The Summer House

by Philip Teir

  Julia knew what she meant because her mother always told her about all her marital crises. Also the times when, according to Susanne, her parents had been on the verge of divorce.

  ‘Yes, but this isn’t the same thing,’ said Julia. ‘I’m wondering whether we belong together at all. Maybe we’ve grown apart.’

  ‘The two of you are very different,’ said Susanne. ‘He may be a little placid.’

  ‘Erik?’

  ‘But just think how good he is with the children.’

  Julia didn’t respond. She picked up the casserole dish of potatoes and headed for the door.

  They were all seated at the table out in the yard, helping themselves to Susanne’s avocado salad and the steaks that Erik had grilled. There was also herring and potatoes, along with chilled schnapps and white wine.

  Alice was checking Instagram on her mobile phone. She hadn’t given a lot of thought to her birthday, but it definitely felt better to be thirteen than twelve. When Leo had asked her how old she was, she’d said thirteen, so she was hoping he wouldn’t find out that her birthday wasn’t until today.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ asked Julia. ‘Can’t you put your phone away while we’re eating? Especially when it’s your birthday, and everything.’

  ‘I’m not looking at anything,’ said Alice.

  ‘Then put the phone away.’

  ‘Kids these days. They can’t be without their phones,’ said Julia’s father. Then he started in on a lengthy harangue about why he preferred phones with real buttons. Susanne poured herself more wine. She had sat down next to Anders and was questioning him about his trip to Vietnam.

  ‘One day I rode a motorcycle up into the mountains. There’s a tradition that it’s good luck to drink booze with Westerners. So in every village I came to, I had to stop for a drink. Even the police officers offered me schnapps,’ he said.

  Susanne, who quickly lost interest in other people’s stories, started recounting her own anecdote, about the time she was in a village outside Shanghai and ate grilled songbirds. Julia had heard that story at least fifty times.

  ‘But first they brought a little bowl of blood that they wanted the honoured guests to drink.’

  Anton listened with fascination.

  ‘What kind of blood, Granny?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe from a snake.’

  ‘Yuck,’ said Anton.

  Julia was annoyed and tired and suggested they should sing happy birthday to Alice.

  ‘Could you put away your phone now that we’re going to have cake?’ she said to her daughter.

  Alice shook her head.

  ‘She’s chatting with Leo,’ Anton whispered to his grandmother.

  ‘Who’s Leo?’ asked Susanne.

  ‘Mamma, do you remember the Segerkvists?’ asked Julia. ‘The girl named Marika that I used to play with? Leo is her son.’

  Susanne suddenly had a blank look on her face, as if realising she’d forgotten to switch off the coffee maker back home. She asked to see Alice’s mobile, but Alice quickly stuck it in her pocket.

  ‘You wrote about her in your book,’ said Göran.

  ‘She lives down by the water. In that collective.’

  ‘We haven’t seen them for decades,’ said Susanne. ‘I think they moved to Åbo, or someplace like that. Are they here for the whole summer? Her parents too?’ asked Susanne.

  ‘No, just Marika and her husband. Her mother died of cancer. And her father is remarried,’ replied Julia.

  ‘Aha,’ said Susanne.

  ‘What?’ asked Julia.

  ‘Nothing. So where’s that cake?’

  By nine o’clock the sauna was heated up, and Anders couldn’t be found. He had excused himself after dinner and hadn’t returned.

  ‘I think we’ll go ahead without him,’ Erik told Göran. ‘My brother isn’t so good in social situations.’

  They stayed in the sauna a long time, almost an hour. Then they walked down to the rocks together and jumped in the water.

  It was cold, but the sea had a sobering effect. During the day a thin mist had formed in the sky. Erik had had a few beers and was feeling a little tipsy. The dark sea undulated, silhouetted against the milky white clouds. The salty water tasted good as it slid between his lips.

  The silence came as a surprise to Erik. It had never been this quiet here before. No seagulls, only the gentle lapping of the water, which made the world seem smaller, closer.

