by Karen Swan
She heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and turned to see Mats. ‘Hey,’ he said with a nod. ‘No news?’
‘Not yet. I’m still waiting. They’ve been in there for ages now.’
He came and sat beside her, his weight pushing her cushion upwards slightly.
She looked at him curiously. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were taking the boat back to Stockholm?’
‘I was going to, but the crew are dealing with it. We’ve just gone through a debrief and they’re heading back now. I thought I should stay here and check everything’s okay.’
She sighed. ‘I wish someone would just tell us something, at least. This waiting around is agony.’
‘Yeah.’ He glanced at her. ‘Listen, Bell, I’ll get fired for this, no question. I take full responsibility for what happened. But I just want you to know I’m so sorry.’
She looked at him in confusion. ‘Why will you be fired? It wasn’t your fault.’
‘Of course it was. I’m the skipper. I should never have let him take the helm. And I should have been checking the conditions more closely. I just allowed myself to have a nice afternoon, instead of –’
The bedroom door opened, and she instinctively stood up as Måns stepped through. Bell felt her heart lurch at his expression. Oh God.
‘He would like to see the boy,’ Måns said gravely. ‘I’ll just go and g—’ But Linus was already sprinting barefoot down the corridor. Bell wasn’t the only one who could sleep with one ear open, it seemed.
‘Is he going to be okay?’ he panted.
‘Your father wishes to see you, young man.’ Måns glanced at her, and Mats too. ‘You are welcome to come in.’
Glancing at one another, Bell and Mats filed in after Linus. Emil was lying on a bed and looking almost . . . robotic: tens of wires were attached to his head, a chin strap around his jaw.
Linus froze.
‘It’s okay, Linus,’ Doctor Sorensen said, seeing his fear. ‘I know it looks alarming, but I’ve just been performing an EEG – it measures brain waves, shows us electrical activity in the brain. And I’m very glad to tell you, your father’s is showing as normal.’
‘It is?’ Linus murmured, looking unconvinced.
‘I’m fine,’ Emil said, holding out a hand towards him, though his voice was slightly slurred still. Linus walked towards the bed and obediently took his hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’m okay.’
‘We’ll need to run an MRI in the next few days just to be absolutely sure, but all the signs are that this is a concussion, nothing more sinister than that.’
‘Thank God,’ Bell whispered, her hands to her lips. He looked so vulnerable lying in that bed, rigged up like the national grid. ‘I thought . . . I mean, we all thought . . .’
‘I know. And you did well to raise the alarm and get him back as quickly as you did.’ She nodded her appreciation at Mats. ‘Emil’s been very lucky in this instance.’ She looked back sternly at her patient. ‘Although he had been warned that he couldn’t take any sort of risks – no skiing, water-skiing, snowboarding, paragliding, parachuting, hockey, ice hockey.’
‘You never said sailing,’ Emil shrugged.
‘Leisure sailing is fine, on the condition you wear a helmet. Race sailing, however? No. This sort of injury cannot be repeated.’
‘Yes, doctor,’ Emil sighed, but rolling his eyes behind her back and making a face at Linus, who gave a surprised laugh.
‘He’s going to need rigorous supervision,’ Dr Sorensen said, turning to Bell and talking in a low voice – as though she was his nanny. ‘I’m afraid he isn’t taking the potential risks seriously. His physical recovery has been impressive to this point, and I fear he thinks he’s indomitable now.’
‘Okay. But –’ Bell wanted to explain that she wasn’t his carer.
Mats stepped towards the bed. ‘It’s good to see you looking okay, boss. You had us worried there for a moment.’
Emil looked at him. ‘. . . Thanks. And, look, I’m sorry.’
Mats shook his head. ‘I’m the one that got us into this mess, and if you’re going to fire me, I completely understand –’
‘I made it impossible for you,’ Emil said slowly, sounding almost reasonable. ‘Don’t quit. You promised me this season.’
‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’ Mats said, with a very relieved laugh. ‘I don’t know how you do it, mate, fighting back these knocks. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘You could help him by not letting him take these risks,’ Dr Sorensen said, stepping in. ‘Even a cat only has nine lives. I’d appreciate it if you would personally ensure he doesn’t step foot back on that boat.’
Mats pulled a rueful face and held his hands up in surrender. ‘I can certainly stop him taking the helm again, doctor, but stop him sailing at all? It’d take a stronger man than me.’ Bell watched as he walked over and gave Emil a handshake, his loyalty still with the man who paid his salary. Money talked; it always did. ‘Anyway, look, I only stopped by to check you’re okay. I’ll pass the good news on to the crew, and we’ll speak when you’re back on your feet again, boss.’
Emil nodded.
‘Uh, Bell –’ Mats murmured, pausing as he passed. He was holding out a folded piece of paper.
‘What’s this?’ she asked, taking it. But he simply winked at her and walked on.
She opened it, to find his phone number and a message. ‘If ever you fancy a drink . . .’
She turned back, but he’d already gone.
‘What does it say?’ Linus asked her nosily.
‘Oh, it’s just . . . I just asked him for . . .’ she stammered, unable to immediately conjure a lie. ‘The name of a dentist.’
‘A dentist?’ Linus squinted quizzically. ‘Why’d you ask him?’
‘Well, h-he’s got nice teeth, hasn’t he?’
‘Pfft.’ Linus looked back at her like she was crazy. She shrugged, not daring to look up, knowing Emil was staring at her too. She hoped, with his concussion, it would sound entirely plausible to him.
‘I can recommend a good dentist if you need one,’ Dr Sorensen quipped, a lively humour dancing in her eyes, and it was quite clear she wasn’t buying the cover story.
Bell felt her cheeks flame, just as the sound of footsteps running down the corridor made them all turn. Mats, coming back?
‘I came as quickly as I could! Is he okay?’
Bell blinked in surprise as Linus gave a yell of delight and tore across the room into his mother’s arms. ‘Mamma!’
Sandhamn, 23 June 2011
‘Hey! Why aren’t you celebrating? It’s the longest day of the year,’ he said, joining her on the deck. ‘Our favourite day.’
She glanced behind her as he approached, but there was no smile this time to greet him. ‘All the days are long,’ she sighed, looking out to sea. ‘And the nights.’
He watched her, pale hair blowing in the breeze, her gaze distant as it so often was these days. ‘Hanna . . .’ His hands on her shoulders, he turned her to him.
She looked back at him, her beautiful face pale in the dusk. They understood each other at a molecular level. It was instinctive, innate. There were never any lies between them, not when their eyes met. He pushed a wisp of hair back from her face, seeing the dark circles below her eyes, the hollow dip of her cheeks. ‘You’re exhausted.’
‘Yeah, well, babies will do that to you,’ she murmured, almost too tired to shape the words. ‘I don’t know why we should all be so surprised. It does say so on the box.’
He smiled. ‘You need a decent night’s sleep.’
‘That’s just about the one luxury we can’t afford.’
‘So get a nanny.’
She shook her head. ‘No. He’s my child. I’m his mother. I want to do it myself.’ It wasn’t up for discussion. She looked away again and back at the boats on the water, their lights spilling small pools.
He stared out into the night with her, hearing the parties go on wit
hout them. In truth, he hadn’t felt like celebrating anyway.
‘. . . Things are different now, aren’t they?’ she said quietly. ‘Between us, I mean.’
He looked across at her and down again, feeling his heart thud heavily. He swallowed, knowing he couldn’t show her . . . ‘Perhaps it was to be expected. They say babies always change things.’
‘It’s been harder than I thought it would.’ She fell quiet and when she spoke again, her voice was choked. ‘The way everything happened . . . so fast . . . falling pregnant, getting married . . . There was hardly time to think –’
‘I know,’ he nodded. There had been a ferocious momentum to it all. One event triggering the next, making it hard for him to breathe.
She turned to face him. ‘I could never regret him. Linus.’
