‘But, Papa, I’m too old for teddies,’ Elin sighed.
NOW
NEW YORK, 2017
Fredrik Grinde: Elin types his full name into the search engine and quickly presses enter. An address in Visby comes up as the third result, a business address, along with a few articles where his name is mentioned, which she doesn’t read that carefully. He’s on the results table of a half-marathon, too. But there are no pictures to show what he looks like. She keeps scrolling down.
He exists. He’s alive. She holds her breath and then slams the lid of the computer shut.
His face was always so freckled in the spring, speckled as a speckled hen, she used to say. She wonders if that’s still the case, if he still looks like that today. She remembers a boy, always happy, always smart. But now he’s a man, a middle-aged man.
She’s sitting in Sam’s big brown leather armchair, staring ahead of her hopelessly. Her hair is greasy and she’s dressed in a loose-fitting grey tracksuit, her face unmade. She’s been sitting there every day for a week now. All her jobs have been cancelled. She’s blaming it on illness, and so far her agent is going along with it. It’s quiet and still in the apartment. She can’t even be bothered to put any music on. The only things that can be heard are street noises and the humming of the fridge.
On the table in front of her, the star chart lies open. She has looked at it so much that the corners are getting worn. The folds have grown white and fluffy, cutting across the black background. Perhaps she should buy a star just next to it, and call it Fredrik, so they could sit together in the heavens and shine for all eternity, or at least until one of them went out. She hears the lift moving through the building, the sound coming closer and closer, passing the downstairs neighbour. She hurriedly sweeps her hair up into a high knot, folds up the star chart and puts it right at the back of the notebook. Then she starts clearing the junk from the table in front of her, but only has time to gather up a few boxes before the lift door opens and Alice comes in. She looks happy, and is still dressed in her dance clothes.
‘I rushed here straight from class.’ She throws herself onto the sofa and groans out loud. ‘It’s such hard work. What have I got myself into?’
‘You’re at Juilliard because you’re a star. Only stars get in. It’s the eye of the needle.’
‘I don’t feel like a star. More like a clumsy oaf. You should see the others, they’re so good. I don’t compare.’
Elin doesn’t respond. She sinks down onto the brown armchair again, picks up the laptop and re-examines the search results. Alice lies still, eyes closed, stretched out on the sofa.
Then she groans again.
‘Oh yeah, I forgot. I brought food. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten anything today, right? I haven’t got the strength to get up, though.’
She does so anyway, and serves up plastic containers of food on the table. Three kinds of salad, fresh tomatoes, chicken, avocado and marinated carrots from the deli down on Broome Street. She puts the dressing to one side along with a bottle of water and two Cokes. Elin’s eyes flash when she sees the red cans, and Alice opens one of them and takes a large gulp.
‘Mmm, yum,’ she says, with exaggerated enthusiasm.
‘That stuff kills you from the inside,’ Elin grumbles.
‘Well, doesn’t everything?’ says Alice. ‘Secrets, for example.’ Elin grimaces at her, but Alice goes on, ‘Stop nagging. I can drink what I want. It tastes good, and it makes me happy. You shouldn’t underestimate that. I got you one too.’
Alice picks up her phone and waves it at her mother.
‘Look, I found loads of videos filmed on your island. It’s so beautiful there.’
Elin takes the phone from her and watches a few clips.
‘It’s even lovelier in real life. Who makes these films anyway? They’re terrible!’
‘YouTube is absolutely full of them. And people watch them. Not everyone cares about quality.’
‘It’s weird,’ Elin says.
‘What’s weird?’
‘How beautiful things are so much better.’
‘Than what?’
‘Than ugly things, of course.’
‘What’s beautiful and what’s ugly is surely in the eye of the beholder?’
‘That’s true.’
‘I want us to go.’
‘What? You’re crazy.’
‘Am I? Wouldn’t you want me to come back, if I’d run away?’
