Frozen Music

by Marika Cobbold

  ‘One tummy upset does not an invalid make,’ Bertil said. ‘And anyway, who said we’d be isolated? They do have doctors in France, you know.’

  ‘It’s not the same, being ill abroad.’

  ‘I do wish you’d stop going on about being ill.’ Bertil frowned. ‘All I’ve had is a bout of stomach trouble and you seem to be willing it to be something worse.’

  ‘That’s a bit unfair, darling.’ Olivia smiled at him. ‘She’s concerned for you, that’s all. It might just have been a bout of tummy trouble but it gave us quite a fright, all the same.’

  ‘What about a night swim?’ Pernilla turned to Linus who had returned from putting Ivar to bed. I had taken off my grey cardigan and now I pushed up my sleeves, all in the deluded hope that moonlight became me. Pernilla shot me a glance over her shoulder. ‘Don’t,’ she said with a melodious little laugh. ‘It makes me shiver just looking at you, all those goose-pimples.’

  ‘Goose-pimples? I’m not cold.’ I too laughed, but maybe not quite so melodiously.

  ‘You want a swim, you shall have a swim,’ Linus said to Pernilla. ‘It’s such a lovely night, we should take the boat.’

  ‘I’ll join you.’ Kerstin got up, taking her cup and saucer with her. ‘I need to give my body a little wake-up call.’

  ‘Why?’ Olivia asked. ‘Where is it going?’

  Kerstin ignored her. ‘Are you coming, Esther?’

  I hesitated. Linus and Pernilla probably wanted to be on their own. I was about to say no, when Pernilla turned to me with a little smile. ‘You’re not very decisive, are you, Esther?’

  ‘I’d love to come,’ I said.

  If Pernilla was disappointed she didn’t show it, she just put her slender hand on Linus’s arm and smiled. ‘I always make my mind up just…’ she snapped her fingers ‘… like that. I simply trust my instincts.’

  ‘I used to be very decisive,’ I said, trying to snap my fingers but managing only a sweaty little thud. Pernilla looked as if she was waiting for me to elaborate so I added, ‘But circumstances led me to view every decision as a stack of dynamite waiting to be lit.’

  ‘So boom!’ Pernilla said, clapping her slender hands together, just as Kerstin appeared with a stack of towels.

  ‘I did,’ I said. ‘And believe me, the reality of booming is a lot less fun than the idea. I mean if you’ve ever had your neighbour’s arm practically draped across your shoulders…’

  Linus held the gate open for us and I followed Kerstin and Pernilla out on to the street. ‘What’s wrong with having your neighbour’s arm draped round you? You mustn’t be so, so…’ She searched for the English expression. ‘So tight-assed.’ She took Linus’s hand and pulled his arm up round her shoulders where it stayed. I stared at it, and at the strong hand with its long fingers, transfixed.

  ‘Nothing, really,’ I said. ‘It’s just that in this instance the arm wasn’t attached to the neighbour.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Pernilla put a hand up to her throat.

  Squeeze, I thought. Why don’t you squeeze? I was never a good-natured drunk and I had had at least five glasses of wine.

  Pernilla seemed to feel the need to change the subject. ‘Kerstin, what were those rules for a long life you talked about earlier?’ she asked.

  ‘An intake of at least five portions of fruit and vegetables a day. Regular exercise and not smoking.’

  I fished out a cigarette from my navy-blue canvas shoulder-bag and lit it.

  ‘Very funny, I’m sure.’ Kerstin shook her head at me. ‘But you won’t think it so amusing when you lie in a hospital ward breathing through a tube in your throat.’

  ‘Are you listening, Esther and Linus?’ Pernilla wagged her finger playfully. ‘Not that you smoke that much, Esther.’ She sounded almost regretful.

  I didn’t answer. I was thinking that I liked the sound of our names being linked, even if it was only as smokers: Esther and Linus. Linus and Esther.

  ‘I agree with you about the exercise,’ Linus said. ‘I mean when did you last see a corpse in the gym?’

  Kerstin said something sniffy in Swedish. I recognised the word idiot. It was the same word in Swedish but they emphasised the last syllable, idioot. It sounded sorrowful somehow, as if they regretted the fact as well as deploring it.