‘Of course not.’
‘. . . But I can feel you slipping further and further away from me, and it makes me feel . . . it makes me feel that the world could end.’
He looked back at her, reaching out an arm and stroking her hair. ‘You’ll always have me, Hanna.’
‘Do you promise?’ she whispered.
‘I promise. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.’
Hanna stood in the door frame, tanned, flushed and very beautiful in a soaked-through navy cotton sundress. She had crossed the lagoon in the storm to get here, her hair dripping puddles onto the floor. She hugged her son back, but her gaze was firmly fixed on her ex.
‘Don’t worry, Hanna,’ Dr Sorensen said calmly, seeing her concern. She walked over to the bedside and began carefully removing the sensors attached to Emil’s scalp. ‘I was just running an EEG. It’s a concussion.’
‘But Cathy, for him –’ She was in panic mode, her eyes darting every which way.
‘I know – the potential complications are far more worrisome. We need to monitor him very carefully over the next few days.’ She shot another stern look his way again. ‘But I’m cautiously optimistic he’s going to get away with this one.’
‘Oh thank God,’ Hanna gasped, seeming to fold in on herself, crouching down further over Linus and holding him even closer. Relaxing, finally.
Bell watched Emil observe the scene – his family gathered in one room, for him, frantic with worry – and she knew that whatever realities kept them apart now – Max, the twins – there was still love here.
She wondered briefly who had called Hanna – Måns? – and she felt bad that it hadn’t even crossed her mind. After what Hanna had told her about their bitter last meeting, she had thought she’d be the last person who’d want to hear.
She watched as Linus tightened his arms around his mother’s waist and she kissed the top of his head. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ Hanna whispered into his hair, before returning her gaze to Emil again, silent on the bed.
Bell sensed a pause between them, as though they were gauging one another first. As though something was shifting. And then a silent agreement was understood.
Tenderly, Hanna extricated herself from her son’s grasp, ruffling his hair softly. ‘Let me go and say hello to your father.’ She crossed the room, an expression on her face that Bell couldn’t quite place. ‘You’re okay?’ she asked, hesitating for a moment and then reaching for his hand.
Emil looked at it, and Bell saw him squeeze her fingers lightly. Hanna sank onto the edge of the bed, as though something strong had left her body.
‘I’m fine. This fuss is embarrassing. Anyone else would be told to take some paracetamol and have a lie down.’
‘Well, you’re not just anyone,’ Hanna chided softly, her eyes roaming over him looking for wounds as Bell’s had, watching as Dr Sorensen removed the last of the sensors from his scalp and packed them into a case. Gently, Hanna reached forward and rearranged his hair, rustling it affectionately too, as she had just done for their son. ‘There. Better.’
He stared back at her, immobile but for his eyes, which burned.
‘You gave us all such a fright,’ she said after a moment, staring from his hands to his face again. She sounded like she might cry, her voice choked.
His eyebrow cocked. ‘. . . Us?’
‘Me. Linus.’ Hanna pressed her lips together, as Bell knew she always did when worried about saying the wrong thing. ‘We’ve only just got you back.’
His fingers squeezed hers again. ‘And I’ve told you – I don’t intend to leave either one of you again.’ There was hidden weight, double meaning, in the words and Hanna dropped her gaze, nodding.
Bell frowned, confused by their apparent closeness. Hanna had told her Emil couldn’t bear to look at her, that he had threatened to take her son from her, to drag her to court and the world’s press; but sitting here, holding hands and whispering assurances to one another, they seemed far from sworn enemies.
Linus was watching them closely too, his face impassive but his gaze intense as he saw every look and gesture pass between his parents. They had the familiarity of old lovers, at ease physically, anticipating words, their body language a shared dance.
Dr Sorensen stepped back into the vignette. ‘I’ll leave you now, but I’ll be calling in regularly for updates, and I’ll come back on Monday afternoon to run some more tests.’
