‘Quite something,’ Nyman answered cautiously.
‘Oh yes, you can say that again.’
And with that Matti started talking. It was a good thing. It gave Nyman the chance to concentrate on remaining as invisible as possible while also constantly keeping an eye on his surroundings. They would soon reach Shore Street. Nyman said he could get out anywhere and that if they bumped into each other again, Nyman would buy him a pint by way of thanks. Very nice of you, replied Matti. Nyman thanked him once again, got out of the car and closed the door. He caught sight of the clock on the wall of the bike rental shop. It was eight o’clock sharp. He was just in time. It felt incredible. He would even have time to rent another bike.
Nyman turned in a full circle.
Olivia Koski was nowhere in sight.
Olivia heard the sound of some kind of chains being dragged through the pipes, listened to the sound of hammering and heard Esa – the owner and director and, as he had explained a moment earlier, the only regular employee of Kuurainen & Company – busily pottering in the bathroom.
She looked at the wall clock. She was late. She walked up to the bathroom doorway. On the bathroom floor was a small monitor, on top of the toilet bowl a meter with which Esa was taking various readings. The taps in the shower had been removed altogether.
‘This will all have to be replaced. It’s a much bigger job than I’d thought.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I thought we’d manage with a few strategic patches, but there’s nothing here that still works properly. You don’t use this, I hope.’ He looked at the toilet. ‘Nothing moving in here. You’ll end up with floater after floater.’
‘There’s an outhouse at the end of the garden.’
‘Excellent. The good thing about the natural method is size isn’t a problem. You could eat Wiener schnitzels for a week, and even if nothing moves for a while and everything comes out at once—’
‘So, the renovation,’ Olivia interrupted him. ‘I’m going to need one.’
Esa nodded. He was still on his knees on the floor. He was a short man, and now his eyes were level with Olivia’s waist, a fact that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.
‘It’s going to be a big one,’ he said. ‘Nothing can drain away, and there’s no water coming in. Everything will have to be replaced. The mains pipe leading up to the house is new enough, so we can leave that, but as for everything in and out of the house … right up to the septic tank, which at the moment looks like the final days of Waterloo, if you get my drift.’
Olivia knew what was coming next. She waited. She didn’t have to wait long.
‘We’ll have to reassess the budget.’
‘You gave me a written quote,’ she said.
‘And we can do the renovations outlined in the quote at that price,’ said Esa, still speaking to her waist, to a point slightly south of her navel. Olivia didn’t want to take the thought any further. ‘But it would be a bit pointless, because even after that you’d still have no running water and no working toilet. I didn’t realise the situation was this bad. So bad that a simple repair job inside the house won’t be enough. The situation has changed. When I gave you the quote, you still had running water and the toilet worked. Now you have neither.’
Olivia looked at the man kneeling on her bathroom floor. There was something metaphorical about it. Either that or it reminded her of something. How come every time Olivia thought she’d finally got through something, another surprise appeared from a different direction?
‘Am I wrong to think ten thousand euros won’t be enough?’
Esa shook his head. He looked as though he’d just heard the most outlandish suggestion in the world. He could barely speak.
‘What ball park are we talking about?’ she asked.
Esa stopped shaking his head. And when they finally appeared, the words flowed from his mouth like the clearest, purest water from a sparkling new tap.
‘Twenty-five thousand.’
As Olivia furiously pedalled her bike into town, she imagined she propelled it forwards with pure rage. She turns every stone, draws up contracts and gets her hands on ten grand, which is supposed to fix everything, only to discover that it’s not enough, not by a long way. Damn it. Fuck it. Fucketty buggering bollocks. Twenty-five thousand euros. She already had ten thousand, but now it seemed that was merely a down payment that would only cover removing the old piping and strengthening existing structures before fitting the new plumbing. In other words, the money she had at the moment was only enough to buy her a gaping hole in the ground. Brilliant. She tried to think affectionately of her father, but now it was really difficult. The man who had sat in that same bathroom and taken at least twenty thousand dumps without a care in the world, the rusty fruits of his regular bowel movements now falling at his daughter’s feet. Quite literally.
Olivia knew she would soon regret these thoughts, but she was far too agitated to give a shit.
Twenty-five thousand euros.
She had ten thousand. Which wasn’t yet technically hers.
The other fifteen thousand. Where would she get that?
Olivia steered her bike onto Shore Street where she saw a few people eating and drinking in the bars and restaurants. High season. Right. Palm Beach Finland hadn’t quite yet attracted the promised throngs of tourists. How could she find a sum of money like that round here?
Olivia was hot and bothered. She’d wrapped up warm, knowing only too well how quickly the temperature by the sea could plummet, how cold it eventually became once the sun set and the wind, which you hardly noticed at first, starting tugging at your clothes and stinging your skin before chilling you to the bone. At the end of the street she saw Jan Kaunisto. The sight reminded Olivia of what she was doing – what she should do regardless of her plumbing; of what was necessary, especially when it came to this man. And what do you know? All of a sudden she wasn’t so hot and bothered after all.
She approached the man who had come here to learn to windsurf. Olivia smiled. Jan Kaunisto smiled back at her and raised a hand from his handlebars.
