Karin Fossum - Black Seconds

Karin Fossum made her literary debut in Norway in 1974. The author of poetry, short stories and one noncrime novel, it is with her Inspector Sejer Mysteries that she has won great acclaim. The series has been published in sixteen languages.

Charlotte Barslund translates Scandinavian novels and plays. Her recent work includes Calling Out ForYou by Karin Fossum, Machine by Peter Adolphsen and The Pelican by August Strindberg.

Dont Look Back

He Who Fears the Wolf

When the Devil Holds the Candle

Calling Out For You

Black Seconds

TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN BY

Charlotte Barslund

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Adobe ISBN: 9781407017358

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Published by Vintage 2008

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Copyright Karin Fossum 2002

English translation copyright Charlotte Barslund 2007

Karin Fossum has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identied as the author of this work

First published with the title Svarte Sekunder in 2002 by J. W. Cappelens Forlag A.S., Oslo

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First published in Great Britain in 2007 by Harvill Secker

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TO YSTEIN, MY YOUNGER BROTHER

The days went by so slowly.

Ida Joner held up her hands and counted her ngers. Her birthday was on the tenth of September. And it was only the rst today. There were so many things she wanted. Most of all she wanted a pet of her own. Something warm and cuddly, which would belong only to her. Ida had a sweet face with large brown eyes. Her body was slender and trim, her hair thick and curly. She was bright and happy. She was just too good to be true. Her mother often thought so, especially whenever Ida left the house and she would watch her daughters back disappear around the corner. Too good to last.

Ida jumped up on her bicycle, her brand-new Nakamura bicycle. She was going out. The living room was a mess: she had been lying on the sofa playing with her plastic gures and several other toys, and it was chaos when she left. At rst her absence would create a great void. After a while a strange mood would creep in through the walls and ll the house with a sense of unease. Her mother hated it. But she could not keep her daughter locked 1

up for ever, like some caged bird. She waved to Ida and put on a brave face. Lost herself in domestic chores. The humming of the Hoover would drown out the strange feeling in the room. When her body began to grow hot and sweaty, or started to ache from beating the rugs, it would numb the faint stabbing sensation in her chest which was always triggered by Ida going out.

She glanced out of the window. The bicycle turned left. Ida was going into town. Everything was ne; she was wearing her bicycle helmet. A hard shell that protected her head. Helga thought of it as a type of life insurance. In her pocket she had her zebra-striped purse, which contained thirty kroner about to be spent on the latest issue of Wendy. She usually spent the rest of her money on Bugg chewing gum. The ride down to Lailas Kiosk would take her fteen minutes. Her mother did the mental arith metic. Ida would be back home again by 6.40 p.m. Then she factored in the possibility of Ida meeting someone and spending ten minutes chatting. While she waited, she started to tidy up. Picked up toys and gures from the sofa. Helga knew that her daughter would hear her words of warning

wherever she went. She had planted her own voice of authority rmly in the girls head and knew that from there it sent out clear and constant instructions. She felt ashamed at this, the kind of shame that overcomes you after an assault, but she did not dare do otherwise. Because it was this very voice that would one day save Ida from danger. 2

Ida was a well-brought-up girl who would never cross her mother or forget to keep a promise. But now the wall clock in Helga Joners house was approach ing 7 p.m. and Ida had still not come home. Helga experienced the rst prickling of fear. And later that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her stand by the window from which she would see Ida appear on her yellow bicycle any second now. The red helmet would gleam in the sun. She would hear the crunch of the tyres on the pebbled drive. Perhaps even the ringing of the bell: hi, Im home! Followed by a thud on the wall from the handlebars. But Ida did not come. Helga Joner oated away from everything that was safe and familiar. The oor vanished beneath her feet. Her normally heavy body became weight

less; she

hovered like a ghost around the rooms. Then with a thump to her chest she came back down. Stopped abruptly and looked around. Why did this feel so familiar? Because she had already, for many years now, been rehearsing this moment in her mind. Because she had always known that this beautiful child was not hers to keep. It was the very realisation that she had known this day would come that terried her. The knowledge that she could predict the future and that she had known this would happen right from the beginning made her head spin. Thats why Im always so scared, Helga thought. Ive been terried every day for nearly ten years, and for good reason. Now its nally hap

pened. My worst nightmare.

Huge, black, and tearing my heart to pieces. 3

It was 7.15 p.m. when she forced herself to snap out of her apathy and nd the number for Lailas Kiosk in the phone book. She tried to keep her voice calm. The telephone rang many times before someone answered. Her phoning and thus

revealing her fear made her even more convinced that Ida would turn up any minute now. The ulti mate proof that she was an overprotective mother. But Ida was nowhere to be seen, and a woman answered. Helga laughed apologetically because she could hear from the other womans voice that she was mature and might have children of her own. She would understand.