Under the Ice by Gisa Klönne

Author:Gisa Klönne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction

Friday, 29 July

‘That suitcase, Mother, my checked children’s suitcase – have you found it?’

Elisabeth resists the temptation to hang up. Seven in the morning – Carmen has never rung this early; unlike her mother, she isn’t a morning person. But she wants something from Elisabeth and isn’t going to give up until she’s got it. She’s always like that when she’s set her mind on something – unrelenting, merciless. Always has been. It never ceases to amaze Elisabeth that she managed to produce a being so different from herself.

‘I was too tired to go up to the attic yesterday,’ Elisabeth replies.

‘You said you’d look, Mother. You promised.’

‘You normally tell me to take things easy.’

‘Goodness, Mother, don’t you understand? Someone left a dead dog outside the church in Frimmersdorf, in a suitcase with my name on it. That can’t be a coincidence. I have to call the police – unless you can persuade me right now that the suitcase is still in the attic.’

‘All right, all right, I’ll have a look.’

‘I’ll ring again in a quarter of an hour, Mother.’

Barabbas pads across the kitchen linoleum and lays his head on Elisabeth’s knees. She scratches him behind his ears. She had done her best to protect him, but it wasn’t enough. She hadn’t even realised Carmen had written her name on the suitcase; the girl must have done it secretly when they were on holiday on the island of Juist all those years ago. Yes, that must be what happened; that would be just like Carmen. Mine, mine, mine – her daughter always had been possessive, even as a child. Now Carmen is a persistent woman of almost fifty. Elisabeth feels tears pricking her eyes. She can’t fetch Carmen’s suitcase back; it hadn’t occurred to her that her daughter would ever ask for it, and she knew nothing of the name in the lid. She had, of course, got rid of the address label and the flower stickers, and unpicked the monograms from the sheets. She’d never dreamed that the suitcase would be on the news. They’ll take Barabbas away; they’ll kill him – and it will be her fault.

The telephone begins to ring, shrill and harsh, like Carmen’s voice when she feels hard done by. Elisabeth forces herself to reach out her aching arm and pick up the receiver.

‘You’re right,’ she says, when Carmen says hello. ‘The suitcase isn’t in the attic. I remembered as soon as I got up there – I put it out on the street last year for the dustmen. Somebody must have taken it.’

‘You put my suitcase out for the dustmen?’

‘I’m sorry, Carmen, I didn’t think you were particularly attached to it.’ You never gave a toss about our holidays, Elisabeth wants to add, but she stops herself. You only ever wanted to get away from us, she thinks. But she mustn’t get into an argument now; she doesn’t have the strength. Every word is an effort as it is. And it’s important that Carmen believe her.

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