Free Beyond the Truth: Hanne Wilhelmsen Book Seven (A Hanne Wilhelmsen Novel) by Anne Holt Page A

Inca-style pattern: the elaborate wood and metal felt cold and ticklish on her naked thighs.
    Hanne struggled to force the smile away.
    “Aha, you’re laughing,” Nefis called out, clapping her hands. “You’re happy about this party!”
    “No, I’m not,” Hanne said, hiding her face in the shower spray.
    She was looking forward to it. She was not even annoyed that the decision had been taken over her head, the way all decisions of any import were taken by Nefis, and Nefis alone. Nefis who had bought the tickets to the Seychelles and informed her two days in advance; time off work had already been arranged. Nefis who had returned home to the apartment in Lille Tøyen with the prospectus for a sumptuous newly built apartment in Frogner; the purchase had already been made. Nefis organized everything: the removal company and the Population Register, the moving-in party and partnership agreement, the interior decor and shopping. Nefis treated Hanne the way a loving wife treats a bull-headed old husband. And Hanne liked it, grudgingly. She protested loudly and often, but never for long.
    Nefis found solutions Hanne was able to live with. She took Hanne into consideration, but never to such a degree that she had to compromise on her own wishes and needs. The apartment in Kruses gate appeared more like a strange system of communal living rather than a real family; people who seemed to have nothing in common, scraped together hastily and at random. That was how it must look to others, those who didn’t know better, who did not know them and therefore had no idea that Nefis and Hanne were married and that Nefis wanted to have children. Hanne knew none of the neighbors, and there were three names on their door. Not two – that dangerous two that made people draw conclusions about who lived there and what they got up to.
    Sometimes Hanne felt happy. Not often, but now and again, when reality touched her in brief flashes: Mary padding in her slippers through the dark apartment at night, a glance from Nefis when she thought Hanne would not notice, a hand on her back if she woke in the night – at such moments Hanne felt completely secure. Security was her happiness, and she had never truly known happiness before Nefis arrived on the scene.
    Hanne stepped out of the shower.
    “Who’s actually coming?”
    “Everyone! Karen and Håkon, the children, Billy T., Tone-Marit and—”
    “Not all his children,” Hanne said. “ Please ! It will be pure hell.”
    “No. They’re with their mothers this Christmas. Only Jenny will come with them.”
    “Who else?”
    Hanne dried her hair, fearing the worst.
    “Well …”
    Nefis caressed the small of Hanne’s naked back.
    “Two of Mary’s old friends. Just—”
    “No!”
    Snatching the towel from her head, Hanne flung it on the floor.
    “Do you remember how that went last year? Eh?”
    “But it’ll be better this year! They’ve promised not to bring anything with them and—”
    Hanne angrily interrupted her again, slapping the palm of her hand against the wall of the shower.
    “Nefis, listen. You can never rely on a drug addict. They can swear as long and as loudly as they like, but they will sneak something past you. Besides, it would probably be equal to murder to deny them. They quite simply can’t bear twenty-four hours without a fix. It’s out of the question, Nefis.”
    She trotted resolutely through to the bedroom and quickly threw on the clothes she had worn the previous day.
    “Anyway, they probably have AIDS. It’s far from certain that Håkon and Karen will be particularly keen on their children eating Christmas dinner in the company of sore-infested, ravenous whores with AIDS.”
    Nefis’s hand was only centimeters from Hanne’s cheek when it came to a sudden halt. Hanne stroked her untouched cheek. They stood there like that, Nefis with her hand raised and Hanne drawing back ever so slightly.
    “That’s a terrible thing to say, Hanna. Terrible. We