The Boy in the Suitcase - Lene Kaaberbol [93]
Aleksander himself had disappeared again, she knew not where to. Anne Marquart had said something to him in Danish; his face had lit up in a pleased grin, and an enthusiastic “Yesssss!” had hopped out of his mouth. Sigita had the feeling he was being allowed something that was otherwise strictly regulated. Video games? Computer? It was obvious that they were wealthy enough to provide him with anything he wished for. Sigita felt a peculiar pain. If Mikas ever found out what kind of life his brother was living, would he be envious?
The thought brought back all her fear for him.
“I am not here because of Aleksander,” she said. “But because of Mikas. My own little boy. Is he here? Have you seen him?”
Anne Marquart seemed taken aback.
“A little boy? No. I… . You have another child, then?”
“Yes. Mikas. He is three, now.”
Something was going on inside Anne Marquart. She was staring into her teacup, as if any moment now a profound and essential truth would be revealed there. Then she suddenly raised her head.
“Same father?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Sigita, not understanding the intensity with which Anne Marquart endowed the question.
“Oh God,” said Anne Marquart softly. “But he is only three… .”
Amazed, Sigita saw silent tears on Mrs. Marquart’s face.
“It’s not fair,” whispered Aleksander’s mother. “How are we expected to bear this?”
“I don’t understand,” said Sigita hesitantly.
“You have seen that he is ill?”
“Yes.” One could hardly avoid it.
“He suffers from something called nephrotic syndrome. He has hardly any kidney function left now. He needs dialysis twice a week. We have a small clinic in the basement so that he doesn’t have to travel all the way to Copenhagen for treatment, but still … he hardly ever complains, but it’s tough on him. And … and eventually, it will stop working.”
“Can’t he get a transplant?” asked Sigita.
“We tried. My husband gave him a kidney, but … but we are not … biologically related, of course. And Aleksander rejected it, despite all the medication, and now he is worse than before… .”
At that moment, Sigita finally realized why Jan Marquart had come looking for her. And why her son had disappeared.
THE BOY WAS sitting with his eyes half closed and showed no reaction when Nina parked the car in Fejøgade. The police car had gone, and the windows of the third floor flat were empty and closed. Morten might not be home yet, thought Nina distractedly, or he could have taken the children to stay with his sister in Greve. He liked to get them out of the way when a crisis was brewing. He didn’t want them to see that there was anything wrong, didn’t want them to see him losing control. And at the moment, he was probably half out of his mind.
Nina closed her eyes and felt the worm of conscience gnawing at the back of her mind. Tonight, she would have to put everything right. Rest her head against his shoulder and run her hands over his face while she told him why there was nothing more to be afraid of now. They could let the children stay overnight with Hanne and Peter and pick them up in the morning.
She lifted Mikas from the car and carried him up the stairs. He was awake, but tired and limp, as if he had spent everything he had on the beach. He didn’t stir as she eased the keys out of her pocket. She could hear the muted roar of a video game the Jensen children were playing, and the rattle of pots and dinner preparations behind the Jensen door. But she didn’t feel like answering her neighbor’s curious questions—which would, no doubt, be endless—and so she unlocked her own front door soundlessly and slipped inside.
The flat was quiet and cool, and for the first time since she had picked up the suitcase yesterday, Nina felt a genuine pang of hunger. She kicked off her sandals in the hall and walked barefoot into the living room. Mikas slid