The smoke is different this time. The opening stretches further. Henning sees fumbling hands in front of him trying to wave away the smoke. Somehow they succeed. The contours of a CD rack appear as he coughs and splutters. He stops and turns to the left where the stripe of light continues. But then the smoke thickens again, the light disappears, and even though he swings his arms frantically, it makes no difference. Everything in front of him goes completely black.
Henning sits up with a start, quickly wipes his face and looks around for the flames. But he can’t hear the crackling of fire and the door is still intact.
Those infernal dreams again.
He lets himself sink back on to the pillow and waits for the smoke detector above him to flash. In the distance a siren wails. There is always a siren somewhere, he thinks, there is always someone whose life is about to be changed for ever by something happening at this very moment. There is no guarantee that promises us we can close our eyes, safe in the knowledge that we will open them again. Life, as we know it, can change in an instant.
Jonas once asked him a question, as he often did — especially at bedtime. It could be a simple one such as why the walls were white or a more complicated one such as what was wrong with the man they saw on their way home from nursery, the one who was sleeping on a bench in Birkelunden Park. But it might also be something more profound, thoughts Henning could easily see would baffle his son without Jonas finding the time to think them through or remember them long enough to articulate during the day. But the questions would come at night when everything calmed down.
‘Daddy, do you hate Mummy?’
There is nothing unique about what happened to Nora and Henning. It happens every day, all over the world. People meet, they fall in love, they fall out of love, fall in love with each other again. They do stupid things or experience something that makes it impossible for them to go on living together. So they part, often to start over with another person. Or not. It’s not unique. And yet, from time to time, the thought of why it had to happen to him absolutely chokes him. Why did it have to be them? Why did it have to be Jonas?
‘ Did Mummy say that? ’
‘ No, but — ’
Henning turned over, rested on his elbows and looked at Jonas. But the more he thought about it, the harder it became to come up with an answer. The moment stretched out, it became too long for him to contain it, and all he could finally say was, ‘ I don’t hate Mummy, Jonas.’
No explanation. Just a brief statement, like when a child says ‘because’ when you ask them to explain why they cut up the newspaper with a pair of scissors. And Henning doesn’t know how long he lay there, on his elbows, looking at Jonas’s searching eyes, but it felt like for ever.
A persistent buzzing sound and a sharp light bring him back to the present. His eyes dart to the bedside table where his mobile is vibrating. Henning leans across and picks it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, it’s… Nora.’
Henning can hear voices in the background. He sits up. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s Iver.’ A note of panic has entered her voice. ‘He’s in hospital. He was attacked and beaten up.’
‘What?’
‘He’s in a coma.’
Henning’s jaw drops. His eyes flicker from side to side. ‘Where are you?’ he asks.
‘At Ulleval Hospital.’
‘Okay,’ he says, and stands up. ‘I’m on my way.’