Elin looks at her.
‘You’d never run away. Would you?’
‘No, maybe I wouldn’t, but hypothetically speaking. If I had done. Wouldn’t you want me to come back?’
‘I’d devote my whole life to looking for you. I’d search every millimetre of the earth. Of the universe if I had to.’ Elin smiles.
‘How do you know she doesn’t feel the same way?’
‘Who?’
‘Hello? Your mom. My grandma,’ Alice sighs.
‘She hasn’t lifted a finger to look for me. She knew exactly where I was. She could have come to see me, she could have taken me home. She could have picked up the phone and called me any time. But she didn’t. That says it all.’
‘It’s so strange, all this. I don’t get it.’ Alice waggles the phone at her again. ‘In any case, I’ve found us flights. For tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? You’re crazy. It’s impossible, I’m fully-booked with work.’
‘No, you’re not. You’ve cancelled everything because you’re “sick”. I spoke to your agent yesterday, and I’ve taken some time off school.’
‘You haven’t told her, have you? If you have, the whole world will know soon.’
‘Mom, the world doesn’t end if you cancel a few jobs. And she doesn’t care about your secrets. She and the rest of the world have got plenty of other problems. I promise you.’
‘If this gets out …’
‘Yeah?’
‘Then …’
‘Then what?’
‘No one can know.’
‘Don’t be paranoid. Even if your agent knew, she’d hardly do anything to hurt you. She’s on your side, you’re on the same team.’
Elin takes the phone and studies the itinerary.
‘Direct flights,’ she says.
‘Yes, to Stockholm, and then domestic flights to Gotland. I’ve hired a car too, so we can drive around. And a hotel, the best on the whole island.’
Elin’s hands start to shake. She grips her stomach hard to make the trembling stop.
‘Does she know that we … does she know that we’re coming?’
Alice shakes her head.
‘I don’t even know what Grandma’s name is, I don’t know what the village is called. I know nothing. I only know we have to go there.’
‘She might not even be alive, she probably isn’t.’ Elin’s freezing now, her whole body shaking, and she places Alice’s mobile on the table, pulls her legs up and puts her forehead on her knees.
‘But the trees are alive, and the fields, and the sea.’
‘There was nothing left. The buildings burned down, so many buildings, so much forest. Who’d want to live there? We’ll get there and it’ll be deserted.’
Alice sighs.
‘It only looks like that in your head, in your memory. Give me your laptop.’ She reaches for it. ‘Password?’
Elin takes it back.
‘I’ll write it in myself.’
‘Why’s it so secret?’
Alice hangs over her shoulder as she presses down the keys that form: M i s s i n g A l i c e.
‘Oh Mom, I managed to read it,’ she whispered.
She takes back the laptop and opens the map.
‘Tell me the name of the village.’
Elin hesitates.
‘I had a friend there, too.’
‘What was her name? Maybe she’s still living there. Or did she die in the fire?’
Elin shakes her head.
‘He was at his mother’s in Visby. I�
�ve missed him all these years. His name is Fredrik, he was the one I drew the flowers for.’
‘Ah right, it’s sorted then. Let’s go. I bet Fredrik still lives there. Give me your card, I’ll pay for the tickets.’
‘Seems you can do it all, even if you are a tiny tot.’
Alice throws a cushion at her.
‘Ah, be quiet. I’m older than you were when you ran away.’
‘The village is called Heivide.’
Alice falls silent. Listens as she repeats it.
‘Can you spell it? What a strange name.’
‘Shouldn’t you go home and pack?’ says Elin. ‘If we’re going on a trip?’
Alice nods, turns the screen towards her and shows her a satellite image. Elin leans forward and studies the trees.
‘They’ve grown again.’
‘Wounds heal.’