The maths teacher.
The maths teacher who couldn’t count.
2
As soon as he gripped the spade, Chico’s breath became instantly shallower. It was the same feeling he had when he placed his electric guitar round his neck, as though he held the key to another dimension in his hand. Chico didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad sign right here, right now. The excitement and the spike in his pulse had absolutely nothing to do with physical exertion. They hadn’t started that bit yet.
Evening was gliding gently towards night, daylight slowly fading from the sky. They had been waiting for a good while, at times standing near the back wall of the chalet, at others sitting in the folding wooden chairs on the patio. Leivo lived in his chalet all year round. Crockett used to be rented out, just like Tubbs, Castillo and all the others, though it was situated apart from them and stood on its own. Leivo had painted it a bright turquoise, and around it erected a low white fence, the purpose of which escaped Chico. It didn’t keep people away and didn’t keep anything inside. In any case, the chalet looked like part of a film set. This was partly due to its size – it was small – and also because the sign above the door reading Crockett made it look more like a bar or an old village store.
Robin looked like he was in the zone. He was sitting in a wooden chair, holding his spade upright in his left hand, and seemed to be gazing out to sea. Once Robin had explained the plan, Chico had asked him if he was sure he’d thought of everything. It was a genuine question. Robin had simply looked Chico in the eyes and handed him a spade.
The first part of the plan seemed perfectly plausible. The choice of location was excellent. Crockett was situated far enough away from everything else and it was relatively close to the disposal site. The disposal site – another of Robin’s terms. The thickening darkness was on their side too. The few outdoor lights along the shore we
re far away too, so the element of surprise would work like a dream. They had very little to carry; in addition to the spades and balaclavas only a torch and a length of rope. They’d left their phones at home, because Robin had said they could be used to track their movements. The phones were waiting next to each other on Robin’s couch.
Chico found it hard to comprehend the transformation that had taken place in Robin. It must have had something to do with Nea. Chico sat down in the chair next to him and looked at the sea. He could make out fewer and fewer details – the sea became an empty field as the waves merged into the dimness. Chico held the spade in his lap, resting it on his thighs. It weighed about the same as his guitar. Maybe that was a good thing. It kept his thoughts focussed, gave them a meaning.
Life had brought him here so quickly.
A few crazy steps, and here he was.
All he had done was grab an opportunity the way people always tell you: passionately; give it everything you’ve got. Then the very thing Chico thought always happened to him had happened. An outside force had messed up his plans and steered them off course, in a direction whose ultimate goal was the opposite of what he’d set out to achieve. It was like standing in front of a mirror, holding up your right hand and seeing your left hand rising. The moral of the story appeared to be that if he wanted to succeed at something, he should first start by ruining his chances. The results could hardly be worse.
Chico snapped out of his musings.
The sound of a car. Getting closer.
As agreed, they both stood up, took a few steps towards the chalet, stood tight against the slatted wall and pulled on their balaclavas.
The car sounded exactly as it should: Leivo’s SUV wasn’t new – it didn’t have that peculiar hum that new engines make. This was the sound of a good-old diesel engine. The car’s front lights now embraced the chalet as if to gently push it towards the sea. A moment later the engine sounded as if it was coming from inside the chalet. That meant it must have reached the gravel-covered parking spot on the other side. The motor stopped, the lights went out. They waited for the sign. As the car door opened, they moved.
Chico went round one side of the chalet, Robin the other.
They moved at the same speed. Chico saw Robin step from behind the opposite corner just as he appeared from his own. The plan worked perfectly. And Leivo did exactly as Robin had said he would. He turned in the direction of the first person he saw. It was Chico.
Chico was only a few steps away from Leivo, and had already raised the shovel to shoulder height.
And at that moment, everything changed.
Chico had expected Leivo to look terrified, or at least vaguely surprised, for the microsecond it took Chico to swing the spade in his direction. As Chico saw it, Leivo should have been frozen, perhaps not consciously expecting the blow, but his body bracing itself for the impact.
But that’s not what happened.
In the faint light, Leivo’s expression was not terrified. It was something else, as was the change in his body position. Chico was startled. He glanced past Leivo at Robin, who was moving slower than Chico had expected. Chico brought his eyes back to Leivo, and Leivo’s gaze fixed on the spade in Chico’s hands. Again, Chico hesitated for one, crucial second.
Leivo, however, did not hesitate. He removed something from his jacket pocket and held his hand in front of Chico’s face. And just as Chico realised what was happening, his eyes seemed to burst into flames. He screamed, he had to let go of the spade. He heard a thud, which he assumed meant that Robin had got within striking distance. Leivo huffed and puffed and let out a volley of curses, so the blow couldn’t have been very accurate. Immediately afterwards Chico heard Robin shouting and howling in pain. Perhaps Leivo had managed to set Robin’s eyes on fire too.
