The Dinosaur Feather(68)

“It doesn’t make sense,” Anna said. “I used my key to let myself in downstairs and then I walked up. No one came down. I swear.”

Lene looked tired and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Weird,” she mumbled. “He raced down the stairs only a minute ago. I’d closed my door, thinking how odd it was for someone to visit you this late. I wondered if I should fetch Otto, and then I heard him leave in a hurry. As if he had changed his mind and decided not to wait for you. I went back out on the landing, I saw his hand glide down the banister, the light went out, you switched it back on and we spotted each other in the gap.” Lene pointed to the curved banisters. Anna felt another chill down her spine.

“You turned on the light, right? Because it wasn’t me,” she said.

“No,” Lene said. “I didn’t turn it on. You did.”

Anna raced up the stairs to her own front door, holding out her key as a weapon. Her hands were shaking, and it took three attempts before she found the keyhole. The apartment was dark. Anna ran blindly into Lily’s room. She could make out the comforter, Lily’s toy dog, Bloppen, which had keeled over, and her daughter’s favorite embroidered pillow; she could even make out the stickers Lily had stuck on her bedposts, but she couldn’t see Lily. She heard Lene behind her, and the two baby monitors screeched when they got too close. Lene switched off the transmitter and Anna turned on the light.

Lily twitched, but soon resumed sucking her pacifier energetically and carried on sleeping, rosy-cheeked and safe. Anna slumped next to her daughter’s bed and buried her head in her hands. She was shaking all over and struggling to breathe. What did she think she would find? An empty bed? A blue-eyed doll? A child’s corpse?

She heard the hiss of a kettle boiling and of cups being filled. The cups were carried into the living room, away from Anna who was still sitting on the floor, panting. Of course Lily was safe and sound in her bed, where else would she be? Anna dug her fists into her eyes. She had to repeat this rational explanation, a thousand times if necessary, or she would go crazy.

Anna heard Lene open the doors of the wood stove, heard the scrunch of newspaper followed by the sound of logs and a match being struck. Shortly afterward, Lene appeared in the doorway.

“Why don’t you come into the living room?” she said.

Anna got up. A cup of tea was waiting for her and a white ribbon of steam wound its way up to the rosette in the stucco ceiling. Anna couldn’t look Lene in the eye. A man had been waiting for her. He could have been anyone, and that was seriously weird. Anna would surely find out who he was tomorrow, or in a few days. A suitor who had gotten cold feet, was Lene’s suggestion. She, too, thought the whole incident had been bizarre.

But Anna had panicked, and Lene had witnessed it. The tears started rolling down her face. Lene stroked her hand.

“I’d like to go to bed now,” Anna muttered.

“But are you all right?” Lene asked. “I’ll stay if you want me to.”

“No,” Anna said. “It’s okay. I’m just tired.”


Once Anna was alone, she took off her damp running clothes and sat naked on a chair in front of the fire. She opened the doors and let the warmth soften her skin. She checked her cell. Only one of the missed calls was from Lene. The other two were from Søren Marhauge’s cell. Johannes still hadn’t returned her calls. She rested her head against the back of the chair and spent a long time studying a framed photograph on the wall above the wood stove. It was black and white, and it had been with her since her childhood. Cecilie and Jens, very young, both with long, unruly hair and unlined faces. Jens had his arm around Cecilie’s shoulder; it looked as if he was nudging her gently toward the lens. Anna was peeking out between them; she was laughing and her eyes shone.

Anna had always loved that picture, but suddenly she couldn’t understand why. Cecilie didn’t look happy at all. Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes were dead. Jens’s arm rested heavily on her shoulder. If he were to let go, she would fall out of the frame. Jens’s gaze showed determination that this picture would happen. As though he knew the moment must be captured, so the image could accompany his daughter into adult life and remind her of her happy childhood. Anna’s own grin was broad, her eyes sparkled with euphoric stars, and she was on top of the world. But the adults were suffering.

Around midnight she had spread her own and Lily’s personal papers across the living room floor. Her own were reasonably well organized; she had Cecilie to thank for that. Anna looked briefly at her own birth certificate. When Lily was born, Thomas and she had disagreed vehemently about what her name would be and finally, two days before the mandatory six-month deadline was up, they had drawn lots. “Or we’ll just have to name her after the queen,” Anna had joked, but had secretly breathed a sigh of relief when the winning ticket said Lily. When Anna herself was born, the rules would appear to have been less strict. She had been named Anna Bella Nor on November 12, 1978, when she was almost eleven months old. She put the birth certificate aside and began looking through Lily’s papers, which she had chucked into a large buff envelope. The colorful child-health record book from the health visitor, the very first photographs from the maternity ward, and the plastic ID bracelet from the hospital. Anna had intended to create a scrapbook for Lily, but nothing had come of it. She and Thomas had broken up between Lily’s nine- and twelve-month checkups. Their health visitor had been shocked when she came to see Lily and found Anna falling apart. Anna had made tea while the health visitor rolled colored balls to Lily.