Playdate Read online

  PLAYDATE

  Alex Dahl

  www.headofzeus.com

  First published in the UK in 2020 by Head of Zeus Ltd

  Copyright © Alex Dahl, 2020

  The moral right of Alex Dahl to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN (HB): 9781789544077

  ISBN (XTPB): 9781789544084

  ISBN (E): 9781789544022

  Author Photo © Nina Rangoy

  Head of Zeus Ltd

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  Contents

  Welcome Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  October 2017

  Chapter 1: Elisa

  Chapter 2: Elisa

  Chapter 3: Elisa

  Chapter 4: Elisa

  Chapter 5: Elisa

  Chapter 6: Selma

  Chapter 7: Elisa

  Chapter 8: Elisa

  Chapter 9: Elisa

  Chapter 10: Elisa

  Chapter 11: Selma

  Chapter 12: Lucia

  Chapter 13: Lucia

  Chapter 14: Lucia

  Chapter 15: Lucia

  Chapter 16: Elisa

  Chapter 17: Marcus

  Chapter 18: Elisa

  Chapter 19: Selma

  Chapter 20: Elisa

  Chapter 21: Selma

  Chapter 22: Elisa

  Chapter 23: Lucia

  Chapter 24: Marcus

  Chapter 25: Lucia

  Chapter 26: Elisa

  Chapter 27: Lucia

  Chapter 28: Jacqueline

  Chapter 29: Marcus

  Chapter 30: Lucia

  Chapter 31: Elisa

  Chapter 32: Selma

  Chapter 33: Marcus

  Chapter 34: Lucia

  Chapter 35: Jacqueline

  Chapter 36: Selma

  April 2019: Fifteen Months Later

  Chapter 37: Elisa

  Chapter 38: Jacqueline

  Chapter 39: Selma

  Chapter 40: Lucia

  Chapter 41: Elisa

  Chapter 42: Jacqueline

  Chapter 43: Lucia

  Chapter 44: Jacqueline

  Chapter 45: Lucia

  Chapter 46: Elisa

  Chapter 47: Selma

  Chapter 48: Jacqueline

  Chapter 49: Lucia

  Chapter 50: Elisa

  Chapter 51: Jacqueline

  Chapter 52: Selma

  Chapter 53: Elisa

  Chapter 54: Selma

  Chapter 55: Elisa

  Chapter 56: Jacqueline

  Chapter 57: Selma

  Chapter 58: Elisa

  Chapter 59: Lucia

  Chapter 60: Selma

  Chapter 61: Elisa

  Chapter 62: Selma

  Chapter 63: Elisa

  Chapter 64: Marcus

  Chapter 65: Selma

  Chapter 66: Elisa

  Chapter 67: Lucia

  Chapter 68: Jacqueline

  Chapter 69: Lucia

  Chapter 70: Jacqueline

  Chapter 71: Marcus

  Chapter 72: Selma

  Chapter 73: Selma

  Chapter 74: Elisa

  Chapter 75: Elisa

  Chapter 76: Elisa

  Chapter 77: Elisa

  Chapter 78: Selma

  Chapter 79: Jacqueline

  Chapter 80: Selma

  Chapter 81: Lucia

  Chapter 82: Elisa

  Chapter 83: Lucia

  Chapter 84: Jacqueline

  Chapter 85: Elisa

  Chapter 86: Lucia

  Chapter 87: Selma

  Chapter 88: Lucia

  Chapter 89: Marcus

  Chapter 90: Selma

  Chapter 91: Elisa

  Chapter 92: Selma

  Epilogue: Jacqueline

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  An Invitation from the Publisher

  To Laura, with so much love

  ‘An act of justice closes the book on a misdeed; an act of vengeance writes one of its own.’