Chico fumbled for his spade, eventually found it and staggered to his feet. He could see nothing but thick mist and blurred shadows. He lashed out with the spade but didn’t hit anything. Then he heard the same thud as before, and again Leivo bellowed. Robin had hit him again. Leivo continued to swear like a trooper, but this time his diction was markedly less clear than before. Chico tried to see where Leivo was. Robin had struck him with the spade twice now. One blow should have been enough, thought Chico. He lashed out. Something shattered, presumably glass, and the spade scraped against the bonnet. He’d hit the car. With this is mind, Chico tried another direction. He took a few steps forwards before he felt a fist in his stomach.
He couldn’t breathe and couldn’t see anything in front of him. Chico was furious by now. He raised the spade and began swinging it wildly. A window smashed. Again, he was too close to the car. He heard noises that sounded like … wrestling. Roaring, panting, the thud of the earth. He did everything he could think of to regain his sight: pressed his eyelids shut, blinked, squinted, forced his eyelids open again. Eventually, right in front of the chalet, he saw a writhing mass on the ground. Leivo and Robin were struggling. Chico dashed forwards but realised he couldn’t use the spade because he couldn’t see who to hit. He threw the spade to one side and dived onto the thrashing pile of bodies.
Using his hands Chico worked out who was who. Just as Chico was about to get a grip on Leivo’s neck, he realised he was now wrestling with his boss alone. And Leivo was a ferocious opponent, strong as a bear. Chico lost his grip, Leivo turned him over. He could feel Leivo’s hands at his throat. Leivo was strangling him. Chico tried to shout out. Leivo growled. Chico thrashed his legs about and tried to turn over, but Leivo’s fists were like the hardest steel. At that moment Chico knew he was going to die.
Then he heard a thud.
Leivo began to slump across him like a burst balloon. He let out a long, loud, low-pitched fart, which puttered into the evening darkness like a small motor. It seemed to last an eternity. A voice bubbling from deep within Leivo revealed that they finally had a result. Chico started to breathe hungrily, regardless of the fact that the air with which he filled his lungs stank of sulphur, a mix of eggs and rotten herring. Leivo wasn’t dead; he lay there, his moist breath puffing against Chico’s face. The unconsciousness must have been deep and dark.
Chico’s hands were weak, his body feeble.
Once he had steadied his breathing, he managed to croak out a few words: ‘Move. Him.’
‘I can’t,’ said Robin as he coughed and spluttered somewhere further off. ‘Jesus, that stinks.’
‘I’m underneath him.’
‘Hold your breath.’
‘I can’t. He’s strangling me.’
‘How can shit smell that bad?’
‘Because there’s a lot of it. Help.’
‘You can’t exactly put it back in.’
‘Will you just help me?’
Robin walked over, and together they managed to roll Leivo to one side. Chico climbed to his feet, staggered a few steps, vomited. It hurt his throat more than Leivo’s hands. Robin appeared beside him. He threw up too.
They leaned against their knees.
The worst was yet to come.
3
The food was divine. Whitefish grilled whole on an open fire, the flesh falling from the bone. New potatoes boiled in water with just enough salt. Crisp, fresh salad, green and earthy, a taste of summer. A vinaigrette with a hint of mustard and lemon – not a thick, readymade one, but one that was perfectly fresh and invigorating and made the tongue tingle.
Nyman didn’t doubt himself any longer, the way he had on the long, silent bike ride along the scenic route Olivia had chosen, stealing glances at each other and exchanging quick smiles, perhaps to make sure the pace was suitable for both of them. Nyman knew he had made the right decision. He was close. Experience told him that. Olivia Koski wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin and asked him what he thought of the food.
‘Much better than I dared to hope,’ he said.
‘That’s good to hear. And how was your lesson today?’
Olivia brushed her long chestnut hair from across her fac
e. All the better to see him, perhaps.
‘I don’t know. Something happened this morning, and I think I finally got the hang of it. It didn’t feel like such an unnatural activity anymore. That moment when the board obeys your commands and the sail stays upright and pulls you in the right direction … I don’t know. I’m almost looking forward to the next lesson.’
‘What made you want to learn how to windsurf?’
Nyman shrugged his shoulders. It was all Muurla’s idea.
‘Just got it into my head, I suppose. I didn’t really give it much thought.’
Nyman looked at the landscape. They were sitting outside the restaurant in the furthest corner of the patio. To his left was the sea, to his right a dusty road with darkened woodland along both sides. Diagonally above them was a faint lantern that lit Nyman’s face but which left Olivia, sitting across the table, in shadow. In this light her brown eyes looked like lumps of coal.
‘You woke up one day and said, I know, I’m going to learn how to windsurf?’ Olivia smiled. ‘You hadn’t decided before you got here?’
I found out by text message, he thought.
‘No.’
‘That’s spontaneous,’ said Olivia. ‘I could probably do with being a bit more spontaneous. I should do something wild. It looks like fun.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You seem like such a relaxed guy, that’s all. It’s great. You suddenly decide to take a holiday in a strange little town, you head down here, start windsurfing, meet the locals. Do you do that everywhere you go?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Nyman before realising that was the second time he’d asked that question. This wasn’t going the way he’d planned.
‘I must be really unclear, if you need to ask what I mean,’ said Olivia, her voice soft and friendly. ‘I’m sorry. All I mean is, from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re having a really pleasant summer.’
Palm Beach, Finland Page 22
