‘My name is Anne,’ she whispered, with her arm around Elin’s shoulders. She pointed at the building in front of them. ‘And that’s my bookshop, and inside there are books and hot chocolate. I’m convinced that you’re in need of both.’
The walls were covered with built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves of dark wood. You needed a ladder to reach the highest shelves. On the floor between them were tables with more piles of books, and Elin ran her hand over them. Her nose still felt swollen from all the crying, and she sniffled now and then. All the books were in French. She quietly spelled out the titles without understanding their meaning.
‘There are books in English too,’ Anne smiled and pointed to a shelf further back in the shop. ‘But if you want to learn French, I’d recommend you start with a children’s book and a dictionary. There’s no better way to learn a language.’
She moved away swiftly, the wide skirt swinging around her ample hips, and came back with a slim book in her hand.
‘Here, start with this, you’re going to love it. The Little Prince.’
She gave the book to Elin. The cover was yellowing and full of small stars, and a prince with golden yellow hair was balancing on a very small planet. Stars! Elin clutched it to her chest.
‘You can read it for free if you sit here,’ said Anne. ‘You can read anything you like in my shop. And you can ask me anything.’
Elin nodded and opened it at the first page. She ran her finger over the prince, the birds, and the stars and a tear ran down her cheek. Anne stood quietly, watching her. Elin looked up and wiped her chin with the back of her hand.
‘How did you know?’ she said.
‘Know what, my dear?’ Anne didn’t understand the question. She took her arm and led her over to an armchair. On the table alongside was a dictionary. French to English.
‘Do you have French to Swedish?’ Elin asked, hoarsely.
Anne nodded and climbed up one of the ladders. She held a well-thumbed little book up in the air, the spine broken and some of the pages dog-eared.
‘This one’s best years are behind it, but it’ll probably do. Not everything in this shop is new.’ She laughed so hard it made her cough, then climbed back down the ladder with some effort.
The armchair was very soft. Elin sank down into it and started working her way through the opening sentences. She looked up the meaning of every single word, learning how to say hat and elephant and boa constrictor. Anne set a cup of hot chocolate down beside her, and the hot liquid warmed her from the inside. Anne laid a blanket over her legs, tucking her in thoroughly.
‘You’re better off sitting in here than out on that cold bench. And you can learn a thing or two as well. Promise you’ll come here next time, not sit alone out there crying. No one should have to do that.’
Anne went on talking, to herself. Elin stopped replying and the voice became more of a murmur in the background. Customers came and went. Some stayed, sitting in other armchairs, leafing through books.
There was a sign above the cash register. It read:
A home without books is like a body without a soul.
NOW
VISBY, 2017
Garment after garment lands on the floor as Elin rifles through the clothes in her suitcase. Alice is standing behind her.
‘Just grab something, come on.’
In the end she pulls a black dress over her head. Her legs and feet are bare and her toes are still blueish, a reminder of everything that just happened.
‘But who is it?’
‘I don’t know. He’s waiting, come on. I didn’t understand what he said. Your name and then a load of words. He looks nice.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I don’t know, like a regular man, kind of. Big smile.’
Elin stops. Holds her breath.
‘He’s going to have to wait a little longer,’ she says in the end and then vanishes into the bathroom.
She pulls the brush through her hair, fastening it carefully in a knot. She powders her face with small circular movements and adds a little colour to her cheeks with blusher. Alice paces nervously in the doorway, following every movement with her eyes. When she goes down the stairs at last, Alice is right behind her. There’s another knock, and Elin pulls open the door and almost manages to knock over the waiter who’s standing outside with a tray. There are two steaming mugs on it, with a plate of biscuits in between.
‘Couldn’t you have brought it up yourself? What did I have to get up for?’ she hisses, her heart still pounding in her chest. Her nerves have been replaced by anger.
Alice puts her finger to her lips, shushing her. She takes the tray from the waiter, then nods her head down the corridor.