  Göran got out of the water and picked up a towel.

  ‘I’m going back. Are you coming with me?’

  ‘In a bit,’ said Erik.

  He sat on his towel and stared out across the bay. After a while he heard a door open at the house on the other side. Kati came out of her sauna with a towel wrapped around her. Steam rose off her body, and she was glistening with moisture in the bright evening.

  When she went down to the water for a swim, she turned and caught sight of him. He couldn’t make himself look away until she threw herself into the water and began swimming.

  He stood up and watched for a while. Just as he was about to leave, he heard the door of the sauna across the bay open again. The sound echoed. And then Anders came out, naked, carrying a beer in his hand. At first Erik didn’t recognise him without any clothes on. He’d gained weight since the spring, yet there could be no doubt. The beard, the slightly stooped posture, the skinny legs. Erik was so surprised that he couldn’t think of a thing to say. He couldn’t even shout a greeting. He merely backed away and headed for the woods.

  10

  ANDERS HAD SPENT HIS first three days at Mjölkviken down at the beach by himself. He came back to the house in the evening, often sitting at the small table near the tarn, talking to Julia or watching the kids play cards on the rocks. Erik had wandered around, trying to engage the other family members in various activities, but all of them seemed to prefer being on their own. Anders thought Erik seemed distant and uneasy about something, so he was overcompensating by getting up each morning and announcing exactly what he thought of the weather and things in general.

  The first night Anders had sat outdoors until late, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, pondering what he should do with his life. At two in the morning, Alice had suddenly come out to the terrace, walking around as she looked at her mobile. Anders sat motionless at the table, in the shadows, hoping she wouldn’t notice him because he didn’t want to startle her. Apparently Alice was also having trouble sleeping.

  After a while she went back inside. Anders stayed where he was, looking at his own phone. He followed Alice on Instagram, and saw that she’d posted a photo. Anders recognised it: a picture of The Cure and the video for ‘Friday I’m in Love’. Underneath she’d written: ‘#robertsmith #cutiepie #happy’. He was happy for her, thinking it was nice that at least somebody in this family seemed happy.

  By four thirty the sky was brightening. Heat rose from the moss near the tarn, spreading across the dark surface of the water until it finally reached the table where he was sitting. He decided to go down to the beach to watch the sun come up.

  He walked along the path towards the bay. The sun coloured the sky pink, and the rocks glowed a lovely red. This type of landscape always made him think about religious people and their belief that God could be found in nature. A perfect Nordic dawn. But it was incomparably beautiful, that couldn’t be denied. And the morning was so quiet and still, as if summer were holding its breath while everyone slept. He walked along the shore, peering at the water, and then glancing up at the grey house.

  He hadn’t expected to see anyone sitting on the terrace this early in the morning. He had to look twice before it really sunk in that a woman was sitting in an armchair next to the door of the house.

  She had undoubtedly seen him, she must have done, but she gave no sign that she had. She merely sat there, wrapped in a blanket, as if she were focusing on some invisible film being shown on the horizon.

  Anders went over to the house, bu
t not even then did she react.

  ‘Beautiful morning,’ he said, thinking that at any moment he’d discover the woman was only a doll that someone had set on the armchair.

  She turned her head and said something, but he couldn’t make out what it was because she spoke so quietly.

  He went closer.

  ‘What did you say?’ he asked.

  ‘I said it almost looks like a picture from a poster or some kind of religious journal,’ she told him.

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ he replied.

  He went up the steps to shake hands with her. She remained sitting in the chair, wrapped in the blanket, and made no move to get up. She held out her hand.

  ‘Kati,’ she said.

  ‘Anders,’ he said. ‘I suppose you might be tired of seeing the sun rise, if you see it every morning.’

  ‘I don’t think I could ever grow tired of the dawn. It’s probably some sort of primal instinct that makes it seem so hypnotic.’

