‘Let me help you.’
Marianne nodded and dropped the clean potatoes into the pan. She put plates out on the table and with them, tall wine glasses.
‘Scrub lots, it’s just potatoes and sauce today.’
Elin smiled.
‘Why are you putting out wine glasses, then?’
‘It’s more fun that way, drinking tap water. We can toast and pretend it’s champagne and fizzy pop.’
‘It’s fine, Mama. It’s no problem.’
Marianne sat down in her favourite chair and lit a cigarette.
‘I should stop smoking,’ she muttered. ‘It costs too much.’
Elin didn’t answer, just nodded as she went on scrubbing. She knew what cigarettes cost.
When the telephone rang Marianne ran back over to it. She was whispering but Elin heard every word she said.
‘I miss you so much.’
‘Can we meet soon?’
Silence. Happiness in the form of little suppressed giggles.
‘Come as soon as you can. The kids will be in bed soon.’
There were many toasts around the table. Edvin stood on the bench and gave a speech, pretending he was king of Gotland and the others were his guests. He laughed and lost track of what he was saying, starting again. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he cleared his throat and continued.
‘I hereby declare this dinner open. Everyone may eat, as long as you eat nicely. Close your mouths and use your knife and fork.’
Marianne nodded in agreement and applauded loudly. Erik joined her. Elin sighed.
‘Give over. We’ll never get to eat with the king,’ she muttered sourly.
‘Give over yourself, don’t spoil it when we’re having fun for once,’ Marianne whispered and pinched her hard in the side. The pain stayed long after she’d let go.
Elin was awake when he arrived. She heard the front door open and close, heard whispers and the smack of a kiss. Creeping out of bed, she peered through a crack in the door and watched as they headed towards Marianne’s bedroom as though they were one person, tightly entwined, Marianne walking backwards with her mouth on his. Elin crept over to the stairs and stood there a long while, looking down in fascination at their feet kicking about, sticking out from under the covers. In the end the groaning got too loud and she tiptoed back to the bed and clasped her hands hard over her ears. She held her teddy bear close, the pale yellow one she’d had since she was born, hugging it tightly, but she couldn’t sleep and couldn’t make the sounds disappear. Her eyes stared emptily at the door. In their bunk beds in the next room, Erik and Edvin were sleeping soundly. Erik was snoring, she could hear it through the thin wall, so she tried to concentrate on that sound instead, tried to make it take over. But she couldn’t. The noises from Marianne’s bedroom were too intense. She heard her mother’s cries: short, high shrieks that carried through the house. Was he hurting her? Should Elin run downstairs?
She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the door and her ears on the sounds beyond it, sounds that only seemed to grow louder. She picked up her pad and pencil from the bedside table and spelled out two words in big capital letters:
BED SHREEKS
Then she tore the top sheet off the block and folded it up, bending down and reaching her hand under the bed. There were rows of containers: glass jars and tins in different colours and shapes. She collected them, then filled them with things she found and made. One of the jars contained pieces of paper with sounds she didn’t like, and she lifted it into the bed, unscrewing the gold lid. There were already a lot of notes inside, carefully written out. There were things like: DENTIST DRILL, ANGRY FOOTSTEPS, SKWEEKING FAN BELT, ANGRY SHREEKS, SMASHED GLASS, CLOKKS TIKKING. She added BED SHREEKS to keep the other noises company and then screwed the lid shut again. She shook the jar up and down, wishing she could put a stop to the sounds forever. One day she’d set fire to the notes, let all those disgusting noises burn. But not yet, she wanted to save them a little longer.
She tiptoed down the stairs, crept carefully past the kitchen with the jar under her arm. The noises from Marianne’s bedroom had stopped, and Elin could hear her talking with the man who was in there. The man whose voice she recognised so well, the one who really shouldn’t be there.
