I have to get the fuck out of this town.
Before I tell you the big news, let me just say how good it felt at first. Almost like the old times. The house feels small now. There are people. People talking, messing around, doing something. People having breakfast. Jo looking at Eric. Eric looking at Marie. Marie spreading jam over her toast.
I’m not trying to say this is in any way idyllic. It isn’t. However, if this does sound idyllic to you, don’t worry. This could be the last idyllic paragraph in my diary. Because at the end of breakfast Eric asked about Hilda.
There was not much concern at first though Tom said this was unlike her. And it was. In any case, we finished our breakfast with something heavy and tasteless and unspoken hanging over our plates. I drank my strong black coffee scorching my heart and stared at Tom. If there was any foul play, he seemed calm and genuinely concerned. At some pointed Jo began talking about her fucking piano classes, and everybody faked interest.
In the meantime, Eric noticed my stare and said he would go upstairs to check on his aunt.
Two minutes later he came back tumbling down the stairs. And even the moment I saw his trembling white lips and his pale face I thought it could still be fine. But of course it was not. Because Eric told us that Hilda was gone.