‘It wasn’t him, it was that guy,’ she whispers.
Elin looks out and there he is, leaning against the wall in jeans and a worn brown leather jacket. He isn’t freckly, and his hair isn’t sun-bleached and tousled: in fact, there’s none of it left, his scalp bald and shiny, and his chin is covered with a bushy beard. But he looks at her with the same eyes, and when he smiles there’s no mistaking who it is.
All sounds cease, all thoughts fall silent. The distance between them seems to turn into a tunnel. They stare at each other.
‘So that’s how much a blood pact and promises are worth,’ he says quietly and holds up one hand in a greeting.
They stand there staring at one another until finally he takes a step forward and holds out his arms. Then Elin throws herself into his embrace. It’s not a reserved, polite hug. Not soft and reassuring. It’s as though he’d just come back from the dead. She flies at him, holds onto him for dear life with both arms and legs.
‘I never thought I’d see you again,’ she whispers in his ear.
‘My little Dingbat, why did you disappear?’ he replies with a laugh, and strokes her back. He takes a deep breath. ‘Just imagine you being here now. At last.’
Elin doesn’t let go of him. She buries her face in his chest and feels his heartbeat against her cheek. His scent is the same, even after so many years. She inhales it deeply.
In the end he pushes her away. She meets his gaze when he takes her face between his hands and studies her.
‘Why did you never get in touch?’ he says. He lets go of her and leans against the wall again.
Instead of answering, Elin says: ‘How did you find me?’ She reaches out to touch his cheek, but he catches her hand and winds his fingers into hers.
‘I saw your picture in a magazine at the barber’s. It was just a coincidence. And then I started googling you. Elin Boals. Famous. Just like you said you would be.’
‘I mean now. How did you know I was here?’
‘Aha. Visby’s a small town. Malin rang and told me you were here. So I expect everyone knows by now.’ He looks her up and down. ‘You look like a Hollywood star,’ he says.
‘But I’m not.’
‘Well, now you’re a star up there, anyway,’ He nods towards the ceiling.
‘Thank you, it was sweet of you to do that. But you can’t buy stars, can you? You can’t own everything? Didn’t you used to say that the stars belonged to everyone?’
‘True. But I wanted to send something, and that was the best thing I could think of.’
‘In any case, we’ve always lived under the same stars, you and I.’
‘Not really. How could you end up so far away?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers.
‘Sorry for what? I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.’
‘For the fire.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘For starting it. For … killing them, all of them.’
Elin shudders. She meets his uncomprehending gaze as he takes a step backwards.
‘What? Were you the one who set fire to Aina’s house? Why would you do that?’
She shakes her head vehemently. Alice pokes her head out of the door and Elin, flustered, looks anxiously from her to Fredrik.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ Fredrik turns to Alice, his hand extended.
‘Yes, sorry,’ says Elin, switching to English. ‘Alice, this is Fredrik, my childhood friend. And this is Alice, my daughter.’
‘Won’t you come up and sit down? There’s hot chocolate. Fredrik, you can have my cup.’
Elin silences her with a gesture without taking her eyes off Fredrik.
‘I didn’t set fire to any houses, why would I? I made a great big fire on the beach, and it spread.’
He laughs.
‘Our little campfire, you think that started everything? No, no, the fire started in Aina’s house and then spread to the forest and to Gerd and Ove’s house. No one was home to raise the alarm, so it soon turned into a river of flames that ate up everything in its path. Well, you saw that, you were there. They were all in line with the wind direction, those three farms.’
Elin sinks down onto the floor, putting her hand on the wall for support. Memories are flashing in front of her eyes.
‘They weren’t at home?’ she whispers.
‘No, they were having dinner somewhere, they’d gone out earlier that evening. When they came home everything was gone, Ove’s motorbikes were totally destroyed and the house was a charred ruin. Terrible.’
‘The motorbikes? But I don’t get it … are they still alive?’