  Down by the harbour Linus leapt on board the boat, his feet landing on the deck with a barely audible thud. Pernilla jumped after him, landing gracefully, one leg raised slightly behind her as she steadied herself against Linus’s outstretched arm. I peered at the gap between the quayside and the boat. With a small sigh I sat down and slid on my bottom until Linus reached my arm and dragged me on board. Kerstin made it by herself, but even her staunchest admirer would not have called her graceful. We travelled along on the still sea, watching the island lights disappear behind us. The world was silent apart from the chug-chugging of the engine. Linus stood at the stern, the tiller in his hand. Kerstin was sitting right up at the front holding a lantern. The light around us was blue, that was the colour of the Swedish summer nights: dark blue. The sea was calm. I had noticed that often, even after a choppy day, it stilled at night as if it needed a rest from all that pounding of rocks and of boats. It was a sleepy sea we travelled across.

  Pernilla lifted her face to the star-strewn sky. I wished I had brought my cardigan. Kerstin turned and smiled at me. ‘You’re not very athletic.’

  There wasn’t a lot I could say to that. I could try an ‘Oh yes I am’, but that would be an obvious lie. I said nothing and forced myself to smile back at her.

  ‘You should go to a gym or something.’

  ‘I do. Well, I did.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘There are no boats there, though. Not in my gym.’

  Linus steered us towards a small rocky island called The Crows. He manoeuvred alongside the rock and Kerstin, taking the rope attached to the front of the boat, leapt ashore. Pernilla was searching for the rubber hammer, and the metal pins that would be knocked into a crevice before Kerstin could tie up.

  ‘Here,’ Pernilla handed the hammer and pins to me. ‘Take those ashore, will you? I’ll do the anchor.’

  I clambered up on to the bow of the boat and stood up.

  ‘Coming, Esther?’ Kerstin called.

  I turned with a quick glance at Pernilla and then, with the hammer and pegs in my left hand, I leapt. I felt the freedom of flying through the air and the hard rock side scraping my legs as I fell into the water.

  I surfaced to hear anxious voices calling my name. Hands were stretched out towards me and within seconds I was hauled back on to the boat. Pernilla draped a towel round my shoulders and Linus asked if I was all right. I nodded, shivering in the night air. I attempted a laugh but to my horror it turned into a sob.

  ‘We should take Esther back home,’ Linus said.

  ‘No, no, I’m fine. We came to swim after all.’ I had managed to steady my voice.

  ‘No.’ Pernilla put her hand on Linus’s arm. ‘You’re right. We should go back. We can swim another evening.’

  ‘Make up your minds,’ Kerstin called from the shore.

  We went back. I sat hunched on the polished wooden seat feeling like the child who’s been sick and ruined the party for everyone. They were all very nice about it, of course. ‘It can happen to anyone,’ Pernilla said.

  ‘Has it happened to you?’ I asked hopefully.

  She told me that no, it hadn’t, actually.

  Linus and Pernilla walked me to the cottage door. As I closed it behind me I heard Pernilla say, ‘Let’s go and swim off the steps. It’s such a beautiful evening it would be a shame to spoil it completely.’ Looking out of my bedroom window I could see them wander off towards the gate, arm in arm. I stayed staring out into the night long after Linus’s back had disappeared from view.

  Twenty-one

  ‘How long are you planning to stay?’ Ulla asked as we bumped into each other outside the bathroom. I was on my way in and so was she, coming up behind
me like a revved-up old Austin with her huge sponge-bag before her like a bumper.

  ‘The doctors think that Audrey will be fit to travel in a couple of weeks or so,’ I said, backing out of her way. She overtook me in the doorway and turned, triumphant.

  ‘Oh, Ulla.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How old was Linus when his mother died?’

  She didn’t look surprised at the question. ‘Seven,’ she said.

  ‘Seven? I always thought he was much younger.’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t. He was seven.’ She closed the door in my face and seconds later the shower was turned on.

  I sat with Olivia and Ulla on the deck, finishing my breakfast. I had left Audrey listening to the radio, a look of suffering on her face and a breakfast tray on her knee. Just as I was about to ask Olivia about Astrid’s death, Linus came out on to the deck with Ivar in tow.

  ‘Have you seen your father this morning?’ Olivia asked him.