‘That’s fine,’ Hanna nodded. Her tone implied she would be there, and it drew Emil’s gaze again; he traced her face, as though committing her to memory.
Bell watched on until he glanced across at her suddenly, as though remembering her presence, and she quickly looked at the floor. An intruder, again.
‘Good,’ Dr Sorensen nodded. ‘In the meantime, call me if there’s any deterioration in his behaviour at all – vomiting, double vision, hallucination, sensitivity to light, seizures, sudden anger or change in mood, clear fluid coming from the nose or ears, abnormal eye movement –’
‘What a catch I am,’ Emil quipped, and Hanna laughed at the joke.
‘You always knew it,’ she replied, giving him a lingering gaze.
Bell was stunned. They were definitely flirting.
‘I’ve already warned him he’ll need to be woken up in the middle of the night.’ Dr Sorensen had put her stern voice on again. ‘It’s very important you wake up, Emil.’
‘You’re telling me,’ he drawled, looking over at Linus again and giving him a wink.
‘I’ll wake him,’ Linus offered excitedly.
‘You’ll have a proper night’s sleep, thank you,’ Bell said quickly, the words out before she could stop them. She gave an awkward smile as his parents both looked at her.
‘Goodbye for now, then,’ the doctor said to the room. ‘Emil. Everyone.’ She cast a glance over Bell and Linus.
‘I’ll see you out,’ Hanna said, the lady of the house again. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she whispered to Emil.
Linus trotted out with them, barely half a step behind his mother – not wanting to let her out of his sight again – as she and the medic made their way down the hall, their footsteps and low conversation gradually fading into silence.
Bell looked back at Emil, feeling awkward. ‘Well, I’ll let you get some rest.’
‘Bell –’ She was at the door when he called.
She turned. ‘Yes?’
‘. . . Would you mind bringing some water over?’ He pointed towards the carafe on a table by the window. ‘My balance is off.’
‘Sure.’ She crossed the room, noticing it for the first time as she went. In all the worried activity, she had seen only people – only him – but now she saw that the walls were lined with old hessian paper panels, trompe l’oeils of gentle arches drawn on in dark-grey surrounds, the centre panels left white; the wooden bed was made up with vintage monogrammed sheets and a duck-egg-blue blanket folded across the end. A vast mirror with mottled, foxed glass dominated one wall and twin lampshades with faded red shades sat on the bedside chests. It had a gracious, cultured feel to it but, like all the other rooms in the house, there was almost nothing personal in it – hardly any books, magazines, pic
tures – as though everything had been packed away. But there were photographs on the table with the water jug.
She couldn’t help but glance at them as she poured. Several were of Linus as a baby; one showed Hanna in her wedding dress, classically beautiful and poised. She was wearing a minimal gown – sculptural satin column, bare arms – her hair twisted into a chignon, pearls at her throat, white roses in her hands . . . She seemed to be listening to someone talking just out of shot, her mouth parted in interest, the light catching on her eyes and making them sparkle. The largest photograph showed her and Emil running through a shower of confetti, Hanna pinching the skirt of her dress as she ran, her new groom holding her hand and gazing back at her, both of them laughing. Emil had looked bigger back then, more muscular, his hair worn shorter. He didn’t look, in this image, like the man she knew, who seemed to choose his clothes on the basis of how close they were to collapse.
‘Nine years ago next month,’ he said, seeing her staring at them.
‘They’re beautiful. What a couple you –’ She hesitated, not sure of which tense to use: were? Are? Were they a couple again? Was Hanna having secret meetings with her own husband? Was that why she’d taken off her eternity ring from her other partner? She was the woman who had two eternities to choose between?
‘Best day of your life, was it?’ she asked lightly, retreating to cliché.
‘Just us, and a thousand of our closest friends.’ He made a disapproving tut as she came over. ‘No. I’d have been happy with the town hall, a bottle of champagne and a hotel room.’
‘Said every male ever,’ Bell murmured, handing him the glass.
‘Thanks.’ His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her and drank slowly. ‘. . . So, was it you who called her?’
