Frozen Moment (32 page)

    The
girl watched Dickhead as he staggered back and forth.

    'I
don't know. They're from somewhere around Gothenburg, I think, but I don't know
them. They seem to be completely rat-arsed already.
Fucking
pissheads.'

    She
turned back to Maya.

    'Anyway,
forget about them. Come and have a beer and we can chat about old times. I
hardly know anybody. And on the way in we can accidentally knee that bloke in
the groin, the one over in the corner who's practically sitting on that girl with
a face like a monkey!'

    Maya
laughed and shook her head.

    'I
don't think I have the energy, to be honest. I've got to cycle back home to my
mother - she'll go crazy otherwise. I was supposed to fetch my brother, but
he's refused to leave, and if neither of us turns up, she'll ring the police -
guaranteed.'

    The
girl looked at Maya, her expression inscrutable, and Maya almost changed her
mind. She didn't know why she should suddenly take Solveig's feelings into
account. The thought of a beer with Girl was far more appealing than the long
lonely pitch-dark ride home, but still she felt she couldn't cope with the
scene that would inevitably be waiting for her if she didn't hurry home.
Solveig seemed more brittle than usual.

    'If
you like we can go to the bus stop together. I can give you a lift on my bike,'
she offered.

    Girl
thought for a moment, but then shook her head.

    'No,
I'll stay. I'll try and get a lift to the station with somebody, it's so bloody
cold. And then of course I don't want to miss the chance of telling Marten
exactly what I think of him. I'm just waiting for the right moment.'

    Maya
nodded. She acknowledged that she was beaten as she wheeled her bicycle through
the gate, ignoring a suggestive male voice calling her back. She definitely
wasn't in the mood for flirting or witticisms.

    She
clenched her teeth until her jaws ached, concentrating on avoiding the icy
patches on the track.

    It
was the same distance back to the club as it was up to the main road when the
tyre burst. Only then did she begin to cry, from a combination of tiredness and
anger. She tried to carry on cycling, despite the fact that the old, dried-out
inner tube was flat against the ground. Soon the lactic acid was burning in her
legs and she gave up. There was no alternative but to walk through the dense
darkness and silence as the tears froze on her cheeks.

    As
usual he bitterly regretted having agreed to drive home, and after a long wait
that definitely tried his patience he'd had enough. Even if it annoyed him to
have to go back inside yet again - at the risk of provoking Wolf he had called
him by both his first name and surname, nagging like some old woman - that was
exactly what he did.

    'Will
you shift your fucking
arse.
'

    Not
that it helped. Wolf had just bought yet another strong beer, and was slurping
it at his leisure, half-sprawled across the table talking a load of bollocks to
Pilen. And they were both happy to leave their mate standing out in the snow,
waiting for them.
Fucking bastards.

    'If
you're coming with me, you need to come
now,
otherwise
you can find your own fucking way home.'

    Malle
had good reason to be in a bad mood: he'd been slumped over the wheel of his
rusty pickup for over half an hour. Wolf had had his licence taken away, and it
wasn't the first time this year that Malle had ended up waiting outside like
some kind of fucking chauffeur, jumping up and down to keep warm as dawn broke,
before finally seizing his pissed-up mate and dragging him into the truck so
that he could get away. And no doubt he would have to help Wolf into the house
when they got back, bearing in mind that he couldn't walk, stand or sit.

    
Fuck.
The idea of simply opening the door and shoving his friend out was tempting.
Just to teach him a lesson. Although he'd end up lying exactly where he was
dumped, and on a night like this he would freeze to death. Perhaps it was a bit
harsh.
But how that wife of his coped was a mystery.

    Wolf
was the only one of the three who had a wife, which proved that women always
fall for a bastard with a pretty face, rather than a decent bloke with a face
like an arse. Not that he was quite in that category, but looks had never been
his strong point.

    When
it came to Pilen, the third comrade-in-arms, the arse theory was definitely no
exaggeration. For most people, acne disappears along with their teens but Pilen
had been unlucky. Not only did countless craters from old zits make his face
resemble a moonscape, it was also covered with painful new eruptions that from
time to time made his face look like a piece of raw steak. Stress, he would
always claim - and he must have been seriously stressed.

    In
a way, perhaps it was a good thing that Pilen was able to blame his zits. It
was probably much more difficult to handle the realisation that you were just
too stupid to score; indeed most women ran a mile as soon as he opened his
mouth. And bearing in mind the calibre of those around him - Wolf for example -
it was obvious how incredibly stupid a person had to be in order for that
particular quality to stand out.

    The
ladies
hadn't exactly been falling over themselves to
pull Malle either, although the odd one had made her interest known. But to
tell the truth, he preferred to stay single rather than have some nagging
whining old bag at home to provide for, poking her nose into everything and
getting fatter with every year that went by. That's what had happened to most
of his mates who had made the mistake of acquiring a wife, not to mention kids.
They really did fuck things up completely.

    Wolfs
wife might be a bit different - she still looked good and didn't seem to be completely
losing it, which made it all the more incomprehensible that she had chosen such
a tosser.

    He
brought the truck up to the door and Pilen helped him bundle Wolf inside
despite the fact that he was demanding one more beer.

