‘What?’
He backs away, averts his eyes.
‘They found Edvin on the field, thanks to you. It was you who saved him. But he was never the same again. He got carbon monoxide poisoning.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘His brain was severely damaged by the smoke. He has difficulty walking and speaking. He’s a little … slow, you could say.’
Elin sinks down towards the desk, he lets go of her hand.
‘How do you mean, slow?’
‘He’s developmentally disabled. You’ll see what I mean, I just wanted you to know before meeting him.’
Elin fiddles distractedly with a few brochures on the desk and Fredrik strokes her back. She looks up at him.
‘So he’s not really there? Will he even remember me?’
‘I think so, he’s smart. He’s still there, inside his head. It’s just his voice and his movements that don’t work. I think he thinks a lot.’
‘I’ve been thinking all the wrong things.’
‘Yes, you have.’
He takes her hand again and brings it to his cheek, his beard tickling her palm.
‘My girl.’ He smiles, meeting her gaze.
‘I didn’t know how much I’d missed you until I saw you,’ Elin whispers.
‘It’s easy to forget.’
‘No, it wasn’t easy. I had to shut down completely to survive. The years passed and in the end all this felt like nothing but a dream.’
Elin looks at the wall behind Fredrik. A rectangular obituary notice is pinned up. The newspaper is yellowing. She walks over and reads it.
GERD ALICE ANNA
ANDERSSON
26 March 1929 – 2 April 2015
Has now
found rest.
Much loved.
Much missed.
In death
as peaceful
as in life.
Marianne
In friendship
She runs her finger across the words. Gerd is gone now, dead and buried. Her sorrow wells over again. So many days, so many years spent missing her and grieving unnecessarily. When she was here the whole time. Suddenly she sees Gerd’s face before her. Her grey curls, her laugh, her rounded belly, all clear as day. Alice comes in, rousing her from her thoughts.
‘Who was that?’
Elin doesn’t answer, turning instead to Fredrik.
‘She died so recently. How can she be dead, why didn’t I get to see her?’
Alice and Fredrik both put their arms around her.
‘Her middle name was Alice,’ Elin whispers to her daughter. ‘It was the most beautiful name I could think of when I was little, so I gave it to you.’
Alice stiffens.
‘How could you have named me after someone and never told me?’
‘She meant so much to me,’ Elin says. ‘Just like you do. It was the loveliest name I could give you. I’m not asking you to understand. But I promise to tell you about her now, anything you want to know, anything I can remember.’
‘Take off your sunglasses now,’ Alice hisses, grabbing hold of her mother’s arm. ‘Please, it’s evening, it’s dark, we’re in the country. You can’t have them on when she opens the door.’ Alice goes on badgering her, walking close behind her.
Elin ignores her and keeps them on, pushing them up her nose so they cover her eyes completely. She cautiously picks her way across the mud, walking on the balls of her feet and jumping over the worst of the puddles. Her gaze is focused on the blue door. It’s lighter than she remembers; perhaps it’s been repainted? The render is just as worn as before, falling off in great chunks. One of the two lamps on the wall is broken, and inside the cracked shade is what appears to be a bird’s nest, the twigs sticking out between the shards. The other lamp glows weakly.
She puts her hand on the door knocker but holds it there without knocking. Fredrik and Alice look at her in silence until Fredrik goes over and lays his hand over hers. They pull the door knocker out together and let go. At the same moment, the door handle turns. Someone has been standing inside waiting for them. Elin takes two steps back, and as the door opens she turns and walks quickly back to the car.
‘Mom, stop!’ Alice calls after her.
Her gaze flicks between Elin’s back, which is rapidly disappearing towards the car, and the bent old lady standing in the doorway. Marianne takes a step out, lifts her hand and waves.
‘Elin, is that you?’ she calls. Her mouth must be dry, as the words seem to get stuck on her tongue.
Elin stops dead when she hears her mother’s voice. She looks down at her feet, her shoes all striped with mud. Everything is damp, everything is cold, everything is wet, everything is dark as night. Marianne calls again, imploring her to come back, and Elin turns on her heel and runs towards her. Water splashes up her legs with each step she takes, her heels sinking into the soft ground.