In the hall, the jackets hung in a row on heavy wrought-iron hooks. She took Marianne’s thick brown one down and pulled it on over her nightshirt. She wanted to get out into the quiet, out to all the sounds that made her feel safe. The ground was cold and the gravel scraped the soles of her bare feet as she ran quickly across the yard to the barn. Above her head swooped the bats that lived under the eaves, on their nocturnal insect hunt. She half-crouched to avoid them.
The building looked like a great dark colossus, deserted and ghostly. She turned the key and went in, shining her torch’s flickering light into all the corners while her heart turned somersaults in her chest that made the thin fabric of her nightshirt vibrate. In one corner someone had built a wall of old junk which reeked of damp and mould. As she climbed over it and jumped down on the other side her nightshirt caught on a nail, and she inched back and freed the fabric. The nail left a ragged round hole.
The floor was covered with a thick layer of hay, dust and earth which she brushed away with her hand to expose the rough floor beneath. One of the planks was loose, she knew, and she wiggled several experimentally before finding the right one. She had watched her father open the floor many times before; this was where he kept his bottles, the ones he didn’t want to show Mama. She lifted the plank carefully and reached down, feeling the cold surface of rounded glass. There were four bottles, each half-full of liquid of various colours. She took hold of the jar of notes and added it to the stash, right at the bottom, screwing it down into the soft damp earth so only the very top and the lid could be seen. Then she put the plank back and brushed hay and earth back over to cover the floor.
‘Stay there and don’t ever come out again,’ she whispered.
NOW
NEW YORK, 2017
Footsteps move back and forth over the floor of the apartment, in an endless pattern. Elin sits before the mirror, carefully dabbing dark purple shadow onto her eyelids. Her hair is already done, a high, glossy knot high on her head. The steps seem to grow louder. Sam is talking on the phone, she can hear him walking and talking, as he always does when something has happened at work. He sounds agitated, focused. She gets up and goes out to him wearing only her black tights and bra. She catches his eye and points to the clock on the wall. He’s wearing suit trousers and a shirt, the shirt with a large damp patch on the back. His forehead is beaded with sweat.
‘Go away,’ he mouths and carries on discussing figures whose meaning is a mystery to Elin. His voice increases in intensity.
‘We have to go soon,’ she mouths back, irritated, but is met only with a fierce head-shake and an outstretched palm.
Sam continues his wandering, the hard heels of his leather shoes against the wooden floor echoing through the room and making her shudder with discomfort. They sound angry. She turns up the music in the bedroom and steps carefully into the long green Selman dress that was delivered to her by courier earlier in the week. The shoulder straps are trimmed with pearls which feel hard and cold against her skin, and the silk fabric clings to her body, shimmering beautifully. It’s low-cut, emphasising the contours of her breasts. She twists around, studying herself in the mirror from the front and back. The colour reminds her of lush grass. The grass she and Fredrik used to run barefoot across in the spring, the grass that smelled so good. She smiles at the memory, and her reflection smiles back.
She lowers the volume of the music on her phone; the voice out in the living room has fallen silent, but the steps have resumed.
‘Sam, are you ready? The car will be here in ten minutes,’ she calls as she slides her feet into a pair of high-heeled sandals.
‘Do I have to come?’ Sam peers in through the door. He’s taken the sweaty shirt off, his torso
bare and tanned and his hair damp and ruffled. Elin nods and smiles at him.
‘It’s important.’
‘How can a Louis Vuitton exhibition be important?’
‘That’s not the important thing. You know that. Don’t start this again, please.’
‘Start what again?’
Elin stops talking, turns her eyes back to her own reflection. Her hair is smooth and coiffed, but she suddenly sees it loose and wild. Fluttering in the wind as she runs. She laughs.
‘You’re right. It’s superficial, this stuff, I almost look like I’m in costume. But …’
‘You have to …’
Elin turns and spins around in front of him, the delicate silk rustling. She holds out her arms.
‘You’re going on a date with a lawn. That can’t be so bad.’
Sam can’t help laughing.