  Linus shook his head. ‘He wasn’t there when I woke up so I assumed he’d gone for one of his walks.’

  Olivia poured Ivar out a bowl of sour milk and Rice Krispies, and patted the empty chair next to her. ‘You come and sit here with me, darling.’ Ivar, dressed in khaki-coloured shorts and a matching T-shirt and with one of Kerstin’s ‘piggy’ hair slides holding back his blond fringe, walked round the table, running his hands along the table top on his way, and slipped on to the chair.

  ‘If I were Bertil’, Ulla said, ‘I’d take every opportunity there was to walk around this heavenly place.’ She gesticulated towards the gate and the road to the harbour beyond. Then Gerald appeared around the corner, hurrying towards us with his stiff-legged old-man’s gait. He looked flustered and spoke to Linus in Swedish. Linus got up from the chair and followed Gerald back down the garden towards the shed.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Olivia shook her head.

  Ivar said in a loud voice but no one seemed to hear – that was often the way with children; the louder they spoke the less one seemed to hear them – ‘I need some paper to draw a house.’ He used English as Swedish hadn’t worked.

  ‘In a minute, darling,’ Olivia said.

  ‘But I need it now.’

  ‘If you ask me…’ Ulla began and was instantly interrupted by Ivar.

  ‘Have you got some paper I can have?’ he demanded, but was silenced by a glare from Ulla. He sighed theatrically, shrugging his skinny shoulders. ‘You said to ask you…’ he complained.

  Ulla carried on as if Ivar had never spoken, ‘… I would tell you that Bertil will end up bitterly regretting selling this place. You both will, I’m telling you this.’

  Kerstin turned to her and said something cross in Swedish. I realised I hadn’t even noticed her arriving at the table.

  ‘English please,’ Olivia said. ‘We have to think of our guest.’ I didn’t contradict her; I hated being left out of things.

  ‘I just can’t see’, Kerstin went on obediently, ‘how you can think that Olivia and Bertil should keep this place simply because we all like to spend our summer holidays here. It’s their life.’

  The colour rose in Ulla’s thin cheeks. Her hand shook as she placed the mug back on the table. ‘What do you know?’ She spat the words out, making us all turn to look at her. ‘What do any of you know with your full lives and your families and friends?’ She stopped herself, putting a bony hand to her throat. Then she got up and hurried from the room.

  Ivar wanted to know if she’d gone to fetch some paper. I told him that I thought it unlikely.

  Moments later, Linus appeared in the doorway. ‘It’s Father.’ He looked straight at Olivia. ‘You’d better come. Gerald is calling Dr Blomkvist.’

  Bertil was asleep upstairs with Olivia watching over him, seated in a hard chair at his side. He was going to be fine, Dr Blomkvist had said, but he was sending some samples to the laboratory nevertheless and he was consulting a specialist. Ulla had taken to her room and had not been seen for several hours, although Kerstin had left a tray with sandwiches and a flask of coffee outside the room after Ulla refused to come out. ‘I want to be alone,’ she had snapped, like some Greta Garbo gone wrong. Olivia appeared downstairs just once that afternoon, but when she heard about Ulla, she and Gerald both went across to the cottage to see how she was doing. So that was what families were all about, I thought as I wandered alone between the rose borders, looking out for one another in critical times, even when you couldn’t stand the sight of each other. No wonder Ulla was so desperate to belong. I felt an outsider more than ever. Not only was I The Woman Who Had Spiked Linus’s Project, but my role in the unfolding drama over Bertil’s health was no more than that of a concerned passer-by.

  ‘I feel quite forgotten,’ Audrey complained.

  I told her that she was. ‘But I’m here,’ I added, trying to soften the blow.

  Audrey continued to look disgruntled. ‘When did that Doctor What’s-his-name say I could get up and about?’

  ‘You never get up and about.’ I was surprised at her question.

  ‘Bed is no place for a sick person,’ Audrey said. I didn’t feel up to arguing.

  The rain had held off for a while but as I passed the apple tree the sleeve of my sweater brushed against the low branches, sending a shower of droplets down the back of my neck and under my collar. I was trying to think of a story for Modern Romance magazine. I had received a letter from Mary, the editor, in reply to mine, saying that they would be happy to look at anything I’d like to send them. With a bit of heart at their centre, your stories could be excellent, she had written. So I hope you’ve found one. That last remark had stung me. Of course I had a heart, I’d had one all along. We just hadn’t had that much to do with each other until recently.

