by Helena Halme
'We need to talk about this, don't we?' he says equitably.
Alicia exhales. How can she not agree to his reasonableness? She sits down again, but folds her arms over her chest, refusing to look at her husband.
'C'mon.' Liam tries to calm her down by leaning into her again and forcing her to look into his eyes. 'It's a shock, that's all,' he says in his reassuring doctor voice.
Alicia remembers how she used to love that confident, low tone that Liam used if Stefan was ill with a simple cold, or when he had chicken pox at the age of ten and Alicia had been beside herself with worry. When the rash first appeared, she’d been sure it was meningitis, but Liam convinced her that they should monitor him through the night, taking turns to take his temperature and peer into his eyes. The poor boy was exhausted the next day, when the first blisters developed and Liam could diagnose him with certainty. He'd also used that voice when he'd 'treated' her migraines when they first met, and many times since. That voice was one of the reasons Alicia fell in love with Liam.
'Just imagine if it had been the other way around? You would not have believed me if I said I’d found someone who was carrying our late son's baby without first looking into it properly? Your journalistic brain would want to analyse it and search for evidence first, right?'
Alicia knew Liam had a point.
'But we won't know the truth until the baby is born, and then we’d have to ask Frida to do a DNA test. I'm not convinced she'll be prepared to do that.'
Liam finishes his beer and nods at Alicia's bottle.
'One more?'
Alicia agrees to have another drink, and when she watches Liam at the bar, his familiar, muscular, shape leaning on the mahogany ledge, she wonders if he is right to be skeptical about Frida. He is, of course, right. Alicia had not looked for any evidence of Frida’s claim. It could be a cruel con, of course. Perhaps the father was the Romanian boy, something impossible to prove without a test on the baby. The police will have Daniel's DNA, but could she convince Ebba to share that information with them? No, it would be better to compare the tests with her and Liam's DNA.
Suddenly Alicia remembers the envelope containing Stefan's hair that Liam had handed her the morning of Stefan's funeral. Alicia had spent that day in a daze, medicated up to her eyeballs with the pills Liam had prescribed her, but the one event she recalls clearly is when Liam came into their bedroom, dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and black tie. The sight of him took Alicia's breath away. When he handed her the brown envelope and she looked inside and saw the blond strands of hair resting at the bottom of the envelope, she flung herself at him and they’d held each other close for a long time.
Alicia is brought back to the present by Liam sitting down in front of her. He places the drink on the table and takes Alicia's hand. 'Can we start again? My flight back to London isn't until next week, so I have a few days to sort things out.'
Alicia is surprised: Liam never takes time off at short notice. His foremost concern is his patients, often to the detriment of his family. Is that what Alicia has always felt? Second best to Liam's patients? Alicia shakes her head; no, she loves the passion he has for his profession. It is something she wishes she could have had too. An important career would have helped her after they lost Stefan.
'You staying at the Arkipelag?' Alicia asks.
Liam nods. He's looking down at his beer, still holding Alicia's fingers in his hand. His expression is serious when he lifts his head up. 'I want you back.' Liam looks deeply into Alicia's eyes. She can see he is holding his breath. Again she is taken aback by the new honesty, a fresh directness in his gaze.
'I'm not sure,' Alicia begins, but Liam interrupts her. 'I don't want you to make a decision now. I just wanted you to know how I feel.' Liam lets go of her hand and smiles at her.
'I don't know what to say.' Alicia takes a sip of her Lonkero.
Liam gives a little cough, and glancing at the silver Rolex watch he’d bought when he got his first consultant's job, says in a stronger, more practical voice, 'I thought we could eat here tonight? It'll give us some more time to talk?'
Fifty-One
Patrick is standing on the jetty. The wind has turned to a northerly and he zips up his windbreaker. He scans the people walking on the wooden boardwalk, at the same time keeping an eye out for the steps that run down by the Arkipelag and the newspaper offices. He thinks about the meeting with his lawyers in Stockholm that day, but his mind goes back to Alicia and her body pressed against his.
