britain was still part of the continent. When we reached the mountain, we discovered to our disappointment that Old Tjikko was a scruffy, windblown, rather small spruce tree. We were told by a ranger that the tree itself is only a few hundred years old, and that it was one of several trees, and that the root system that these trees had grown from was the part that was ten thousand years old. Oleg was sad, he’d been looking forward to telling the rest of the class that he’d seen the world’s oldest tree. And of course we couldn’t even see the roots of the scrappy little tree. So I told him that he’d be able to tell his teacher that roots aren’t a proper tree, and that the world’s oldest known tree is in the White Mountains in California and is five thousand years old. That cheered Oleg up, and he ran the whole way down because he couldn’t wait to get home and lord it over his classmates. When we went to bed that night, Rakel curled up next to me and told me she loved me, and that our love was like that root system. The trees might rot, get struck by lightning, we might argue, I might get drunk. But no one, not us or anyone else, could touch the part that was underground. That would always be there, and a new tree would always emerge and grow.”
They lay in silence in the darkness.
“I can barely hear your heartbeat,” Kaja said.
“Her half,” Harry said. “It’s supposed to stop once the other half is gone.”
Kaja suddenly lay on top of him.
“I want to smell your right armpit,” she said.
He let her. She lay there with her cheek close to his, and he felt the warmth of her body through her washed-out pyjamas and his own clothes.
“Maybe you need to take your jeans off for me to be able to smell it,” she whispered with her lips close to his ear.
“Kaja...”
“Don’t, Harry. You need it. I need it. Like you said. Comfort.” She moved just enough to make room for her hand.
Harry grabbed it. “It’s too soon, Kaja.”
“Think about her while you do it. I mean it. Just do it. Think about Rakel.”
Harry swallowed.
He let go of her hand. Closed his eyes.
It was like slipping into a warm bath with his suit on and his phone in his pocket: completely wrong, and completely wonderful.
She kissed him. He opened his eyes again, looked directly into hers. For a moment it was as if they were watching each other, like two animals that had run into each other in the forest and had to figure out if the other was friend or foe. Then he returned her kiss. She undressed him, then herself, and sat on top of him. Gripped his cock. She didn’t move her hand, just held him hard. Possibly fascinated to feel the blood throb in his erection, the way he could feel it. Then — without any further ado — she guided him inside her.
They found each other’s rhythm, remembered it. Slow, heavy. Harry saw her rocking above him in the thin red glow from the clock radio. He ran his hand over what he thought was a necklace shaped like a symbol or sign, but which turned out to be a tattoo, a sort of S with two dots under it, and something that made him think of Fred Flintstone in his car. Kaja’s moaning grew louder, she wanted to speed up, but Harry didn’t let her, he held her down. She let out an angry cry, but let him lead the dance. He closed his eyes and looked for Rakel. He found Alexandra. He found Katrine. But he couldn’t find Rakel. Not until Kaja stiffened, her moaning stopped, he opened his eyes and saw the red light running down her face and upper body. Her eyes were fixed on the wall, her mouth was open as if in a mute scream, and her sharp, wet teeth were glinting.
And his half a heartbeat.
32
“Sleep well?” Kaja asked, handing Harry one of the two steaming cups of coffee and creeping back into bed beside him. Light from the pale sun was filtering through the curtains that were swaying gently in front of the open window. The morning air still had a chill to it, and Kaja shivered happily as she stuck a pair of ice-cold feet between his legs.