Free Punishment by Anne Holt Page B

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    If she told her mother that she was going to the States, she would get no peace at all, just endless advice on travel routes and precautions. Her mother would end up packing her suitcase for her.
    â€˜Mum, I’m a bit busy right now. I’m afraid I haven’t gottime to come to the cottage, but thanks anyway. Give my love to Dad.’
    â€˜But Johanne, could you not at least come over and see us tonight? I could make something nice to eat and then you and your father could play . . .’
    â€˜I thought you were going to the cottage.’
    â€˜Only if you wanted to come with us, dear.’
    â€˜Bye, Mum.’
    She made sure that she put the receiver down calmly and carefully. Her mother often accused her of hanging up. She was right, but it was better if it wasn’t slammed down.
    *
    Having a shower helped. Kristiane sat on the toilet seat and talked to Sulamit, a fire engine with a face and eyes that blinked. Sulamit was nearly as old as Kristiane and had lost a ladder and three wheels. No one apart from Kristiane knew how it got its name.
    â€˜Sulamit has saved a horse and an elephant today. Good Sulamit.’
    Johanne brushed her wet hair and tried to wipe the steam off the mirror.
    â€˜What happened to the horse and the elephant?’ she asked.
    â€˜Sulamit and dynamit. Elephant and pelephant.’
    Johanne went back to the bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans and a red fleece. Thankfully she had done all the shopping for the weekend yesterday, before collecting Kristiane from nursery. They could go for a long walk. Kristiane needed to be out for a few hours if she was going to be quiet in the evening. The weather looked good; she pulled back the bedroom curtains and squinted at the day outside.
    The doorbell rang.
    â€˜Bloody hell, Mum!’
    â€˜Bloody hell,’ repeated Kristiane seriously.
    Johanne stamped out into the hall and pulled open the front door.
    â€˜Morning,’ said Adam Stubo.
    â€˜Hi . . .’
    â€˜Hallo,’ said Kristiane, sticking her head out from behind her mum’s thighs, with a big smile.
    â€˜You’re looking very nice today!’
    Adam Stubo held his hand out to the little girl. Amazingly, she took it.
    â€˜My name is Adam,’ he said solemnly. ‘And what are you called?’
    â€˜Kristiane Vik Aanonsen. Good morning. Good night. I have a kite.’
    â€˜Oh . . . can I see it?’
    Kristiane showed him Sulamit. When he wanted to hold the fire engine, she pulled back.
    â€˜I think that’s the best kite I have ever seen,’ he said.
    The child vanished.
    â€˜I was in the neighbourhood, so I thought . . .’
    He shrugged. The obvious lie made his eyes narrow into an almost flirty smile. Johanne was caught off guard by a strange jabbing feeling, a breathlessness that made her look down and mumble that he’d better come in.
    â€˜It’s not exactly tidy here,’ she said automatically as she registered his eyes swooping over the living room.
    He sat down in the sofa. It was too deep and soft for a man as heavy as Adam Stubo. His knees were pushed up too high and it almost looked as if he was sitting on the floor.
    â€˜Maybe you’d be more comfortable in a chair,’ she suggested, removing a picture book from the seat.
    â€˜I’m comfortable here, thanks,’ he said. It was only now that she realised that he had a large envelope with him, which he placed in front of him on the coffee table.
    â€˜I just . . .’
    She made a vague gesture towards Kristiane’s room. It was the same problem every time. As Kristiane looked like – and sometimes behaved like – a normal, healthy four-year-old, Johanne was always uncertain whether she should say anything. Whether she should explain that the girl was small for her age and was in fact six and brain-damaged, but no one seemed to know how or why. Or explain that all the strange babblings that came out of her