  —MARILYN VOS SAVANT

  I hold you close, so close that it is as though we are one, once again. As though no force in the entire world could ever take you from me. Your fine, long hair brushes against my face and I breathe in its sweet scent; earth and flowers. Your fingertips braid together at the nape of my neck, your skin warm against mine. I bury my face in the damp, hot hollow at your collarbone. I don’t know where we are. All I can see is you. And I know that I have to hold on to you, tighter than I’ve ever held on to anything in my life.

  But still. Still, a sliver of space is cracked open between us, bringing a rush of ice-cold air. Still, your tiny fingers are peeled from my neck and you are lifted clean away from me. My eyes are wide open, but they can see nothing but the densest, cruelest darkness. My mouth, too, is wide open – in a scream, but no sound will come. My arms are empty, now, but your warmth lingers on my skin.

  And you, my love, are gone.

  I wake up. It is still pitch black. You are still gone. I scream.

  October 2017

  1

  Elisa

  Sandefjord, 19 October 2017

  I’ve had the day off, cramming all the things I never normally have time for into the afternoon – highlights and a trim, nails, a half-hearted hour at the gym, and I’m almost late for pick-up. First, I got stuck in bad traffic by the E18 motorway exit, and then Lyder decided to throw a fit when I picked him up from nursery, dropping to the floor like a slab of meat, flopping around in my arms and rolling his eyes back as I shoved his limp limbs into his winter suit.

  ‘Stop it,’ I hissed, pushing his stockinged feet into his sheepskin boots before grabbing his lunch box, an enormous cardboard artwork and his nursery folder in one hand, my other hand half-dragging my son out the door. ‘Come on!’

  In the car, Lyder whines about the fact that I haven’t brought him a snack.

  ‘Everyone else gets raisins after nursery,’ he wails. ‘Or carrots. Or biscuits. Carl gets biscuits, the kind with chocolate bits in them, it isn’t fair…’ I block out his thin voice droning on and on. It’s been a long week and I feel the beginnings of a headache at the back of my skull. I press my finger to the spot that hurts, staring at a red light taking forever. Three minutes left until pick-up time. Four minutes before Aud, the sour-faced woman running the after-school club, starts stabbing my phone number with her long acrylic nails.

  The light turns green and I drive fast down the last few quiet suburban roads to Korsvik School, making Lyder giggle nervously in the back seat at the squeal of the tires. I pull up in front of the school and hand Lyder my iPhone, his face breaking into a surprised smile. It’s 4.29 – I made it.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ I say, and hurry across the school yard to the brightly lit red wooden building.

  ‘Mamma!’ squeals Lucia and runs towards me. She jumps into my arms and I kiss her soft golden hair. ‘You’re late.’

  ‘No, I’m right on time, actually.’

  ‘Can I go home with Josephin
e?’

  ‘Who’s Josephine?’

  ‘She’s a new girl in my class. Can I? Please?’

  ‘Not today, sweetie. You know we have to arrange playdates ahead of time, it’s just easier.’

  ‘Her mom said it’s fine. They’re waiting, in the cloakroom.’

  ‘Sweetheart…’

  ‘Please, Mamma.’ Lucia points through the open doorway to the changing area shared by first- and second-graders.

  I sigh and go through with her. A little girl wearing a beautiful pink quilted Moncler jacket and moon boots sits on the bench in the far corner, next to an equally chic-looking mother.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, and smile at them both. When the girl smiles back I notice that the left side of her face creases strangely, and then I realize it is a circular, puckered scar cupping her cheek, reaching all the way to her hairline at her temple.

  ‘Hello, I’m Line, Josephine’s mother,’ says the woman and smiles widely. She is beautiful, the kind of beautiful that has the power to instantly disarm people. Her eyes are wide-set and clear blue, her hair is thick and dark, curling perfectly around her shoulders, and her lips are plump and shiny with nude gloss. She is wearing a khaki version of her daughter’s Moncler jacket – cinched at her tiny waist, a white cashmere polo neck, and elegant, knee-high olive-green leather boots.

  ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Elisa. Elisa Blix.’ I turn to Lucia. ‘We need to hurry, sweets, Lyder is waiting alone in the car.’

