Strangers: A Novel(82)

“If you spoke to Nadine on the phone recently,” says Ela, interrupting my thoughts, “then it’s possible her mother might call you too. She’s calling everyone Nadine had contact with in the past few days, she wants to understand, why…” Ela’s voice fails her again.

“Yes, of course.”

The ninth floor. That would be enough time to realize what’s happening. And to know that it’s all over.

My stomach cramps up. “I’m going to hang up now, OK? Thank you for letting me know.”

After I’ve put away the phone, the silence in the room is tangible. Erik is leaning against the wall, his arms slung around his body, staring into nothingness. For the very first time, it’s as though he’s not even aware of my presence.

I want to comfort him, but I don’t know if he would want me to. Or if it’s the worst thing I could do right now.

Because you don’t know him, the familiar thought pops up. Unlike Nadine, who didn’t forget him, but who instead was in love with him until her very last hour, and who is now dead.

Is Erik having similar thoughts?

Better not to ask him, I decide, and get up to turn on the espresso machine—we have to keep our wits about us and concentrate on what lies ahead of us today. We can’t make any mistakes on the home stretch.

“No.”

I turn around to face Erik, his voice sounds surprisingly calm.

“We are not going to do anything else here that isn’t absolutely necessary. We can’t even risk the smell of coffee drifting outside.” Erik brushes his hair from his forehead, his hand trembling. “Nadine didn’t kill herself. I’m sure of it. I wish, I…” He closes his eyes.

The words on the tip of my tongue sound too cliché to be spoken out loud. You couldn’t have known. You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing you could have done.

Erik abruptly pushes away from the wall. “Stay here, I’ll be back in a moment.” He runs up the steps, and I hear him opening the bedroom door.

When he comes back, his face is even paler than before. He sits down next to me on the couch and grasps my shoulders. “They’re here. I looked down at the road through the curtains—a little way up on the other side there’s a car with blacked-out windows, one that I’ve never seen in our street before.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“Yes. It does.” Erik’s grip tightens. “It makes complete sense: they didn’t find you in the house, but you’ll have to come back at some point. So they wait. I’d be surprised if Gabor doesn’t contact you again soon and try to lure you back here. And if your father’s people pick us up from here, those men outside will know. I’m sure they won’t let us get away that easily.”

That’s the least of my worries. As soon as Gavin and his team get here, we’ve won. But until then …

“We’re not going to wait,” Erik says decisively. “We’ll go out the back, through the terrace and the garden and then along that little path. No one can see it from the street, and they won’t be expecting it.” Only now does he let go of my shoulders. “I’ll go crazy if I have to stay here and sit around.”

I nod halfheartedly. I can let Dad know on the way, of course, we can change the meeting point—but I feel safer here than out on the open street.

I relent nonetheless, because I can see how much effort it’s taking Erik not to peek out through the shutters and check whether the car is still there.

“OK.” I put my hand on his arm. “Then let’s go now.”

We don’t need to take much with us. Passports, my phone, money. All of it will fit in my handbag.

The fact that Erik’s fears were justified becomes clear, if it wasn’t before, while I’m tying my shoelaces. Erik is already waiting for me at the open terrace door; that’s why he doesn’t hear the scratching and scraping at the entrance.

Someone is there, and they’re trying to get in.

I grab my bag and dash into the living room past Erik. And out into the open air.

He catches on without me even having to say a word. He pulls the door shut behind us and hurries me ahead to the fence, helps me over, then clambers up and over himself.

Then we run. Without looking back. Along the path, then the first right, then immediately left and inward, past a playground, into the adjacent park.

There, I stop for a moment, propping my hands on my knees, gasping for air.

Erik pulls me over to the side, into the shade of a small group of trees, and peers over in the direction we came from. We stayed on footpaths the whole time, avoiding the roads—so no one could have followed us in a car.

And it seems that no one followed us on foot either. We wait for three or four minutes, but there’s no sign of anyone.

“They didn’t see us running away,” says Erik. “And they didn’t expect you to be in the house anyway. Maybe the car on the street is starting to become too obvious, and they’re posting someone in the house, to welcome you when you get home.”

Yes, that sounds plausible. I ask myself whether they would go through all this trouble if they knew how little I understood of what was going on. How little I know.

The morning sun peeks out between the clouds and illuminates the colors of the autumn leaves. It must be just before eight o’clock. Too early for the airport still, but then we can’t stay here either.