– Do you mind if the student feels it?
Though it wasn’t hot in the room, Cecilie Davidsen was sweating under the arms.
– Nine times out of ten, lumps in the breast are not malignant, Axel told her as the student carried out her examination. She had clearly done it before, moving her hands slowly and systematically. – But of course we must take every precaution.
– Mammography?
– As soon as practically possible. Something like this needs to be dealt with as quickly as we can.
After the patient had left, he turned to the student.
– Anything to worry about there?
She thought for a moment.
– It didn’t seem like it to me, but it was a sizeable lump.
– As a doctor you should always assume the worst, he lectured. – But it isn’t necessary to come out and say the worst. Not until you definitely know something.
He rubbed his chin.
– I didn’t like it. And she had three enlarged lymph glands in her armpit.
He punched out a few lines on the keyboard, printed out a reference to a specialist.
– This’ll go in the post today. And I’ll call the hospital as well. She’ll have been seen before the week is out, I can promise you that.
He glanced at his watch.
– I have to make the four-thirty boat. Tomorrow you can see a couple of patients without me being there.
He usually waited until the second week before suggesting this, but the student – Miriam, was that her name? – seemed to be ready now to see cases on her own. He was rarely wrong in his judgement on this particular matter.
– I’ve got a car, she said. – If you like, I can drive you there.
He looked at her in surprise.
– Well that’s very kind of you. It sounds as if you know where I’m going.
She looked down.
– You said the boat… so maybe you live on Nesodden. Or something like that.
She drove with the same calmness as he heard in her voice. Not a single jolt when she changed gear, and he sank back in the seat and closed his eyes. It was as though she expected nothing of him. As though it were not the least bit embarrassing that he couldn’t face the thought of talking.
– You’re worn out.
Only now did he register what it was he’d been hearing all day: that she spoke with a slight accent. Eastern European maybe. He didn’t ask, wanted to know as little as possible about her.
– I had to cover for someone last night, he explained. – It wasn’t my turn, but they were in a jam. Something happened, there was an accident…
Suddenly he found himself describing it. Lise’s face, as though she were lying asleep in the ditch. Her mother, who held on to his arm as he was about to leave and wouldn’t let him go.
– She was just a year older than the younger of my boys. He knew her.
The bell on the quay sounded.
– That idiot jammed behind the steering wheel stinking of booze, he exclaimed suddenly. – I could’ve killed him.
– Your boat, she said.
He didn’t move. There wasn’t a drop left in his tank. He looked out into the greyness that thickened over the fjord.
– Got things to do?
Without turning, he noticed that she shook her head.
7
Wednesday 26 September
SOLVEIG LUNDWALL PUSHEDthe half-full shopping trolley in the direction of the frozen goods counter. It was a long way, at least a hundred metres. Rows of kitchen paper and toilet paper to pass. Cat food, dog food. Then the dried food. Porridge oats, muesli, cornflakes, Frosties, Cheerios. She picked up a packet of Honey Corn along the way. When she was little they had Honey Corn every Friday, after dinner. Milk. She must have enough milk. They drank so much milk at home. Four mouths that just drank and drank. A tube of caviar spread maybe, but they already had some. Mackerel in tomato sauce. She had written a list. It was at home somewhere. A man in a grey anorak wearing a cap appeared on her right and swung in front of her. Halted abruptly with his trolley sideways. She wanted to pick up speed and charge into it, stopped herself at the last moment.
– Oh, sorry, he smirked, pretending to be polite, and wheeled his trolley to one side.
She smiled back, as friendly as she could manage. It was stiff, she must have looked pretty strange, but she managed to get past the wrinkled and nicotined face. At the end of the row she reached the milk.
– I must buy enough milk, she muttered. Five litres of semi-skimmed, five litres of skimmed. Ten litres? Back home they drank and drank, you couldn’t get them to stop. Per Olav the most, even though Dr Glenne had told him he should drink less milk. Per Olav listened to Dr Glenne. But he loved milk, got up in the middle of the night to drink it. She could see him in her mind’s eye, standing there swigging drinking yoghurt straight from the carton. His moustache afterwards, clogged with the stuff. It was better for him than sweet milk, Dr Glenne had said. And Per Olav listened to what Dr Glenne said. Solveig nevercalled him Dr Glenne. Axel when she thought of him, but she never said it so Per Olav could hear her. Glenne, she might say, but not Axel.
The man in the grey anorak appeared by the cheese counter, approaching. He was going to speak to her. Say something that was supposed to be funny. She jerked her trolley the other way, set off full speed in the direction of the crates of mineral water. Wanted to get some Diet Coke but couldn’t stop now. Beer. Per Olav had asked her to buy some for dinner because they were having fish, and she grabbed a couple of bottles without noticing what they were. Per Olav wasn’t particular. Was it fish today? She was the one who had said so. We’ll be having fish for dinner today, she’d announced to Per Olav, standing in the doorway; the kids had already gone out. Fine by me, he’d answered. Fish was fine by Per Olav. She was the one who couldn’t stand it. The smell. Worst of all when preparing it. Cutting through the slimy skin and the greyish flesh with the thin streaks of blood, and the brown stuff that ran out of the backbone. Ask for it ready filleted. They didn’t have a fish counter at Rema. She’d passed the frozen fish counter. If she turned round, the old man in the grey jacket would be there waiting, stinking of roll-up cigarettes and wanting to chat.
She hurried on towards the checkout. She must have bread. None left in the freezer. She’d written it at the top of the list, in capital letters, with an exclamation mark. Enough for supper and packed lunches. This morning she’d had to send them off with crispbread. It softened inside the wrapping and the kids wouldn’t eat it. Came home hungry. And the teachers would be whispering and gossiping about her, that she didn’t give them enough food. She grabbed a sack of cat food, two big sacks. They had no cat. The trolley was loaded to the brim. Four people queuing at the checkout. The other tills were closed. She swung into the next row, parked the loaded trolley in front of the sweet shelves. There was a smell of chocolate. Jelly babies and liquorice allsorts. She looked the other way as she slipped through the gated checkout, out into the light.
The tunnel walls whizzed by. There were dark shadows around the reflections in the window. She couldn’t see the eyes, but knew the gaze was evil. She turned and looked quickly behind her. The carriage was nearly empty. Just two kids playing truant and a woman in a headscarf with a pram. Must be a Kurd; one of the mothers in the nursery school wore a headscarf just like that, she was a Kurd.
Solveig Lundwall read the poem on the poster next to the door. If you turn round, you’re looking forward,it said. She didn’t want to read any more. There was a little box of pastilles in her pocket. There was a note there too, the shopping list. Bread in capital letters with an exclamation mark. After she’d read it, she couldn’t sit still; she dropped it as though she’d burnt herself on it, stood up and hurried to the back of the carriage, sat with her back to the others. There was a newspaper there. Housing market explodes. She turned the pages. Shot down in broad daylight. Yes, because daylight is broad. He who has eyes to see, let him see. Killed in car crash. She stared at the girl’s picture. She had long blond hair and big eyes and a mouth with a pained smile. It was holy. – What is it, little angel? Solveig murmured. On the next page she read: Do you need help? She turned to the evil face in the window. Yes, Solveig, you need help now. And once she’d realised that, she felt calm. It felt so good she had to laugh. The tears ran until she could taste the salt at the corners of her mouth, but she wasn’t crying; she felt the calmness spreading through her chest.