Elin looks at her daughter. She’s so smart. She gazes deep into her eyes, which are hazel, rimmed with grey. The eyes aren’t Elin’s or Sam’s – they’re Marianne’s. They’re a gift from Alice’s grandmother, a physical trace of everything Elin’s been trying to suppress. She hasn’t thought about it before, but Marianne has never completely left her. She’s there, in Alice. Will she see it when they meet?
Alice lies cuddled up under a thick blanket with her phone. She’s awake, and is inspecting every millimetre of Gotland’s surface, with great curiosity. The fuzzy satellite images are hard to make out, but she meanders through the forest, swiping past isolated houses and farms. Elin lies beside her. Her light is off and she closes her eyes now and then, but sleep refuses to take hold, her thoughts like a great black cloud around her whole body. She follows Alice’s journey through the countryside from a distance, sees her zoom in on places she instinctively knows the names of. Their bags are ready and packed in the hall, the alarm is set, the tickets have been paid for. Tomorrow they’ll be there, in what just a few months ago was a suppressed, secret memory. She sits up and Alice reaches out, touches her arm.
‘Can’t you sleep? Tell me more. Tell me about Grandma, what was she like?’
Elin puts her hands over her face.
‘She was everything I’m not.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I can barely remember. She was … quiet, sad, absent.’
Alice laughs out loud.
‘Absent! You mean you’re not?’
‘Not like that. She had no job, so she was almost always home. But she seldom laughed, seldom spoke. She was there, physically, but still she was far away.’
‘Depressed?’
‘Perhaps. It wasn’t something you talked about back then. She would get angry too, very angry.’
‘That doesn’t sound like much fun.’
‘It wasn’t.’
‘And your brothers?’
‘They were so lovely. I’d wake them up in the mornings, make them breakfast.’
‘Were you close?’
‘Yes.’
‘You must have really missed them.’
‘They’re dead. I haven’t thought about them for a long time now. But of course I was sad for many years, thought about them every day.’
‘Maybe there’s a grave we could visit. So you’d get a chance to say goodbye.’
‘You’re so smart, Alice. How did you get so smart?’
‘I have a good mom.’
‘An absent one.’
‘Not like that. I know you’re there. You love your job a bit too much, that’s all.’
Alice gets up from the bed and goes into the bathroom, where Elin can see her shadow moving about. The shower starts and the sound of running water takes her to another place. She lies down and closes her eyes.
THEN
STOCKHOLM, 1984
The wall in front of Elin was covered with sunglasses in lurid colours. She was wearing baggy stonewashed jeans and a matching denim jacket with rolled-up sleeves, and underneath she had on a pink top that matched the band in her permed hair. She was chewing gum frenetically and occasionally eyeing the exit where a guy in a black leather jacket was waiting for her: John, a guy from school who she was possibly in love with. She hadn’t decided yet. He gestured impatiently at her. There were almost no customers in the shop and the sales assistant at the cash register was looking the other way, so Elin grabbed a pair of sunglasses and slid them inside her jacket, in the space behind the pocket. Her heart was beating hard. She stayed where she was and took down another pair, turning them this way and that as if considering buying them. Then she put them back and slowly walked towards the exit, getting a pat on the shoulder in greeting. They carried on their walk through the mall as though nothing had happened.
She was just about to put on the sunglasses, which were pink to match her outfit, when a man stopped in front of her, blocking her path. He had short black hair and a Polaroid camera on a strap around his neck. He looked her up and down, and Elin lowered the hand holding the sunglasses.
‘What are you doing? Move,’ she said boldly, trying to push past him.
‘Wait a minute. Can I take a picture of you?’ he asked and lifted the camera to his eyes.
Elin recoiled.
‘Gross,’ she muttered and walked past.
‘No, no, I don’t mean it like that, I work for a modelling agency. Do you know what that is?’ The man hurried after her and came back to stand in front of her again.
‘Yeah, and?’
‘You look fantastic.’
John, who’d walked on without Elin, now turned around and came back, glaring at the man. Elin drew herself up.