  ‘I want to go to Josephine’s house!’

  ‘It’s absolutely fine with us,’ says Line. ‘The girls have been asking for a playdate for a while, and we’re not doing anything this afternoon.’

  ‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well, okay, if you’re sure.’

  ‘Absolutely sure. Let me give you my number. We live on Asnestoppen, so not far from here.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll pick her up around six thirty, if that works?’

  ‘Six thirty is perfect.’

  ‘When did Josephine start? I don’t think I’ve met you before.’

  ‘Pretty new. We moved here from Oslo at the beginning of term.’

  ‘Ah, okay. Liking it so far?’

  ‘Yeah. Josie has settled really well at school and my older son is happy at his senior school, too.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ I say, and we smile at each other again. I like her; I could imagine us being friends. There is something calm and centered about her, and I suppose I am quite awe-struck by her seemingly effortless elegance. The girls, too, seem to like each other – as Line and I speak, they do an intricate clapping game I can’t remember seeing Lucia do before, then they burst into fits of high-pitched giggles.

  ‘Do you want to call my phone from yours, that way I have your number too?’ she says.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve left my phone in the car with my son. Why don’t you just call me, and I’ll drop you a text in a sec?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Okay, have fun on your playdate, girls,’ I say and give the faux-fur blob on the top of Lucia’s hat a little tug.

  She laughs and walks away with Line and Josephine, holding Josephine’s hand, the two of them skipping in sync, the sound of their squeaky rubber-soled boots reverberating around the empty corridor.

  *

  It’s just before six when my phone vibrates. It’s a picture message from Line, of Josephine and Lucia sitting close together on a huge white sofa in matching pink princess dresses, laughing and cradling a shaggy brown cat. Its paws are crusty with dirt as if just came in from outside, and its eyes are bright yellow and mesmerizing. I am still staring at it when the phone begins to ring in my hand.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mamma?’ Lucia’s light voice is hiccupy with giggles.

  I smile. ‘Hey baby,’ I say, ‘I’m just about to get ready to come get you, okay?’

  ‘Yeah, but Mamma, we were wondering… could we have a sleepover? Please oh please oh please!’

  ‘Oh.’ Lucia has never slept at a friend’s house before, though at seven, some of the girls in the class have started sleeping over. I know my daughter isn’t a particularly anxious child, but she doesn’t know Josephine that well, and I’ve never even been to their house.

  ‘Mamma, please! It’s Friday!’

  ‘I know. Just… you don’t have any of your stuff with you. And you’ve not been on a sleepover before.’

  ‘Yeah I have! With Julie!’

  ‘Yes, but she’s your cousin. I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s so fun here! Mamma, please! Here, talk to Josephine’s mom.’ The phone goes quiet for a moment, then Line’s voice fills my ear.

  ‘Hi there, Elisa. What a fun girl you have! The two of them are having such a good time.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘Lucia sounded very happy.’

  ‘So, you gathered the girls have been asking for a sleepover. What do you think? It is totally fine with me. My husband is in New York for work and doesn’t get back until tomorrow and Josephine is generally easier to deal with when she has a buddy around, so I don’t mind in the slightest.’

  ‘Oh. Okay. Yes, well, it’s just that Lucia hasn’t slept at a friend’s house before.’

  ‘Right. Well, I mean, we could try, and if she feels like going home, I could just give you guys a call and you could collect her?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose that would work. Okay, so I will need to pop round with her stuff. You know, toothbrush, pajamas, teddy, of course.’

  ‘Sure.’

  *

  Fredrik walks through the door so red in the face from the fierce wind it looks like he’s been slapped.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, pecking me on the cheek. ‘Where are the kids?’

  ‘Lyder is zonked out in front of The Lego Movie upstairs and Lucia is at a classmate’s house. She’s been asked to sleep over, actually.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘That’s okay, I suppose?’