‘I’m here now,’ she says, coming to a halt in front of her mother.
They gaze into one another’s eyes. Marianne is trembling with cold, but she leaves her arms hanging limply at her sides. There’s no hug, no greeting. They just look right into one another. No one says anything. Alice nudges Elin’s shoulder.
‘Aren’t you going to give her a hug? Aren’t we going to go in?’ she whispers.
Elin takes a step closer, without taking her eyes off her mother.
‘I’m here now. I’ve come home. This is your grandchild, Alice.’ Elin pushes Alice forward.
Marianne nods and strokes Alice’s cheek gently. Then she steps aside and motions for them to go into the hall. Fredrik reaches forward to give Marianne a hug, but she backs away.
‘You do keep it cold in here,’ he says to break the silence, and reaches for the thermostat.
Marianne vanishes wordlessly into the kitchen, and Alice and Elin are left standing in the hallway as Fredrik adjusts the heating.
In the kitchen it’s warmer, the wood stove crackling. Elin shudders when she sees the blazing flames under the hobs and smells the smoke. Marianne has prepared for their visit: her finest coffee service is out on the table, with cups and saucers in thin porcelain decorated with beautiful blue roses and a delicate pink napkin under each cup.
‘That was a long trip you went on,’ she says, eventually taking Elin’s hand in hers and stroking it with repetitive movements: her hand is rough and her fingertips are just as chapped as Elin remembers.
‘Yeah, it ended up being pretty long,’ Elin whispers.
They sit down, Elin and Alice on separate chairs, but right next to each other, and Fredrik on the kitchen bench. It’s quiet in the kitchen, apart from the crackling of the logs. Elin lifts the lace tablecloth cautiously: it’s still the same table, the one she’s eaten at hundreds of times in the past. She runs her hand over the surface, feeling the scars with her fingertips, the cigarette burns.
‘What are you doing, Mom?’ Alice asks under her breath, ducking her head to look under the tablecloth.
Elin takes her daughter’s hand and runs it over the wood.
‘Can you feel them? Can you feel all those little pits?’
Alice nods.
‘Mama made them with cigarettes, when she was angry. She used to put them out right on the table.’
Marianne turns to them. In one hand she has a sponge cake with thick white icing that’s run down the sides, and in the other an old-fashioned coffee kettle. The spout is steaming.
‘But I have stopped that now, I don’t even smoke any more,’ she says severely.
Elin’s cheek flush when she realises Marianne understands enough English to get what she’s saying.
‘Then maybe you should treat yourself to a new table?’ Elin smiles, but gets no smile in return and decides to change the subject. ‘The good cups, amazing that you still have them!’ She lifts her cup and holds it out as Marianne pours the coffee. The lip is leaf-thin, and she blows carefully on the hot liquid before taking a mouthful.
‘Yes, th
ere were a lot of things I never took to Grinde’s. And it was just as well, since there wasn’t much left there.’
‘Did everything burn?’
Marianne shakes her head.
‘Not everything, they managed to put out a fair bit of the house. But most of it. Micke and Erik were burned alive. Did you know that?’
Her jaw is clenched and her voice is cold. She shows no sign of sorrow, it’s more of a matter-of-fact statement. Elin swallows the lump in her throat, with difficulty.
‘Yes, I saw it with my own eyes. I was there when the fire took them. Don’t you remember? I’ll never forget the image of Micke’s charred body.’
Marianne sinks down on a chair beside her and sighs deeply.
‘It happened so quickly. Suddenly they were just … gone. All of them.’
‘Not Edvin,’ Elin protests.
‘Yes, Edvin too. You’ll see. He’s resting now, you’ll see him later. We had to stay at the hospital for months.’
Elin reaches out, tries to touch Marianne’s hand. But her mother pulls it away and puts it in her lap, intertwined with the other, then wrings them anxiously.
‘Why are you here and not at Grinde’s?’ asks Elin. ‘I saw that the farm has been rebuilt.’