‘OK, hurry up then, take the picture,’ she said sullenly, and looked intensely into the camera.
‘Can you take off your jacket?’ he asked.
Elin complied and handed the jacket to John, posing with one hand on her waist.
‘Smile a little, I bet your smile is beautiful.’
The man pulled a totally white picture from the camera and warmed it between his hands.
‘Just wait a minute, I’ll see if it turned out all right.’
Elin watched curiously as shapes slowly began to emerge on the shiny surface. At last she was there, smiling, her eyes bright. The man nodded in satisfaction and handed her a pen.
‘This came out really well. Can you write your name and telephone number on the white strip?’
Elin carefully wrote her details as requested, and the man put it in his pocket before disappearing off into the crowds. Elin followed him with her gaze as he strolled along, carefully inspecting all the young girls he encountered.
‘Pretty cool,’ John said and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘So, a model, eh? I knew you were hot, but just think, you might get famous now.’
Elin pulled away. The sunglasses suddenly felt heavy in her hand, and she put them in her pocket and pulled out a cigarette.
‘I have to go now,’ she muttered, the unlit cigarette in the corner of her mouth.
John raised his eyebrows, but nodded.
‘OK, see ya,’ he said, shoving both hands into the pockets of his jeans.
‘Take this if you want,’ she said.
She held out the cigarette. Then she turned her back on him and ran fast along the pavement and down the steps to Sergels Torg. Just before she got to the metro station’s ticket barriers, she took the cigarette packet out of her pocket and threw it in the bin.
It was dark in the apartment when she got home. The blinds were drawn, and on the mattress on the floor Lasse lay sleeping, curled up like a little child. His trousers had slipped down, exposing the crack between his buttocks. He was snoring dully, and the sound echoed in the empty room. Elin gathered up the bottles from the floor and put them in the bin after emptying the liquid that remained into the sink. The room smelled rankly of beer and spirits, so she ran the tap for a long time to get rid of the stench.
They didn’t have a TV any more, it had broken. And no radi
o. It was always quiet. Sometimes she could hear the neighbours screaming at each other, but they seemed to be getting along better now. She sat down in the only armchair and switched on the lamp. On the table there was a heap of library books and she picked up the top one, but the words just blurred together and she couldn’t be bothered to read. She hadn’t finished a single book since she came to Stockholm. Just a few paragraphs here and there, when the mood took her. Aina used to say that reading was the secret, that if she just read enough, everything would work out in the end. Everything would be fine.
She laid the book in her lap, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She still hadn’t found anywhere she could sit in peace and just think. Nowhere like the place she had behind her house when she was little, or like the place she and Fredrik had on the beach. She often wondered if he still went there, if he looked at the stars on his own or with someone else.
The apartment was so small and cramped, she often felt trapped, like an animal in a cage. When Lasse was home it often stank of sweat and booze. And outside she was never really on her own. There were cars, people, noise everywhere.
She couldn’t bear it any more. In her pocket was a long letter she’d started writing, a letter to Fredrik. It never got finished, there was always more to tell him. But now it would have to do, now she was going to send it, ask his forgiveness for the fire, ask him for help, ask him to take her home.
It had grown late in the evening, and she had school the next day. But still she went out into the hallway and put her shoes on again, intending to get a stamp from somewhere. Maybe she’d be able to buy one off one of the alkies on the square, the ones that always hung out on the benches.
Just as she was about to open the door she heard Lasse’s rumbling voice.
‘You’re not going out again, are you? It’s dark,’ he slurred.
Elin rolled her eyes and slammed the door behind her, a little too hard. She ran down the stairs, holding the bannister and swinging round each landing. Upstairs the door opened again and she heard Lasse’s gravelly cough echoing.
‘Elin! Someone was looking for you earlier,’ he called. He wasn’t slurring as much now, his voice sounded clearer, more sober.
A Question Mark is Half a Heart Page 22