‘No, not any more. They died, but it was quite recent, just a few years ago. Ove of a heart attack and Gerd just a little while later. She probably couldn’t live without him. You know how they were, they stuck together, always.’
Elin’s gasping for breath, her throat is tightening, she can’t get any words out. Alice bends down beside her, stroking her back comfortingly.
‘What is it, Mom, what’s he saying? What are you talking about? Is Grandma dead? What’s happened?’
Alice looks at them both, pleading with them to explain to her. Fredrik bends down and hooks his arms under Elin’s, lifting her carefully to standing.
‘Come. It is better if we sit down,’ he says in shaky English.
They sit on the sofa, Alice holding Elin’s hand. The hot chocolate and biscuits are on the table, and Fredrik smiles when he sees them.
‘Can you not get biscuits in America?’
Elin stares blankly ahead of her.
‘There were still so many who died,’ she says.
Fredrik shakes his head.
‘No, not Edvin, he did not die. It was only Micke and Erik. But I probably should not say “only”.’
‘They found Edvin?’ Elin’s voice is almost inaudible.
‘Yes.’
He’s alive. Edvin’s alive. Elin almost can’t take it in. There are so many thoughts racing through her head. Her little brother. All these years. Lasse must have known, why didn’t he tell her? Why did he let her think they were all dead?’
‘He must be an adult now?’
Fredrik laughs, switching back to Swedish.
‘Yeah, he’s not that cheeky little guy with the squirrel eyes you remember.’
Elin smiles. She turns to Alice.
‘I have a brother,’ she says proudly.
‘They still live out there, in Heivide. In your old house,’ Fredrik says.
‘They?’
‘Yeah, Marianne and Edvin.’
‘But Edvin is … doesn’t he live on his own?’
Fredrik pulls out his phone, unlocks the screen and scrolls through his contacts.
‘No, no, you can’t ring her, don’t tell her I’m here. Not yet, not now. Tell me about them instead, I want to know more.’
Elin tries to take the phone but Fredrik twists it away from her.
‘But you have to see her while you’re here. You know that, right? She’s never stopped talking about you.’
Elin feels the tears well up and run down her cheeks. Fredrik reaches out his hand to wipe them away, carefully running his fingers over her cheek. His hands feel rough and dry, but warm. He smells of the workshop, just like Lasse used to, of wood and oil. She closes her eyes.
‘You’re just the same, you are. Sweet as sugar,’ he says.
‘How do you know the fire started in Aina’s house? There was no one living there.’ Elin’s eyes fly open. Fredrik shrugs and pauses, holding her gaze, their souls in a kind of embrace.
‘The investigation into the fire proved it, apparently they can tell. It was in the papers. The trees by the beach never got burned. So it absolutely wasn’t your fault. I know that for sure.’
‘I’ve always thought …’
‘That was wrong. You’ve thought wrong … Good God, is that why you’ve been gone so long?’ He has raised his voice, distressed.
‘I thought I’d murdered your papa, and you’d never want to see me again.’
Fredrik sighs and strokes his bushy beard. He squirms, as though the sofa has suddenly become uncomfortable to sit on.
‘I’ve never missed Papa all that much. Have you?’ he asks her.
‘It was so long ago. I barely remember him, just his anger.’
‘Yeah right. The anger.’ Fredrik pulls her closer to him. ‘You were the one it was hard to lose, what you and I had was something much better than our dads. Don’t you think?’
She leans her head against his shoulder. Alice, who has given up trying to understand them, sits deeply immersed in her phone in one of the armchairs. The room is silent. Fredrik rests his cheek on her head.
‘I thought I’d never get to see you again,’ he murmurs, stroking her hair tenderly.
Mother and daughter stay seated when Fredrik leaves. Alice lowers her phone as she hears the door close, and looks accusingly at Elin.
‘Are you going to get together with him now?’ she says crossly.
Elin recoils and pulls herself upright on the sofa, her head held high. She carefully smooths out the creases in her dress.