  She was beautiful, with dark hair and sharp features. Right now she didn’t seem to be aware of things around her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t stare.

  For the first time in a long while, Anders was feeling good. He took a chance and began talking to her. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you,’ he said.

  She hesitated for a moment, then smiled. ‘Not at all. I was just thinking of getting up to make some coffee. Would you like a cup?’

  It was a big house, much too big for one person, but there was no sign that anyone else was living there. It looked as if someone had started furnishing the place but never finished. Paintings leaned against the walls, books were piled up, there was a large sofa but no coffee table. Clothes were strewn across the floor and books were stacked on a chair next to the sofa. A tennis racket lay near the door. He saw a TV and a stairway leading up to the attic. There was also a spacious kitchen with a lovely big table covered with piles of newspapers, a milk carton and lots of crumbs.

  She went into the kitchen and put on the coffee. Anders stood in the doorway for a moment, wondering if he dared go in.

  ‘You can sit over there,’ she said.

  He took that to be a command, so he sat down at the kitchen table. He glanced at the stacks of books. Mostly Nordic detective novels.

  ‘Have you read all these?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve started some of them,’ she said.

  For a long time neither of them spoke. He looked out of the window at the bay and the morning.

  ‘You’re staying up in the house in the woods, aren’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Or rather, my brother and his family are staying there. I’ve just dropped by to visit.’

  ‘I’ve seen them occasionally, when they’re down on the rocks. They’re like a family out of a catalogue. She’s so beautiful – the mother, I mean.’

  ‘Julia,’ said Anders.

  ‘Here,’ she said, handing him a cup of coffee.

  They went out to the terrace to have their coffee. The morning sun and clouds made the landscape change shape every ten minutes. Shadows changed places, the colours on the rocks shifted, the sea turned from grey to blue without warning. It was no more than six o’clock.

  ‘Do you also have trouble sleeping at night? I mean, since it’s obvious you’ve been sitting out here for a while,’ said Anders.

  ‘I sleep only two or three hours a night. I usually get up if I can’t sleep. Now that it’s finally warmer, it’s easier to sit outside,’ she said.

  Her tone of voice indicated that she didn’t want to say more about the matter, yet he couldn’t help himself.

  ‘What do you do?’ he asked.

  ‘What do I do?’

  ‘I mean, what sort of work do you do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  He paused for a moment.

  ‘Me neither, actually. I mean, I’m not on holiday, or anything like that. I really do nothing.’

  ‘What will you do when you’re finished doing nothing?’

  ‘I don’t know. What about you?’ he asked.

  She laughed. ‘I don’t know.’

  She didn’t laugh long, but it was enough to make warmth spread through Anders’ body.

  He continued: ‘I’m starting to feel that it’s not so great doing nothing. For a long time I thought it would be okay, but I don’t think it’s really good for me. It may be that work has its plus side, after all.’

  ‘I’ve seen your brother’s family. I thought it looked pretty good. Doing something, I mean.’

  ‘Even though you said they look as if they’re out of a catalogue.’

  ‘Yes, they do.’

  ‘But aren’t those types of families a little unpleasant?’

  ‘I didn’t think about that,’ she said.

  ‘My brother is afraid of everyone who isn’t happy and positive. That’s why he starts each day by adjusting the mood in the room. He tries to make everybody feel the same way he does. But deep inside he’s not happy, and for that reason he doesn’t notice the impact it has on all the others.’

  ‘So what about you? Are you happy?’ she asked.

  Anders stared out across the water.

  It was like a bubble. A warm and inexplicable bubble they entered that morning and remained in for a while. Kati got up to fetch more coffee and a blanket for Anders, and then they sat on the terrace for a long time, chatting only sporadically. He didn’t ask her anything specific. They talked a little about feelings they had, though without anchoring them in any real examples. Their discussion took on an almost abstract form, so that when Anders talked about how much he liked black coffee, it almost sounded like a metaphor. Everything became a symbol, an innuendo.

