Free The Consorts of Death by Gunnar Staalesen Page A

the table with a warm smile. ‘Now we’re almost like a little family, Varg.’
    ‘Yes, aren’t we.’
    She was right. If anyone had peeped through the window they would have seen a peaceful little mini-family, Mum, Dad and small boy – and there was Uncle Hans dropping by – sitting round the meal table at the back-end of the day. None of us said anything, but I was afraid that was how it was at most family meal tables. Conversation had not been that lively when it was Beate, Thomas and I, either. The food was delicious, we ate, and there was more than enough for one sitting.
    In the end, he was obviously full. He sat back heavily in his chair and a glow of satisfaction flitted across his face.
    ‘Pudding?’ Hans asked.
    ‘What is there?’
    ‘Prune compote with milk and sugar.’
    ‘Sounds fantastic, if you ask me. What do you say, Johnny?’
    He nodded with a smile on his thin, pressed lips.
    ‘You heard what Johnny said,’ I said. ‘We would like prune compote!’
    It arrived on the table, and everyone ate. Even Hans on the neighbouring table sneaked an extra dish. Unbidden, he topped up Cecilie’s coffee and mine. The family idyll was so perfect that the catastrophe, from all statistical calculations, had to be imminent.
    We three adults sat making small talk while Jan finished the whole dish of prune compote as well. Afterwards I asked: ‘And what would you like to do now, Johnny?’
    This time he turned his head. He looked me straight in the eye, offended that I had forgotten. ‘You said … a snow ball fight.’
    ‘So I did! Is that what you fancy?’
    He nodded.
    ‘Can Hans and Cecilie join in, too?’
    He shifted his gaze from one to the other and at length he nodded. They smiled gently, happy not to be excluded from the game.
    We went outside. It had stopped snowing, but luckily there were enough snowflakes left for us to be able to make a few snowballs, even though they were pretty flimsy and they disintegrated when we tried to throw them.
    Nevertheless, we stuck with it for as long as Jan wanted, and he took part in the fight with a passion. When he got his first hit, a snowball that turned to powder on my nose, he laughed out loud, and when we aimed at him but missed, on purpose, he grinned with pleasure.
    In the end, the fight flagged of its own accord. As we went back inside, I put my arm round his shoulder and said: ‘That was fun, wasn’t it.’
    ‘Mm,’ he said with a nod.
    ‘What would you like to do now?’
    He peered up with a start. ‘Wanna go home.’
    The door closed behind us, and both Hans and Cecilie held their breath.
    I said: ‘I was wondering if Hans had some hot chocolate for us today, Johnny …’
    Hans nodded in confirmation.
    ‘Then we can talk about that while we’re drinking. Agreed?’
    He sent me a sceptical look. Then a reluctant nod.
    We went back into the refectory and Hans flitted into the kitchen. Cecilie and I sat down with Jan at the same table as before.
    I patted him gently on the hand and said: ‘Do you know why you’re here with us, Johnny?’
    He shook his head from side to side.
    ‘You arrived here yesterday, you know …’ As he didn’t react, I added: ‘We came here in my car. You remember that anyway, don’t you?’
    He nodded.
    ‘But do you remember what happened … before that?’
    He looked at me with big, shiny eyes.
    ‘You don’t?’
    Again he shook his head, but with more hesitation this time.
    ‘You don’t remember … that you were alone with … your father? Your dad?’
    Again came a few powerful semaphore signals from his eyelids. But he said nothing, just blinked several times.
    ‘You don’t remember … the accident?’
    He shaped his lips. ‘A …’
    ‘Yes?’
    He shook his head firmly. ‘Nope,’ he said.
    Hans returned from the kitchen with hot chocolate for us all. Cecilie pushed one cup over to Jan, who grabbed it instantly and put it to his mouth.
    ‘Careful!’ she said. ‘It’s hot.’
    He took a big