by Isa Hansen
“Everything OK?” Celia asked.
“Yeah, it’s just from mamma. A reminder of a thing I need to do with her and Suzanne.”
Ebba’s mom Majvor was a lively, kind-spirited soul who’d been seeing her partner Suzanne for about a year. Suzanne was German-Swedish, a psychotherapist with arm tattoos, henna in her hair, and the kind of smile that made a person feel instantly at ease. Celia had met them both on a few occasions and liked them; they made a quirky, congenial couple.
Scooping up her phone, Ebba said, “I need to make a call. See you guys in a minute.”
Just the two of them now, Oskar asked Celia, “You still having us over tonight?”
“Absolutely,” she said.
Celia had invited Zari, Ebba, and Oskar over after her aunt had encouraged her to bring friends home more often.
That night they were going to have what the Swedes called fredagsmys: Friday cozy time. Generally speaking, fredagsmys involved getting together to watch a show or a movie and eating a bunch of snacks, finger food, or tacos. It was a time to settle down from the week and just relax.
The timing couldn’t have been better for it.
Celia was in desperate need of some cozy.
***
Anette had bought an overflow of soda and snacks in preparation for Celia’s movie get-together.
Bowls filled to the brim with popcorn, chips, and salty sticks lined the coffee table before them along with a few smaller bowls of candy. They were sitting in the den, piled up on the sofa.
“Oh, awesome. Anette bought Swedish Fish.” Celia grabbed a handful of her favorite candies.
“Where we’re from we just call them fish,” Oskar remarked.
“It’s true,” Ebba said. “Or, actually, they’re called Pastellfiskar. Pastel fish.” She grabbed the popcorn bowl and passed it to Zari.
“Sometimes salty fish,” Zari joined in. “If you get the licorice kind.”
“See, she knows her fish,” Ebba said and shoved some popcorn in her mouth.
Anette stuck her head in the doorway to greet everyone. “Erik and I are just about to go out. You have everything you need?”
“I think we have more than enough.” Celia made a nod to the bowls. “Thank you!”
Anette gave them a cheerful wave and left.
Celia started the movie they’d chosen—Midnight in Paris, since none of them had seen it—but they were so busy talking and laughing that they had to pause the film.
In the midst of their jabber, Celia’s phone rang. She saw that it was Alex and hoisted herself up from the sofa and crossed the room to answer.
“What are you up to?” Alex asked. “Wanna do something?”
“I can’t right now.” Celia paused for a second. “I’m hanging out with some friends.” There was no point in denying it; in the background Zari, Oskar, and Ebba were chattering audibly.
There was an awkward silence between them. Celia felt she should ask him if he wanted to come over. That would be the nice thing to offer. But she knew how Oskar and Ebba felt about Alex, so instead she said she’d call him later. She hoped she hadn’t upset him. Although there wasn’t much she could do about that now.
She slid back into her spot on the sofa next to Oskar.
“Who was that?” Ebba asked.
“Alex.” Celia set her phone down on the sofa’s arm.
“What did he want?”
“Just wondered if we could hang out.”
Ebba wrinkled her nose. “He’s not coming over is he?”
“No,” Celia said. “I know you guys don’t exactly mesh.”
“Uh, no—” Ebba jumped to her feet. She flung her sweater over her shoulder and picked up her glass and held it like a champagne flute. “I’m from Björkby, but I talk like I’m from Stockholm,” she said, emphasizing Alex’s wispy Stockholm dialect and elongated vowels. “Cause I’m a Stockholm bro, with Stockholm money. I got the topnotch digs and know how to get in to all the places.”
Celia couldn’t help herself, she started laughing with everyone else. The laughing and goofiness was contagious. But after a while she said: “Come on now. He isn’t that bad.”
“He’s so superficial,” Ebba said.
“I’m not sure about that.” Celia shrugged. “When you get to know him better, he’s different. He can actually be really sweet. And there are things about him you wouldn’t assume.”
“Like what?”
“Well for one, he plays the accordion.”
Ebba laughed. “I can’t picture that.”
“Does he really?” Zari said.
“Yeah, quite well, too.”
“What about the front desk person at the swimming hall?” Oskar asked. “You don’t think he was talking to Alex about you?”
Celia noticed when Oskar spoke, he eased just a little bit closer to her.
“I don’t think that was Alex,” she said to him. “When I asked him about it, he sincerely looked like he had no idea what I was talking about. I trust Alex. If he says there’s nothing, then I’m going to believe him.”
Zari spoke up: “You know, about finding the swimming teacher… If you’re looking into people from Liv’s past, then why not speak to her mother? She might know.”
“Maybe,” Celia said.
“That’s what I would do to find answers, I think.”
“It’s a good idea,” Oskar agreed.
Celia looked away from them. The idea of Liv’s mother had occurred to her before, and she’d gone as far as to find her phone number and address.
That was it. Then she let it go.
The reason—if she were to be completely honest—was cold feet. In the end she wasn’t sure that she wanted all of the answers that Liv’s mother might bring. Answers that would bring her close to her own family’s past.
