“Cheers,” he said with a smile at the bartender, appearing friendly, but not overly happy now that the subject of Norling’s tragic disappearance had been brought up. Then he drained the new whisky, downed the rest of the beer, paid his tab and left, lighter of heart than he had been in a long time.

36. Jeanette

36

Jeanette

JEANETTE WAS SITTING in the car park outside work. Her place of work—that was why her car was here. But it was Peter’s place of work too, and that was also why she was here. Her tongue was dry in her mouth; she really needed something to drink, but she didn’t have anything. Visiting his workplace went directly against everything they had agreed on, and it didn’t sit well with her. But it was the best thing she could come up with—significantly better than going to his home, which was completely unthinkable. Peter would not tolerate that, and she couldn’t bear the thought of even glimpsing his wife and children. It was as if her self-confidence had been blown away, and in order to postpone the unpleasant but unavoidable visit ahead of her, she evaluated the situation yet again.

It had been yesterday, during the long afternoon and evening outside the car dealership, and during the night, that she had realised what the new component in her spiritual misery was: that absence of self-confidence. It had slowly begun to dawn on Jeanette that she could no longer be loved, and nor did she deserve to be.

There had been two practicable ways to tackle the situation at the ravine. On the one hand they could have taken the money and sneaked away from the scene, celebrating their good fortune, with a positive outlook on life and looking ahead to the future with obvious joy. On the other hand, they could have followed their consciences, flat out said no to the whole idea, and left carrying their heads high.

Jeanette had chosen the coward’s option. Vacillating, she had stood there shifting from one foot to the other, listening with half an ear to the voice of her heart, while at the same time she had allowed herself to be convinced—while in a decidedly uncritical state—to do something that went against everything she believed in. By someone she barely knew.

What a silly cow she was—a milksop without her own will. A turncoat.

He got cold feet right there in the car as they had driven away from the scene of the accident. He had realised what she brought to the table—that she was not someone whose hand he wanted to hold when the wind picked up. And that she had nothing to offer even when it wasn’t windy.