‘Sometimes I wonder what on earth we’re doing,’ Elin sighs.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All this.’ She gestures to the room.
‘What? Is there something wrong with this?’ Sam’s brow furrows.
‘No, I just meant … Oh, never mind.’
‘Come on! Tell me. You never tell me anything these days, you just clam up.’
‘Don’t go on at me. We have to leave now,’ Elin groans.
Sam sighs and walks over to the wardrobe.
‘OK, what do you want me to wear? It’s probably best if you decide.’
Elin stands in the doorway and watches as Sam rummages irritably in the wardrobe. He holds a suit out in one hand and a shirt in the other. She nods approvingly and holds out a pair of sunglasses with green frames and two thick silver rings to him.
‘Of course, we have to match,’ he snorts and puts the frames on the end of his nose.
‘Hurry up, please,’ she says and looks at their reflection as they stand there, side by side. He in his suit trousers and sunglasses, she in all her finery.
They sit in silence in the car, at opposite ends of the back seat. Sam sips a glass of wine, his gaze fixed on the street life outside. Elin taps at her phone. When the limousine stops and they step out she smiles and smooths her dress down. He holds his arm out politely, and they walk slowly up the red carpet. The sharp white camera flashes sting their eyes, but they still turn patiently in various directions and pose for the photographers who shout loudest. Sam puts his arm around her and they put their heads close together, look at one another and laugh.
‘Half an hour, max, then we’ll go and eat somewhere nice. There’s just a few people I have to say hi to,’ Elin whispers as they walk into the venue and are each given a glass of champagne.
‘You always say that.’
‘You’re the businessman, you should know how important it is to have the right network.’
Sam smirks.
‘Just be honest, you love this stuff. The luxury, the attention.’
Elin lets go of his arm without responding and goes to greet the people mingling in the hall with a smile. Sam trails after her, holding his phone in his hand like a defensive weapon.
She eventually finds him out on the street, after wandering around the hall for a long time. It’s been hours since they last saw each other. Sam is pacing back and forth with his phone pressed to his ear, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. The red carpet is no longer surrounded by photographers and the floodlights have been dismantled. People are starting to leave the party and life on the street is returning to normal. Sam’s voice is agitated again, stressed. She stops in front of him, her feet hurting after hours in uncomfortable shoes. Sam changes direction without acknowledging her and keeps pacing. In the end she takes hold of his arm and nods towards the street. He shakes his head, holds a hand over the microphone and whispers:
‘Got to go to the office, you’ll have to go home on your own.’
‘Weren’t we going to get something to eat? Wasn’t that why we were going to leave early?’
Elin sighs and turns away from him. He leans closer and hisses:
‘Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but I’ve got a crisis to sort out at work. See you in the morning.’
‘I’m working early,’ she says, but her voice bounces, unnoticed, off his back as he walks away. He goes on talking heatedly to the person at the other end.
She takes a step out onto the road, waving down a taxi. When the driver asks where she’s going, she hesitates.
‘I want to go somewhere quiet and dark. I’m so sick of this,’ she says.
‘I can drive you to the park, but it’s dark and dangerous at this time of night.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘India. Not so quiet there either. And you?’
She hesitates.
‘Orchard Street. It’s probably best if you drive me there, drive me home.’
He laughs and turns quickly out into the traffic.
‘You can crawl in under the bed and put your hands over your ears. Like children do when they’re hiding from monsters,’ he says.
Elin asks him to stop before they’re all the way there, at the nearest deli. Inside she orders hot chocolate with whipped cream in a large paper cup with a lid. She takes it with her and walks slowly towards the apartment. It’s still warm out, but the breeze gives her bare arms goosebumps. Above the buildings the moon shines big and clear and white, and she stops and tips her head back, glimpsing faint stars in the sky, shining through the pollution and city lights. Her heart races. She starts to run haltingly on her toes in the high heels, towards her door and the lift. The chocolate splashes out of the little hole in the lid and spatters the expensive silk of her dress. When she gets up into the apartment she hauls the blankets from the sofa out onto the terrace. She sits on one of the sun loungers, wrapped in warm wool, and studies the few stars that shine brightly enough to be seen, hunting for constellations and murmuring the names aloud to herself. The hot chocolate is sweet and feels oily against her tongue. When it’s finished, she fully extends the bed and lies stretched out on her back, eyes on the sky above her.