    Malle
was annoyed with Pilen as well - he always went along with Wolf. If he hadn't
been given an ultimatum, he would probably have sat there all night listening
to Wolf talking bollocks, knowing perfectly well that they had agreed to leave
by midnight at the latest. He was like a girl: scared of conflict, always
taking the easy way out.

    As
he drove through the gate Malle realised with a slight feeling of unease that
he wasn't quite as sober as he'd thought. The odd beer had slipped down. He
didn't usually worry too much on the gravel tracks around where he lived - he'd
never even seen a police car out there - but they were going on the motorway
tonight.

    Anxiety
made him even more annoyed.
Fucking Wolf.
If he hadn't
been so bloody awkward, Malle wouldn't have drunk so much. Throwing all reason
out of the window, his anger made him grab the bottle

    Wolf
and Pilen were passing between them. He took a couple of gulps.
Fuck it.
If he got caught he would lose his licence anyway. He was possibly the most
sober of them, but the police wouldn't care about that.

    On
top of everything else, it was snowing heavily by now. The pickup's useless
windscreen wipers made it difficult to see, and the effort of driving in a
straight line was making his head hurt; he didn't want to end the night in a
ditch. Wolf had just fallen asleep, dribbling against the seat belt, when Malle
heard himself cry out and for a second he lost control. The wheels had skidded
on a patch of ice, and the truck slid alarmingly close to the ditch before stopping
with a jolt. Wolf had woken up and was staring at him, his eyes wild.

    'What
the fuck are you doing?'

    'There
was something there. I nearly hit…'

    With
his heart in his mouth he frantically wiped the condensation from the inside of
the windscreen and caught sight of a dark figure to the side of the car. He
flung open the door.

    'What
the fuck! You need to look where you're going!'

    The
man slams his fist against the bonnet of his truck and yells at her.

    'What
the fuck!'

    Maya
is dazzled by the headlights and holds her arm up to shield her eyes. She has
seen enough drunks in her time to be able to determine straight away what kind
he is: he's the kind who gets angry.

    'Look
where you're going,' he says again, but with less force behind the words. For
some reason this wavering makes her angry. She drops the bike and takes a
couple of steps towards him.

    'Look
where
I'm
going? What about the way you were driving, you fucking
lunatic! You nearly hit me, even though I was standing on the verge!'

    'You've
got a flat.'

    'You
think I don't know that?'

    For
a few seconds they can hear the dying sound of the wheel, spinning around in
the air where she threw the bike down. When it finally stops, the noises of the
forest are very clear.
A steady quiet drip.
A creak, a rustle.
And silence.

    She
can only see the man's silhouette, his hair, a broad-shouldered jacket. His
face is in darkness. She takes a step back, out of the circle of light.

    There
is movement inside the pickup: someone is coming to life and groaning. At the
same moment the passenger door opens and another man practically falls out.
He's huge and he's completely pissed.

    'What
the fuck! Are you coming or… Oh, a girl. You can sit on my knee.'

    He
slurs his words and pats his crotch with a whinnying laugh, then places one
foot on the ground and heaves himself unsteadily out of the truck. His bearded
face is sweaty and his eyes are bloodshot.

    There's
a third one, in the back seat.

    Maya's
heart is thumping unevenly, but there is no turning back.
Don't let them see
you're afraid.
She leans forward slightly towards the man who was driving.
The unmistakable smell of alcohol meets her halfway.

    'You're
drunk, for fuck's sake. You were lucky. If you'd hit me you'd have been
arrested.' She moves back towards her bike. 'Arsehole,' she mutters.

    'OK,
I'm sorry, just stop going on about it!' His voice has acquired a whining
undertone; he seems unsure about his anger. 'Shall I put your bike on the back?
You don't look too good.'

    
Don't
let them see you're afraid.
I just want to get home. Just get through this.

    'I
wouldn't get in a car with a drunk like you even if I was dead.'

    The
girl was standing in the full beam of the headlights once again. This time she
wasn't shielding her eyes, she was just standing there like an idiot, waiting
to see what would happen next. She couldn't really see him from where she was
standing, not the way he could see her.

    Her
face was ridiculously sweet and girlish, juxtaposed with those old man's
clothes that were too big for her, and her cheeks were red from the cold, like
a small child.
A fucking furious child.
Malle
somehow found this both attractive and exciting. He'd apologised, for fuck's
sake. He'd offered her a lift up to the road, where she could have caught the
night bus or taken a taxi or whatever. What else could he do? The party was an
all-nighter, and it would be many hours before the narrow forest track was
illuminated by cars and motorbikes on their way home. It wasn't a good idea for
a girl to be wandering about out here in the forest
on her
own in the middle of the night
. Anything could happen. And nobody would
see or hear a thing.

    Wolf
let go of the door and approached the.girl.

    'Come
on,
come for a little ride with us. We've got booze
and other stuff I'm sure you'd like… Or maybe you swing the other way? Maybe
you don't like cock?' he went on, his voice low and challenging, sounding
almost sober now.

    Malle
was on the point of telling Wolf to pack it in, but he couldn't quite bring
himself to do it. The girl's insult still lay there, like a thorn in his eye.
He discovered that he was enjoying seeing the mouthy little cow suddenly
looking so scared. Not quite so full of herself now.