Maybe that was the real reason she had halted her investigation. Maybe she wasn’t prepared to see her grandfather’s affair up close or find out what other secrets he’d buried. When it came down to it, she remained reluctant to know how her family played into the narrative.
“I suppose that would be the next step,” she said with hesitation.
Ebba nodded in agreement with the others. “It’s worth looking into.”
***
Alex leaned against the wall to the Rosensköld residence. He’d grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the vestibule on his way out.
He didn’t usually smoke, only at parties accompanied with a glass of something stiff, but he felt compelled to now. He took a match to the cigarette, making a light in the otherwise completely dark scenery. He wrapped his coat tighter around him and turned his back to shield his cigarette from the wind.
He had just called Celia to see what she was up to.
Afterward she’d forgotten to end the call.
He listened to Ebba making fun of him. Listened to them all laugh.
Including Celia.
After ending the call in anger, he instantly regretted hanging up. He’d liked to have continued hearing what they had to say about him.
Never mind. What he heard was enough.
To add insult to injury, he was there. Oskar.
Of course he was.
Bloody Oskar.
When they were children they had actually been friends: Alex, Oskar, and Ebba. The three of them were inseparable. Up until second grade.
That’s when Oskar’s mother and father separated. His parents fought a bitter custody battle over him that his father lost even though his mother was by no means fit to care for a child. At the time, Alex overheard his parents talking about Oskar’s mother: she’s unstable, a whack job, not to mention she consumes pills like candy…
Snapping up words he’d heard his father use, Alex started making quips to Oskar about how his mom was a druggy and a loony, and how he needed to be picked up by child protection services. The comments hadn’t gone over well, especially by Ebba who’d always been protective of Oskar.
One day during recess, Alex
had taunted him, perhaps a little more than usual. Ebba then suddenly leaped up and smacked Alex in the eye.
Seething and unable to hit back, since you can’t hit a girl—especially not one who’s the size of a Chihuahua—he swung around and punched Oskar in the face. Oskar shoved him to the ground and they rolled around the playground—hitting, punching, and grabbing at each other. Then Ebba flew on top of them like some freaky little ninja monkey.
The fight ended with Oskar hitting his head against the curb. He was transported to the hospital for medical care and Alex was sent home from school.
Alex’s parents were out of town, so his aunt picked him up instead. She arrived with a disapproving face that reminded him of his father’s. On the drive home he sat with his head pressed against the window while she droned on and on about how appearances are everything, he should certainly know that by now, and how in this family they don’t go around acting like a bunch of wild pagans. And doesn’t he understand that she has far better things to do than escorting a snot-faced kid from school because he doesn’t know how to behave like people?
From that moment on, he began fervently disliking his aunt, not that he’d ever been much of a fan of any of his relatives.
Alex assumed things would go on as usual with Oskar and Ebba after that, and had the tiff only been between him and Oskar, that’s probably what would have happened. But the following day, with her fists on her hips, Ebba informed him that they were no longer friends.
And that was the end of their trio.
In the years that followed, Alex developed a distanced jealousy toward Oskar.
Oskar who could build anything with his hands and had a talent for every sport he tried. Oskar with his ruddy good looks. Steadfast and frustratingly earnest Oskar who despite a messed-up home life managed to go on day in, day out being so goddamn sturdy.
That wasn’t the end of it, though. There was something else that Alex hated to admit: he’d always been curious about Oskar in a way that bothered him.
He’d watched him go from a twitchy red-haired kid to attractive boy next door. He watched him grow into his limbs. In gym class Alex would all too often find his gaze set on him in the midst of a game, or during an interval, when Oskar would tilt forward—hands on knees, head dipped down—catching his breath.
Sometimes just a glance would fill Alex with a heated surge that was raw and irresistible. He didn’t like how Oskar made him feel. The jealousy or the attraction. So he began to loathe him.
Separating his feelings became easier when they no longer were classmates in school. But now that Oskar was headed for the same girl that he himself had his sights on, he was flooded by a rush of complicated emotions.
The thought of Celia and Oskar together brought about some warped combination of desire and disdain that stabbed at him in all the wrong ways. And now the two of them were sitting together—making fun of him.
Alex hunched over his cigarette, watched it burn.
And to think he’d actually been ashamed of putting the fish in Celia’s locker.
Afterward he regretted doing something so childish and petty. He’d just been so explosive when Celia snubbed him and went to cuddle up with Oskar instead.
Now he didn’t care any more.
He threw the glowing stump on the ground and put it out by grinding it with his shoe.
He had no idea how to deal with the insidious family affair that was growing more tangled the more he probed, but one thing he did know: Celia no longer deserved his loyalty or his trust.
CHAPTER 19
Celia wondered if Alex would be upset with her for not inviting him over. She had meant to call him over the weekend but didn’t up end up getting around to it. On the following Monday he did seem somewhat distant and subdued.
They stood at the fence by smultronskogen. It had become Celia’s go-to spot between classes. She liked having the overview of the school grounds while also being provided with privacy.
“Sorry about the other night,” she said.
“Sorry for what?” Alex’s voice was monotone.