‘It was Micke’s farm, not mine. It went to him.’ She nods at Fredrik.
‘But didn’t you own half? With Aina’s money?’
She shakes her head.
‘No, there was nothing on paper. And what difference would that make? It was all just debt and burnt rubble. Right, Fredrik?’
Fredrik nods.
‘But Fredrik’s never let me down,’ Marianne goes on.
‘No, he’s not like me,’ Elin replies quietly.
Pretending not to hear, Marianne rolls a corner of tablecloth between her fingers and looks down at the tabletop. Elin twiddles a silver spoon in her hand. The cake stands untouched on the table. In the end, Fredrik cuts himself a piece then remarks on how delicious it is, but everyone ignores him him.
‘How’ve you managed? With Edvin and all. Did you meet a new man?’ Elin tries to catch Marianne’s gaze, but the older woman just looks down at the table.
‘Fredrik has helped me out, all these years,’ she replies.
Elin drops the silver spoon on her saucer, the sound breaking the silence in the room. She gets to her feet, bumping against the table so the cups and saucers rattle.
‘It’s time for us to go now. We’ll be here a few more days, staying at the Visby Hotel. You can find me there if you want.’
Marianne reaches out to her.
‘No, don’t go. Please, Elin, you have to forgive me.’
‘Forgive you for what?’
‘For not coming to Lasse’s and bringing you home. I couldn’t make myself do it. Days passed, months passed. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to Lasse, I didn’t want to see him. And then one day, when I finally rang, you had already vanished out into the world. Alone in Paris. I got such a pain in my stomach when I heard, but Lasse assured me there were people looking after you.’
Elin stares blankly at the floor, vacillating. No one ever told her they talked to each other, that Marianne cared.
‘It’s true, I had a good life there. Better than at Papa’s in any case, you know how he was. Kind, but he never stopped drinking, as it turned out anyway, so there’s no need for you to feel like that.’
‘You look so fancy,’ says her mother suddenly. ‘Like something from a film.’
Elin fiddles anxiously with her sleeve. Then she takes a deep breath.
‘Mama, I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness. It might have been my fault all along. I lit a fire on the beach that evening. It must have been sparks from my fire that started the blaze. It was me who killed them. I killed Micke and Erik.’
Silence falls over the room as they stare at each other. Fredrik walks over to them and puts his arms over Elin’s shoulders.
‘Stop it now, both of you. Stop trying to find a scapegoat,’ he says. ‘What happened, happened. You’re here now. You’ll have to start over.’
Marianne reaches forward and grabs hold of Elin’s shoulders.
‘Was that why you ran away?’
Elin nods, and Marianne starts shaking her. Elin curls into herself, trying to protect herself from her mother’s fury. She manages to get hold of Marianne’s hands and pull them away.
‘Mama, stop!’ she says.
Marianne obeys. Her mouth is no more than a thin line, her breathing is laboured. She leans against the counter and bursts into tears.
‘We searched for you for days. Everywhere. We thought you were dead,’ she says between sobs.
‘Mama, I’m sorry, I thought it was for the best, I thought you were angry, that I’d be blamed for the fire, for Micke and Erik’s death. I thought everyone had died, Edvin, Gerd, Ove. That’s what I’ve believed this whole time.’
Marianne swipes tears from her cheeks.
‘What? How could you think that? Why would you be blamed? You woke us up, you saved me.’
‘So you were never angry at me?’
‘No, why would I have been? I was just sad. Sad when the letter from Lasse came at last and we realised where you were. Sad that you’d run away and left me when I needed you the most. When we needed you the most.’
Elin stiffens and looks at Marianne accusingly.
‘So why didn’t you come and bring me home if I was so important?’
‘Don’t. It was so long ago,’ Marianne whispers.
Elin turns her back on Marianne.
‘OK, I won’t,’ she says, her voice thick. She switches to English to say, ‘Alice, come on now, it’s time to go.’
Fredrik goes over and helps Marianne, who seems about to faint, back to her chair. Alice pauses at the door.