It’s the first rays of the morning sun that wake her, not the alarm on her phone. The light tickles her eyes and she opens them squinting. It feels too early to wake up, so she closes them again. There’s no sea nearby to lull her to sleep, only the noise of traffic. She listens to it while the sun slowly warms her frozen body, trying to find her way back to the sleep she just left. She can’t. In the end she gives up and sneaks back into the apartment. Sam’s jacket has been thrown across the sofa, and on the table are a half-full wine glass and the crumbs from a sandwich. She creeps past the bedroom, stopping in the doorway, and sees him on the bed, spread right across it. Naked down to his boxers and with his arms and legs flung out to the sides. She smiles. His face looks so peaceful. She resists the temptation to kiss him and makes instead for the shower, carefully rubbing off yesterday’s make-up and replacing it with a new layer.
By eight she’s dressed and on her way to the studio. The phone rings before she’s made it there. It’s Sam.
‘Where are you?’
He’s shouting and she moves the phone away from her ear.
‘I’m on the way to work. Why are you so angry?’ she asks.
‘You didn’t sleep at home. Where have you been?’
‘I fell asleep out on the terrace. Of course I was at home,’ she replies, just as angrily.
‘Do you think I’m an idiot? Where have you been?’
Elin holds the phone a short distance from her ear again and can till hear him shouting. He repeats the last sentence several times. When he finally falls silent she says:
‘Calm down! Look in the bathroom, my dress is on the floor. I was home, I got home before you. I just fell asleep outside.’
She hears steps, angry steps, as Sam moves around the apartment. He’s silent but doesn’t hang up, so she stays on the line, waiting patiently.
‘Did you find the dress?’ she asks.
He mutters something in response. She hears
the street noise increasing as he goes out onto the terrace. The blankets are still on the sun lounger, she knows that.
‘Why did you fall asleep out here?’ His voice is a little quieter.
‘I saw the stars, and the moon was so beautiful. I just wanted to look a little, to rest.’
Elin’s heart is still beating hard.
‘You were looking at the stars? Alone?’
‘Yes, I was. I have to hang up now, Sam, I have a shoot. See you this evening, we can talk then.’
‘Can we? You’ll be late I suppose?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know.’
‘No.’ She’s whispering now.
‘I managed to solve it, by the way. If you’re interested.’ Sam’s volume has increased again as his irritation grows.
‘What?’
‘Work. It can’t have escaped your notice that I was having a crisis yesterday.’
‘Sorry, of course I noticed. What was going on?’
‘Things were going badly with a deal.’
‘We can talk about it more later, I promise to listen when I have a bit more time. Sorry.’
‘Sure, that’ll be fine.’
Elin hears him sighing deeply.
THEN
HEIVIDE, GOTLAND, 1979
Erik and Edvin sat on the kitchen bench, banging their spoons hard on the table.
‘Food, food, food,’ they chorused between giggles.
Elin scooped porridge into their bowls, freshly made but thick as cement. The grey clumps clung to the spoon, so she banged it hard against the crackle-glazed china until the porridge fell off and then put the full bowls onto the kitchen table. From the cupboard she took a hand-painted porcelain bowl filled with sugar, the one Marianne had been given by Aina on her last birthday. She was about to sprinkle a little sweetness over the porridge when a dazed Marianne emerged from her bedroom. Elin turned around hurriedly and pressed the sugarbowl against her stomach, but it was too late. Marianne had already spotted it. She took it sternly out of Elin’s hand.
A Question Mark is Half a Heart Page 6