“I should have asked if you wanted to come by.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
Alex was quiet for a few moments, inspecting his cuticles. Then he said: “You’re investigating Liv again, aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you change when you’re going after answers about her. You become different. More reserved, more serious.”
Celia rested her arms against the timber fence. “I guess that’s true. Yeah. I’ve started looking into things again. Not that I’ve found much. But I’m investigating new avenues. I’ve decided to reach out to Liv’s mother.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And I’m taking some notes. You know, writing down anything I can think of. Like from conversations I’ve had with people, or details from her diary, stuff like that.”
Over the past week, Celia had revisited Liv’s journal. She’d hoped to find a name for the swimming teacher or any other relevant clues. But even with her increased language skills, she wasn’t finding much of substance or relevance.
Still, something seemingly insignificant might just turn out to be important. So now she was keeping a tally of details.
“You have Liv’s diary?” Alex asked, raising his head.
“I found it at my grandfather’s cottage.” With that, Celia clamped her mouth shut. She wasn’t sure why, but her spider feelers were out. Something was nudging her, saying she should be more careful with what she shared. She wasn’t sure if the feeling was a general one or specific to Alex. Just the other night she was saying how she trusted Alex, and yet here she was with this feeling…
Alex moved up closer to Celia: “Do you need help translating it? The diary that is.” His eyes had turned dark and focused. “Maybe there’s something in there that you missed. I could help with that.”
“Thanks, but I’m actually doing fine with my Swedish.” She kept her tone light. “What time is it anyway?” She looked at the screen of her phone. “Oh, we should get to class.” She started toward the school building, looking over her shoulder at Alex. “You coming?”
***
Finding Viveca Sörensson was easy. Facing her was much more difficult.
Celia opted to take the opposite approach with Viveca than she had with Katja. When she visited Katja at her townhome, she’d wanted to catch her off guard. With Viveca, she wanted to soften the blow. It was much better to call before her visit. She didn’t want to give the old woman a start.
Viveca’s number had been online and all Celia needed to do was call her.
Yet, she found the task of speaking to Viveca so daunting that it took her a few days to actually make the call.
Liv had been Viveca’s only child according to Erik. She would be calling a heart-broken old woman, reminding her of the daughter she lost.
But Celia needed answers and facing Viveca was essential for that purpose.
She’d made a decision over the past few days. She wanted the truth. Even if it would hurt: even if it would reveal things that she didn’t want to know. If she just left it, the questions would always be there, tormenting her.
Besides, maybe the truth wouldn’t be as bad as the fears she was conjuring up in the dark corners of her mind. Maybe the truth would instead allow her to get on with her life as she knew it.
Viveca picked up after two ringtones. Her voice sounded remote on the other end of a scratchy line.
Celia told her that she was Liv’s niece and wondered if they could meet.
There was a silence; when Viveca spoke she welcomed Celia to come over that day if she wished. Seeing no reason for delay, Celia told her she’d be over within the hour.
On her walk over to Viveca’s, Celia thought how it was hard to read any emotion into the woman’s voice. She wasn’t sure what she would be dealing with.
Viveca Sörensson’s apartment was just south of the cit
y center where stacks of tired beige concrete complexes stood in a haphazard row. Celia recognized that she was close to the community swimming pool. This part of town was vastly different from her aunt and uncle’s country road or some of the urban yet quaint streets of Björkby.
She followed her GPS to the complex where Viveca lived. Someone was just leaving when Celia approached, enabling her to access the stairwell without calling first. She took the stairs up to the second floor, to a door that displayed the name Sörensson on the mail slot. She pushed the door bell which sounded in a ringing buzz from inside the flat.
Down the hall a scruffy cat was let out: a door opened and shut again with a bang that echoed through the building. The cat lowered its body to a prowl, slunk past Celia and pattered down the stairs.
A moment later Viveca’s door unbolted and opened.
Silhouetting the doorway, pale and narrow with her shoulders in a withered slouch, was Liv’s mother.
From under a brown and gray streaked fringe, the woman peered at Celia with an expression that was difficult to decipher. Celia couldn’t tell if it was shock or sorrow or an alcohol-induced haze.
“You must be the niece,” she said, her voice throaty and hoarse.
“Yes,” Celia responded, tinged by guilt. It had to be difficult for Liv’s mother to see her. She considered offering her hand, but the woman had already backed into the hall.
“I’m Viveca,” she said.
Celia moved into the hall that led into a dim living room. Thick drapes over the windows blocked natural light from streaming into the apartment. Viveca seated herself on a yellow sofa that was sunken down with age. Celia pulled up a wooden chair and sat down opposite Viveca, keeping a good enough distance to not encroach on the woman’s personal space.
She looked around for portraits of Liv or anything that might have belonged to her, but there was no sign of the daughter.
Viveca observed Celia without saying anything. She retrieved a pack of Marlboro Red from her cardigan pocket and lit up a cigarette. Celia felt she should start the conversation but was struggling to find the right words. So instead she looked back into Viveca’s face. It was a face hardened by addiction and strain.