‘We’ll come back, Grandma, we’ll come back soon,’ she says before leaving the house.
Elin puts her foot down before Alice has even shut the passenger door. Mud sprays as the tyres spin. She accelerates out onto the road. It’s very dark, and not even the full beams can light the way properly. Alice tries to calm her down, but she’s not listening.
‘You see, she doesn’t love me, she wasn’t even happy when we arrived. We should never have come here,’ she says, then turns the radio up so high that conversation is impossible.
Over thirty years. So many years have passed, carving wrinkles and scars into everyone’s faces. Elin stares up at the ceiling, her head reeling from everything that’s happened. The lights are off, and only a faint strip of light from the street cuts through the darkness. In the bathroom her clothes lie in a heap, the trouser legs a muddy reminder of the countryside she so hastily left.
She fiddles with her mobile phone, reading old messages from Sam. He hasn’t answered at all. Perhaps he doesn’t remember the heart-shaped stone, perhaps he doesn’t understand why she sent it. She should write something else, but what? They don’t have anything to talk about any more. Only Alice. She tries to think of a reason to write, but the phone falls onto her chest and the text box stays empty. She should tell him everything, but doesn’t know where to begin.
She’s fallen asleep when the phone suddenly rings. The ringtone wakes her, the vibrations spreading through her body, and she answers without checking the screen to see who it is.
‘Sam?’ she says hopefully.
‘No, it’s me, Fredrik. Who’s Sam?’
‘My …’
‘Your husband? Are you married?’
‘Alice’s dad,’ she says, suddenly wide awake. ‘It’s a little complicated.’
‘Isn’t it always?’
She sits up and turns the light on.
‘And you, are you married?’ she asks, holding her breath.
He laughs, rumbling, his chest rattling as he coughs and has to pause and catch his breath.
‘Yes, yes, of course. I’m not going to live alone on a desolate island like this.’
‘What’s her name?’
/>
‘Miriam.’
‘Do you have children?’
‘Yes, lots of stones here.’
‘Stones? What do you mean?’
‘Don’t you remember? The stones we used to throw.’
‘It turned out different each time.’
‘Yes, I guess I added them all up. Five so far,’ he laughs again.
She holds the handset a little away from her ear, waits before replying.
‘Hello, are you there?’
‘I thought you and I were going to get married,’ she whispers.
‘Did you really?’ Fredrik suddenly sounds serious.
‘No, perhaps not. Or … I can’t remember.’
‘It was lovely to see you. I’ve always longed for you, never stopped thinking about you.’
‘Me too, always.’
Elin’s eyes fill with tears. She breathes a heavy sigh.
‘Though I guess we’ve never even kissed, you and I,’ she says.
Fredrik laughs.
‘No, we were too little for that.’
‘But we came close, no? Am I remembering that right?’
‘Yeah, you are. We came really close. It was you and me.’
‘And the stars.’
‘Yeah, you and me and the stars. Just remember all those nights on the beach, how great that was.’
Elin wipes her tears away and changes the subject.
‘Could I meet them? Your family.’
‘Of course, that’s why I was ringing.’
‘It didn’t go so well, at Mama’s.’
‘You know how she is.’
‘No, I really don’t. I haven’t seen her for over thirty years.’
‘Give her a second chance, she deserves that. She’s soft underneath that hard shell. She switches off, in a way, when things get hard. I know she’s missed you all these years, that she’s thought about you every day. She wants to invite you over for dinner. Miriam and I will come, and the children. Tomorrow evening. You didn’t even get to see Edvin, he wants to see you too.’
‘He doesn’t even know who I am, does he?’
‘We’ll see. He’s smarter than some people think.’
They say goodnight and hang up, and the room is quiet again. Night has fallen, but her thoughts are too chaotic for her to sleep, there’s too much to process. She gets up and walks over to the window. The moon is reflected out to sea, the surface silvery and shimmering. She gets dressed, layer upon layer of warm clothes, and walks out into the deserted streets.
A Question Mark is Half a Heart Page 27