  The weather, after the rains, had turned cooler and the garden had a clean, tousled look, with the tall grass flattened and the leaves heavy with water. I wondered when Linus would be back. He had gone shopping with a list of foodstuffs ordered for Bertil by Dr Blomkvist; clean, dairy-free food that would not feed whatever unfriendly bacteria had taken hold within his inflamed gut.

  I was on my way back to the house when he appeared. I watched him push the gate open with his foot, his hands busy with the shopping. I saw him make his way along the narrow gravel path, his cheeks pink and his fair hair curling from the damp. I felt myself grinning and I raised my hand in a wave. Then I spotted Pernilla coming up behind him. She called his name, catching up with him by the sundial and he stopped and turned towards her. I ceased grinning and lowered my hand. He hadn’t even seen me and I felt as if someone had switched off the light, just around me. Pernilla and Linus remained in their circle of light. I stood alone in the depths of my black-bottomed mere. I brought it with me as I went, that dark pool.

  I stared at him, caressing his features with my gaze, allowing it to wander down the side of his face, along his left arm, down his hip, following the line of the long leg to the ground. I tasted his name, tracing each letter with my tongue. My heart was pounding. I wanted to die. I wanted to live for ever. I wanted to cry. Light flooded my pool of darkness. My God! I was in love.

  My first impulse was to call for help: Posy, Chloe, Arabella, Audrey even. Ask them how to stop it. Enquire how to remove these alien sentiments. ‘A damp cloth and just the tiniest amount of Woolite,’ Audrey would say. Posy, the old romantic, might suggest arsenic. Arabella would probably post me her vibrator. Chloe would laugh. I sank to the ground, careless of the wet grass. I had wondered for so long about what it must be like, being in love, and now it had happened I hated it. I was nothing to him in the shadow of Pernilla’s radiance. She gleamed. Her teeth glinted white, her hair shone gold, her skin glowed. I was pretty, I knew that, but even my best friend would not accuse me of radiance. Pernilla joined a gathering as if she knew that everyone had been waiting just for her to get there. I arrived looking as if I wondered where the hell I was and why? As if that wasn’t enough, I was everyone’s enemy: the jou
rnalist! Audrey would have told me that a woman was supposed to help her mate’s dream come true, not slash the fabric it was woven from. All in all, my prospects did not look good.

  I sat on my bed in the cottage, staring out of the window. ‘What is love?’ I had scurried around asking, a morning long ago, just days before the wedding that never happened. Now I could answer the question myself. Olivia’s vigil by her husband’s bedside was love. Ulla’s poison-pale face at the thought of no longer belonging was love of sorts. Feeling as if Linus had his finger on the light switch of the world, that too had to be love. I didn’t like it. Love was turning me into someone I didn’t know. In fact, it was turning me into someone I didn’t wish to know. And it hurt.

  Twenty-two

  It had rained for three days now and the wind was up from the sea. In a way I was pleased; this chilly grey state of affairs had just the kind of Ingmar Bergman gloom about it that I had expected from Sweden. But the islanders were still defying type by making the best of things, shouting jolly greetings to each other through the wind and rain and saying, in a very British way, that things could be a lot worse. I searched in vain for my soul mate, that fictional Swede, quiet and dark of mind.

  I had managed to finish the story for Modern Romance and I had just been to the post office and faxed it to Mary Swanson. Back at the house, I shook the water off Kerstin’s oilskin anorak and hung it up on its peg by the back door. I looked in on Audrey. She was asleep and even in sleep her face looked disgruntled. The doctor had said that it was only a matter of days now until she would be fit enough to travel back and I knew she couldn’t wait to get home. And me? I had toyed with the idea of breaking a leg or toe myself as a means of being able to remain close to Linus, but a small something inside me, sanity maybe, stopped me. I closed the door to Audrey’s room softly behind me and when I heard Linus’s voice from the veranda I went out there, grabbing a book from the hall table on my way out. Gerald was there too. I sat down on the small wicker sofa and opened the book.