  ‘Yeah, I don’t see why not. We can put Lyder to bed early and get some us-time.’ He winks at me and runs a light hand across my bottom before grabbing a bottle of Mexican beer from the fridge, snapping its cap off and taking a long glug from it, his Adam’s apple rising and falling in his throat.

  ‘Yes, it actually works quite well. My flight tomorrow is at nine, so you could just have a slow morning with Lyder and then go get Lucia sometime before lunch.’

  ‘Yeah, okay. What time do you think you’ll be back?’

  ‘I land at five thirty.’

  ‘Was it Milan?’

  ‘No, Rome.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘Well, it’s not like I’ll see anything other than the airport, honey.’

  ‘And blue skies.’

  ‘True. There is that.’ I smile at my husband and go into the hallway to pull my boots on. I am driving, but I still put on a woolen hat – though it is only October, winter seems to have come fast on icy winds from the east.

  *

  ‘Hi,’ says Line, ‘come on in.’

  I step into a large, immaculately tidy hallway with a vaulted ceiling and expensive-looking spotlights. When I take my boots off, my feet are immediately warmed by underfloor heating. I hear children laughing upstairs, and when we go up into a huge open living space, Lucia and Josephine are doing cartwheels, still in princess dresses, stopping only to heave for breath through peals of laughter.

  ‘Wow, what a beautiful house you have,’ I say. It’s all sleek modernity, with unbroken white surfaces, quite the contrast to our home, which is full of family photographs, boxes of toys, kids’ drawings tacked onto walls. This is clearly the kind of family who can answer an unexpected house call without worrying about piles of shoes in the hallway, towering dishes in the sink, overflowing laundry bins in the bathroom, half-eaten jam sandwiches abandoned on windowsills. Unlike us.

  The house is built at the very top of a rocky hill, above Asnes beach on the Vesterøya peninsula, with no immediate neighbors. One wall is entirely glass, looking out onto the rugged coastline dotte
d with patches of forest and a moody ocean rolling out far below us, its frothy crests occasionally visible in the sweeping lights from the lighthouse across the bay.

  ‘Thank you,’ says Line. ‘We’re really happy with it. I think I saw half the houses in Sandefjord before we finally bought this one.’ She laughs and so do I. ‘Do you want a tea? Or a glass of wine?’

  ‘I have to get back to my son before he goes to bed around seven thirty,’ I say. ‘I promised him a bedtime story.’

  Line smiles, and I am struck again by how beautiful she is.

  ‘Sure. Just a quick one then?’

  I nod and she returns after a moment with two glasses of champagne. ‘It is Friday, after all.’ We could definitely be friends. I follow the crawl of a droplet of condensation down the outside of the glass, then raise it towards Line in a little toast.

  ‘Maman,’ says Josephine, ‘regarde!’

  Line claps as Josephine does a wobbly double-cartwheel, then collapses onto the carpet.

  ‘You speak French?’

  ‘Yeah, sometimes. Josephine used to go to the French school in Oslo. We figured another language is always an advantage.’

  I feel suddenly dull and painfully average next to this glamorous woman and her sophisticated daughter. ‘I see. And, yes, you’re absolutely right, such an advantage.’

  ‘What about you guys? Are you from around here? It is a really nice place to live, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is nice. Quiet, I guess, but still central. I’m from Lillehammer originally, and my husband is from Sandefjord, so we chose to live here as he works in Tønsberg and I work out of Torp Airport. It takes me less than twenty minutes to get home from there.’

  ‘Ah. So what do you do?’

  ‘I’m a flight attendant. For Nordic Wings.’

  Line’s eyes light up. ‘Oh wow. That must be a fun career. I always had a vision of myself as a flight attendant when I was much younger. Sometimes I wish I’d pursued it.’

  ‘It can be fun. But it gets less and less glamorous, put it that way. I used to work long-haul, for Qatar, before the kids. That was probably more like the vision most people have of the job.’

  Line smiles and takes another sip of her champagne.