There is something about her fragility when he touches her. The pale, soft skin on her belly, her inner thighs and her pert, small breasts. She reacts to him in a way that he's never experienced with a woman before. Patrick shifts position as he feels himself getting aroused. Where is she? He checks his watch and sees it's nearly quarter past. He pulls out his phone and checks WhatsApp. Alicia still hasn’t answered his messages. He sent one on the ferry back from Stockholm, telling her how much he was looking forward to seeing her later. He didn't think the lack of a reply meant anything; he saw she'd read them and assumed she just didn't get a chance to message him back.
And then he sees them.
He spots Alicia first and then, just before he raises his hand to wave at her, very close behind, Liam emerges from the depths of the von Knorring restaurant. They are walking along the ship's dark wooden deck, side by side. They are laughing, and as they come to the small gangway connecting the boat to the old stone jetty Liam takes hold of Alicia's arm and helps her safely to the other side. On the jetty, he puts Alicia's hand in the crock of his arm. They proceed like this, like the married couple they are, toward Arkipelag Hotel and after a brief conversation at the door, go inside.
Patrick doesn't know what to do. Naturally, he knew Alicia would need to talk to Liam, after he turned up last night and saw them together. Earlier that evening, she’d told him how Liam had been unfaithful, just like Mia. She cried when she recounted how she had found out, through some woman working as a volunteer at the hospital. And that the affair had started after their son was so tragically killed. From how she behaved, and from her words, he assumed she would not want anything to do with the man. Yet here she was walking arm in arm, laughing—laughing—with him. Could she be that fickle? Or had he completely misread her?
Patrick starts to walk toward the hotel but is stopped by a sudden surge of traffic. He glances at his watch and realizes the last ferry of the day has arrived. He curses under his breath as he watches the cars speed along the coastal road. Most contain holidaymakers from Sweden, their vehicles laden with bags and luggage. Patrick thinks he's already sick of this bloody place after only a few weeks.
His thoughts return to his meeting in Stockholm that morning. Mia's family have offered him a handsome settlement, but they want him to leave the islands. He can keep his boat, and the flat in Mariehamn, but he's only to use it for eight weeks a year. They want him to stay in Stockholm, ideally. His lawyer, Harriet Wisktrand, told him that the settlement was very generous. But Patrick told the woman that he wanted to stay in Mariehamn. He wants shared custody of the girls.
Harriet had sighed at Patrick's comment. She’d told Patrick before that the Eriksson's counsel was a famous man, reputed to be one of the best divorce lawyers in Sweden.
'It's up to you, but I would say this is an unusually good offer,' she’d said, closing the file of papers. 'It depends how quickly you want this to be over, and how much you want to pay in legal fees,' she added.
That morning, leaving the lawyer’s offices in Hammarby, a new area where high-rise offices overlooked the straits separating the southern part of Stockholm, Patrick went straight to see his boss at Journalen.
'I'm making it easy for you,' he told the balding editor.
'What?' he said, finally looking up from his computer screen. For the whole time Patrick had been standing in his office the man had been tapping at his keyboard. 'Sit down,' he said and he rolled his chair to face Patrick.
But
his old editor had not managed to convince Patrick to stay. Patrick would never get to write that prize-worthy article, so he might as well take the redundancy money and run. It was time he moved on.
Fifty-Two
Ebba stands in the doorway to the large newspaper office. She's leaning casually against the frame, looking at Alicia as if judging her. Alicia wonders how long she's been there, then gets up smartly and walks toward the police detective.
'So I hear you're going to be a grandmother,' Ebba says as she sits down at the round kitchen table.
'Coffee?' Alicia asks. She smiles at Ebba and nods, although having spent yesterday in Liam's company, she is less sure that the baby Frida is carrying is actually Stefan's.
'Any news on the Romanian boy, Daniel?' she asks Ebba as she sits down at the other side of the table from her old schoolfriend.
'Do you believe Frida is carrying your son’s baby?' Ebba asks instead, and Alicia tries to suppress her annoyance at the woman's habit of answering a question with one of her own. And of interfering in her life.