  Gradually he began telling her about himself, making Kati laugh many times. He explained how he’d bought copies of Nina Björk’s 1996 feminist classic Under the Pink Duvet for every member of his family. His paternal grandfather actually read the book and declared Swedes to be idiots because they believed gender was socially, and not biologically, defined. (‘Seems like this whole country is nothing but fags these days.’)

  They talked about Anders’ brother and his brother’s family.

  ‘Erik is someone who never loses control. Never. I don’t understand how Julia puts up with him. Did you know she’s an author?’

  ‘Maybe they complement each other.’

  ‘Maybe. But I can see it in their eyes – they’re each in their own world,’ said Anders.

  ‘I have a hard time believing there’s anyone who isn’t. That’s part of life. In some way we’re always immersed in ourselves. A person with no boundaries would merely be living through his partner, which wouldn’t be good either. Human beings aren’t meant to merge completely. That wouldn’t work.’

  ‘Maybe not. I don’t know. I don’t really know them all that well. Or how they are together. I just feel like giving my brother a good shake once in a while. It’s as if he has never suffered a significant blow to the head.’

  ‘Why do you talk so much about them?’

  ‘What? I do?’

  ‘Yes. Instead of talking about yourself, you keep talking about what your brother is like. Speaking of boundaries … I doubt very much he lives through you.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said.

  ‘You asked me earlier what I do. I’m a therapist. I used to be, that is,’ she said.

  ‘Ah. That explains a lot,’ he replied, laughing.

  When it was lunchtime, she asked if he’d like to stay and have something to eat.

  ‘I think they’re waiting for me over there, but I could come back later,’ he said.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. And he stood up and left.

  Back at the summer house Julia and Erik asked Anders what he’d been doing. He told them he’d gone out for a long walk.

  ‘You must have left really early because you were gone by the time I woke up,’ said Julia.

  ‘Yeah. I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been up since five.’

&nb
sp; He slipped out and went back to the beach after lunch, but he didn’t tell anyone where he was going.

  Kati was sitting in the same place, in her armchair on the terrace.

  ‘I’ve got to go to the supermarket later today, but it’s not that important. I could wait until tomorrow,’ she told him.

  ‘I could drive you there, if you like. We could borrow my brother’s car.’

  ‘That would be great.’

  He thought – and he’d been thinking this since morning – that he’d like to go to bed with her, but when he imagined himself doing that, taking the first step, it seemed impossible.

  He’d felt so relaxed and calm all morning, in a way he hadn’t experienced in ages, but now he felt nervous and awkward. Overweight Anders, ugly Anders, hopeless and impossible Anders who ate nothing but crisps and always felt sorry for himself.

  He made a real effort to find his way back to the bubble they’d shared earlier by saying something that felt genuine and real, something from his very core. It was that sort of day. He wanted to find a truth. He sat down in the armchair next to her and pulled half of her blanket over himself.

  ‘Tell me a little about yourself,’ she said.

  ‘How much time do you have?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve got all day.’

  ‘Well, you’re asking me a difficult question. Who am I? People always say that I’m a diamond in the rough, that I have talent but I don’t know what to do with it. Sometimes when I meet women, I think that’s what they see: someone they can rein in a bit so I’ll reach my full potential. But what if it’s simply because I’m already polished as much as I’ll ever be? What if I’m never going to be any better than I already am?’

  Neither of them shifted position as they reclined in their chairs. Anders gazed out at the sea, feeling as though he were able to speak with complete freedom. There were no demands to say the right thing or to say something merely because that’s what a certain person wanted to hear. He listened to the rushing of the sea, letting his words spill out into the clear air. He felt totally in the moment.

  ‘I feel so calm here.’

  ‘Sometimes you have to look at something outside of yourself. I’ve noticed that’s a really effective method. So you need to think of something or someone who makes you happy, maybe a specific place where you like to go, instead of trying to find the “real you”. Then it’s easy to lose yourself.’