her weight against it and pushed it open. The smells within, of hamburgers and French fries, drew her and her unfailing appetite further into the place. Gone was the dead man in the river, gone all life’s problems. Emma’s tummy was rumbling and Aladdin was within reach.
‘Find a table,’ Eva said, ‘and I’ll order.’
She made for the corner as usual and seated herself under the flowering almond tree, which was plastic, while Eva joined the queue. She tried to banish the image that lapped at her inner eye, but it forced itself on her again. Would Emma forget it, or would she tell everyone? Perhaps she’d have nightmares. They must stifle it with silence, never mention it again. In the end she’d think it had never happened.
The queue inched forward. She stared distractedly at the youngsters behind the counter; with their red caps and red short-sleeved shirts they worked at an incredible pace. The fatty haze from the cooking hung like a curtain behind the counter, the smells of fat and frying meat, melted cheese and seasonings of all kinds forced their way into her nostrils. But they seemed oblivious to the thickness of the atmosphere, running back and forth like industrious red ants, smiling optimistically at each and every order. She watched the quick fingers and the light feet that sped across the floor. This was nothing like her own day’s work. She stood in the middle of her studio most of the time, arms folded, fixing a stretched canvas with a hostile stare, or possibly an imploring one. On good days she stared aggressively and went on the attack, full of audacity and aplomb. Once in a blue moon she sold a painting.
‘Happy Meal, please,’ she said quickly, ‘and chicken nuggets and two Cokes. Would you be very kind and put an Aladdin in? She hasn’t got that one.’
The girl went to work. Her hands packed and folded at lightning speed. Over in the corner, Emma raised her head and followed her mother with her eyes as she finally came weaving across with the tray. Suddenly Eva’s knees began to tremble. She sank down at the table and looked in wonderment at the girl who was eagerly struggling to open the little cardboard box. She searched for the toy. The eruption was deafening.
‘I got Aladdin, Mum!’ She raised the figure above her head and showed it to the entire restaurant. They all stared at her. Eva buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
‘Are you ill?’ Emma turned deadly serious and hid Aladdin under the table.
‘No, well – just not a hundred per cent. It’ll soon pass.’
‘Are you upset about the dead man?’
She started. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I’m upset about the dead man. But we won’t talk about him any more. Never, d’you hear, Emma! Not to anyone! It’ll only make us sad.’
‘But do you think he’s got children?’
Eva wiped her face with her hands. She wasn’t certain of the future any more. She stared at the chicken, at the doughy brown lumps fried in fat, and knew that she couldn’t eat them. The images flashed past again. She saw them through the branches of the almond tree.
‘Yes,’ she said at length, ‘he’s probably got children.’
Chapter 3
AN ELDERLY WOMAN out walking her dog suddenly caught a glimpse of the blue and white shoe amongst the stones. She phoned from the telephone box near the bridge, just as Eva had done. When the police arrived, she was standing somewhat self-consciously by the bank with her back to the corpse. One of the officers, whose name was Karlsen, was first out of the car. He smiled politely when he caught sight of the woman and glanced inquisitively at her dog.
‘He’s a Chinese Crested,’ she said.
It really was an intriguing creature, tiny, wrinkled and very pink. It had a thick tuft of dirty yellow hair on the crown of its head, but was otherwise entirely bald.
‘What’s his name?’ he asked amicably.
‘Adam,’ she replied. He nodded and smiled, diving into the car’s boot for the case of
‘Find a table,’ Eva said, ‘and I’ll order.’
She made for the corner as usual and seated herself under the flowering almond tree, which was plastic, while Eva joined the queue. She tried to banish the image that lapped at her inner eye, but it forced itself on her again. Would Emma forget it, or would she tell everyone? Perhaps she’d have nightmares. They must stifle it with silence, never mention it again. In the end she’d think it had never happened.
The queue inched forward. She stared distractedly at the youngsters behind the counter; with their red caps and red short-sleeved shirts they worked at an incredible pace. The fatty haze from the cooking hung like a curtain behind the counter, the smells of fat and frying meat, melted cheese and seasonings of all kinds forced their way into her nostrils. But they seemed oblivious to the thickness of the atmosphere, running back and forth like industrious red ants, smiling optimistically at each and every order. She watched the quick fingers and the light feet that sped across the floor. This was nothing like her own day’s work. She stood in the middle of her studio most of the time, arms folded, fixing a stretched canvas with a hostile stare, or possibly an imploring one. On good days she stared aggressively and went on the attack, full of audacity and aplomb. Once in a blue moon she sold a painting.
‘Happy Meal, please,’ she said quickly, ‘and chicken nuggets and two Cokes. Would you be very kind and put an Aladdin in? She hasn’t got that one.’
The girl went to work. Her hands packed and folded at lightning speed. Over in the corner, Emma raised her head and followed her mother with her eyes as she finally came weaving across with the tray. Suddenly Eva’s knees began to tremble. She sank down at the table and looked in wonderment at the girl who was eagerly struggling to open the little cardboard box. She searched for the toy. The eruption was deafening.
‘I got Aladdin, Mum!’ She raised the figure above her head and showed it to the entire restaurant. They all stared at her. Eva buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
‘Are you ill?’ Emma turned deadly serious and hid Aladdin under the table.
‘No, well – just not a hundred per cent. It’ll soon pass.’
‘Are you upset about the dead man?’
She started. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I’m upset about the dead man. But we won’t talk about him any more. Never, d’you hear, Emma! Not to anyone! It’ll only make us sad.’
‘But do you think he’s got children?’
Eva wiped her face with her hands. She wasn’t certain of the future any more. She stared at the chicken, at the doughy brown lumps fried in fat, and knew that she couldn’t eat them. The images flashed past again. She saw them through the branches of the almond tree.
‘Yes,’ she said at length, ‘he’s probably got children.’
Chapter 3
AN ELDERLY WOMAN out walking her dog suddenly caught a glimpse of the blue and white shoe amongst the stones. She phoned from the telephone box near the bridge, just as Eva had done. When the police arrived, she was standing somewhat self-consciously by the bank with her back to the corpse. One of the officers, whose name was Karlsen, was first out of the car. He smiled politely when he caught sight of the woman and glanced inquisitively at her dog.
‘He’s a Chinese Crested,’ she said.
It really was an intriguing creature, tiny, wrinkled and very pink. It had a thick tuft of dirty yellow hair on the crown of its head, but was otherwise entirely bald.
‘What’s his name?’ he asked amicably.
‘Adam,’ she replied. He nodded and smiled, diving into the car’s boot for the case of
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