'I guess so,' Alicia says, but seeing Ebba raise an eyebrow, she adds, 'Yes, I do,' trying to sound more assertive.
'Hmm,' Ebba says. She regards Alicia and takes a sip from her mug of coffee. Her eyes do not leave Alicia's and once again Alicia feels she's the one under suspicion.
'The pregnancy and your son's fatherhood seem very convenient now you're back on the islands and your son no longer ...' Ebba stops mid-sentence as someone opens the door to the kitchen.
The policewoman, who's seated with her back to the window, facing the entrance to the small kitchen, raises her eyebrows, as if she is conducting an interview in her own office. But when she sees who it is, she says, rather gently after what Alicia thinks she's just inferred, 'Ah, Frida, how are you?'
Frida walks into the room. She nods, and says in a surly, teenage voice, 'OK.' She gives Alicia a glance, not catching her eye. Still pissed at me then, Alicia thinks and smiles. That tone reminds her so strongly of Stefan, but she's surprised at her overwhelming feeling of pleasure at the memory, rather than sadness. She recalls Stefan standing in their kitchen in London with his back to her, unwilling to accept something, or not wanting to show he agreed with her, or concede that she, his mother, had been right all along. The recollection is so strong and warm, that it catches her breath.
Ebba, as usual, notices something is going on. 'You OK there?'
Alicia nods and smiles at the policewoman, who's now gazing up at Frida. Alicia senses that the two have agreed on something, or that they have come to some kind of conclusion or resolution, but she doesn't wish to rock the boat with Frida by asking questions. Last night she made Liam promise that if she can convince Frida to meet with them before he leaves the islands, he will listen to Frida and not say a word.
Briefly, Alicia's thoughts go back to the previous night. It was good to spend time with Liam. He was attentive, listening to her talk about Stefan and Frida, and her worries about her mother's finances and rows with Uffe. And she’d been able to tell Liam about seeing the Romanian boy's body, and how it had brought back her grief, and her regret that she hadn't visited Stefan at the morgue.
'There was nothing to see,' Liam had said. His eyes had been sad and he'd taken Alicia's hands into his. They were in Liam's hotel room, sitting opposite each other in two armchairs. The room overlooked the East Harbor, where Alicia knew Patrick's boat was moored, but she didn't look toward the jetty where she knew Patrick would be waiting for her. She and Liam had decided to go upstairs when they saw the Arkipelag restaurant was hosting a karaoke evening. It was too loud for them to hear each other shout, let alone talk.
'I was protecting you,' Liam continued, leaning closer to Alicia.
Alicia lifted her eyes, which had been fixed on her fingers as they rested inside Liam's palms. How many times had they sat like this, but it had felt different, as if it was the first time Alicia had been held by Liam. She had examined his bony fingers, looking at the hairs growing on his hands. She had always loved his hands, the hands that had saved so many patients. The hands that had not, however, been able to save their son.
'But that was a decision I should have made myself,' Alicia whispered in a low tone. She wasn't going to cry, even if talking about Stefan, with Liam particularly, brought a lump to her throat. But there were no tears. Perhaps she had finished crying and there was nothing left in her?
Liam's eyes were sad too, and Alicia could see there were tears welling up behind them.
'I'm sorry,' he had said, and for the first time in months, years, Alicia believed that he really, truly, was sorry.
All evening Liam had acted like the man she married all those years ago.
It was after 11pm when Liam put Alicia into a taxi outside the hotel. There had been a strong wind, and the riggings of the many boats in the harbor opposite had rattled against the masts. Alicia pushed away thoughts of Patrick’s proximity. As she stood facing Liam, she wondered if he would try to kiss her goodbye; a gesture they had made hundreds, thousands of times during their marriage, but Liam had just squeezed her arms with his hands. When Alicia didn't resist his touch, he pulled her toward him and hugged her. She had promised to meet him for lunch at Svarta Katten the next day, today at one o'clock.