‘He was my best friend when I was little, like a brother almost. Or you could say he was my brother … it’s complicated.’
Alice nods, her expression still pinched.
‘Yeah, you really looked like great friends,’ she mutters.
Elin stands up and walks towards the bathroom.
‘I need air,’ she says.
‘I’ve never even seen you that intimate with Dad.’
Elin stops short, turns around and hisses:
‘Now you listen to me! If it was my choice I’d be with your dad now, not here. You’re the one who dragged me here.’
Alice widens her eyes, startled by Elin’s sudden rage.
‘Mom!’ she says.
Elin says nothing. Alice comes over and puts her arms around her, but Elin’s arms hang limp at her sides. She’s breathing rapidly.
‘Mom, sorry, I just thought …’
‘He was my best friend when I was little. My absolute best friend.’
Elin pulls away from Alice’s embrace and continues into the bathroom.
‘We’ve got time to take a walk before we’re due to meet Fredrik in Heivide, do you want to come? I have to get out, I can’t breathe in here,’ she says on the way.
Alice appears in the mirror behind Elin and nods. Elin pauses with her hairbrush mid-stroke.
‘Go to your room and get ready then,’ she says briskly, but Alice raises her eyebrows uncomprehendingly.
‘I’m ready! I’ve got clothes on, haven’t I?’
Elin strokes her daughter’s head, tucking a few unruly curls behind her ears, but Alice shakes her head to get them out again.
‘I like being messy. This is how I look, I can’t be someone I’m not.’
‘You can’t be someone you’re not,’ Elin repeats under her breath, and smooths her hand over her own hair. It’s sleek and tidy, but she pulls out the hairband and lets it tumble out, shaking it loose.
‘Tell me more about your dad,’ says Alice. ‘Why didn’t he live here?’
‘My dad?’
‘Yeah, you said he lived in Stockholm, before you went to Pa
ris.’
‘I don’t know where to start.’ Elin pushes past her and pulls her coat on.
They leave the hotel in silence, Alice a few steps behind her mother. Elin feels agitated, she has the urge to keep moving forward, to get away.
The sun peeps out between the clouds and she squints. On Donners Plats a couple of men lean back on one of the benches. They are wearing thick jackets and scruffy shoes, with woolly hats pulled right down almost as far as their beards. Between them is a plastic bag. Elin stops and looks at them, and Alice comes up behind her and puts her chin on her shoulder.
‘What are you doing? Why did you stop?’ she asks.
‘That’s what my real dad was like,’ Elin says, nodding at the bench.
She sets off again, fast, so Alice has to run to keep up.
‘What do you mean? Was he homeless?’
‘No, but he was an alkie, I told you that before. He lived here on the island, he was a carpenter. He used to hang out in Visby sometimes, on those benches, drinking all his earnings. One day he took a rifle and went in and robbed a shop. As drunk as a lord. He accidentally shot the shop assistant. That was how he left the island, and us. In a prison van, to serve his sentence in Stockholm. And he ended up staying there.’
Elin stops again and turns to face her daughter.
‘Is there anything else you want to know?’
‘Yes,’ Alice says earnestly. ‘Was he nice?’
Elin is taken aback.
‘What kind of question is that?’
‘A simple one. Was he nice?’
Elin considers for a moment.
‘He had warm hands and big hugs. He called me Number One, as though I was the most important thing in his world.’
‘Perhaps you were?’
‘No. Drink was the most important. Always drink, however hard he tried. And then he wasn’t kind.’
‘But I don’t understand. Didn’t you speak to each other, didn’t he speak to your mom? He must have found out what happened to his other children, to your brothers.’
Elin sighs. She draws Alice close, holds her tight and kisses her cheek.
‘I don’t know, Alice, I can’t remember. I suppose he must have known, but he wasn’t the kind to talk about things. We didn’t talk. There’s so much I don’t understand.’
A Question Mark is Half a Heart Page 25