Suddenly the kettle comes to a boil, bringing Alicia back to the kitchen in the newspaper office. Nobody speaks a word while Frida prepares a herbal tea for herself. With a quick glance at Alicia and Ebba leaning over the small table, Frida then leaves the room.
Immediately after they hear the door close, Ebba turns to Alicia.
'We've solved the case, thought you might like to know.'
'Is this an official statement?'
'The police chief will give a press conference in about an hour,' Ebba glances at her watch, a large manly one that seems unnecessarily complicated for just time-keeping. Perhaps she's a diver, Alicia wonders.
'I might as well save you a trip to the HQ.'
Alicia scrambles to get her phone out; she didn't expect this. Everything is done so differently in Åland. She cannot imagine any police in London, or Stockholm for that matter, would permit an official press conference to be bypassed like this.
'Can I record you?' she asks when she has unlocked her phone.
Ebba nods. Alicia gazes at the policewoman's face, and realizes she looks triumphant.
'It was a simple accident.' The police woman says, crossing her arms over her chest.
* * *
After Ebba has left the newspaper office, Alicia puts her earphones in and listens to the policewoman's account of Daniel's accident. According to Ebba, the boy had been in a rowing boat on his own, fishing, when his rod had got stuck in the reeds around the little island where his body was found. They assumed he'd lost his balance and, with the weight of his cast, drowned. The breakthrough came when they found the rod floating above the line and discovered the deserted rowing boat in a cove a few kilometers away, where it had drifted. There was Daniel's DNA all over the vessel, and some marks from the cast on his leg. Frida had confirmed that the boy used to go fishing alone in the evenings, because he didn't have a local permit. According to Frida, he earned so little on Uffe's farm that he had to fish for food, but he also sold some of his catch to a few locals.
Alicia takes her headphones out and wonders if these locals included her stepfather. Poor lad, Alicia thinks, and wishes she could have helped him when he was still alive. She resolves to talk to Uffe; surely he must know he pays the boys too little?
At that moment Harri, the editor, walks past and seeing Alicia says, 'What are you doing here? There's a press conference at the police station!'
Alicia fills him in and plays Ebba's statement.
'This is the headline. On my desk in an hour?'
Alicia nods, replaces her headphones and starts transcribing Ebba's words.
Fifty-Three
Liam is sitting in the restaurant Club Marin overlooking the jetties of the Eas
t Harbor. He is scanning the boats, tied to the ten or so wooden piers, wondering which one belongs to Patrick. He's nursing a beer, at eleven o'clock in the morning. Stepping onto the decking of the sailing club, he had remembered the many times he’d come here with Alicia while Hilda babysat Stefan. He remembers the time when there was a live band, playing old Finnish classics and he had made a complete fool of himself trying to lead Alicia in a tango. She had laughed, pulling her head back, letting her long, blond curls fall down her back. Suddenly no longer minding his awkwardness on the dance floor, he’d taken hold of Alicia and spun her around the space.
Later, when Stefan was old enough, he and Stefan would come here together to admire the boats, leaving Alicia and Hilda to do their shopping. Those holidays had been good, and Liam knows he should have appreciated them more instead of complaining about the food, the rudeness of the locals, and the Finnish and Swedish tourists, or the high prices in the restaurants. He realizes that he didn't even notice how much his beer cost today.
His thoughts about the past come to a halt when he spots the man walking along the jetty. His gait is a confident one, reinforced by his tall and impressive stature. Patrick is slim, with wide shoulders and a rugged look that comes from his sun- and sea-bleached hair. Liam can see why any woman would fall for this guy. But Alicia? She is intelligent and Liam is surprised that she would go for looks alone. Perhaps the bloke is an Einstein too, although looks and brains rarely go together, Liam thinks, as he drowns the dregs of his beer.
* * *
Patrick doesn't spot Liam until he's standing next to him on the jetty. He can't help the sarcastic smile that forms on his lips; a jealous ex is just what he needs now!
'Can I talk to you?' Alicia's husband says in English. Patrick notices the man firming his foothold on the moving pier. He's standing with his feet artificially wide apart, with his chest pushed forward, as if he's preening for a fight.
