by Emma Chapman
‘Thanks for having me, Mrs Bjornstad,’ Katya says. She doesn’t try to hug me, and I am glad.
‘Please call me Marta,’ I say. I look at Kylan. ‘When are you coming back?’ I say.
He runs his hand through his hair. ‘A couple of months,’ he says. ‘I’ll let you know if we’ll be back for Christmas.’
Hector comes back in from outside, blood high in his cheeks.
‘Mother’s safely in her car,’ he says. ‘The engine’s running, and the windscreen is clear. Everyone ready to go?’
‘Yeah,’ Kylan says. He doesn’t look at me.
I go through to the living room and look out of the window. Hector’s mother is sitting with her hands on the wheel, and I can hear the dull moaning of the radio voices. I watch Kylan and Katya climb into Kylan’s car, parked in front of Matilda’s. Katya is laughing at something Kylan is saying.
Hector stands in the driveway, waving his big gloved hands as they drive out.
He is going now, I think, he is really going. I didn’t do enough. He won’t ever be coming back, not properly. I think of Hector and me in the house, indefinitely, trying to find things to fill the time, and I feel like a hand is closing around my throat.
The car headlights uncover hundreds of tiny white flakes, flying like insects in the light.
15
Standing by the window, watching the empty drive, I hear the front door slam. Hector comes into the room behind me and I quickly wipe away a tear.
He is still wearing his raincoat, the hood pulled up. Stopping by his armchair, he slips his gloves off his hands, one by one.
‘I don’t know what you’re so upset about,’ he says, his eyes dark. ‘You made that dinner as difficult as you possibly could. I don’t know how you expected them to stay longer.’
I stare at him.
‘It’s not just yourself you’re ruining things for, you know,’ he says. ‘This is my family too.’
He takes a step towards me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, trying to keep the tears out of my voice. ‘I wanted everything to be perfect.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he says. ‘You need to let him live his own life. We’ve had our time, can’t you see that? It’s Kylan’s turn to be happy.’
Are we happy? I think.
‘You can never just make things easy,’ he says.
Why can’t you make things easy?
I’m doing this for both of us.
Hector’s mouth doesn’t move but the words echo around the living room, scattered with the remains of breakfast. Plates, crumbs, crushed cushions out of their places.
I stand there, in the light from the window, another tear coming. I have failed him again. I can never make him happy. No matter what I do, it will never be enough. And now Kylan is gone, and it’s only Hector and me.
He turns and walks out of the room.
Once he is gone, I stand staring at the space where he was, feeling something black and ugly rise up in my chest. I see him again, outside the school, embracing the student. This is not all my fault, I think. I can’t let him blame me for everything that is wrong.
A few minutes later, Hector comes back into the living room, holding two black bin liners.
‘I’m going to take the recycling to Kistefoss,’ he says.
I stay still, waiting for him to leave.
When he reaches the doorway, I can’t bear it any more.
‘I know, Hector,’ I blurt.
He stops.
‘You know what?’
‘I know about the student.’
He tries to hide it, but I see him balk. ‘How do you—’ he starts. ‘Who told you?’
I shrug, not wanting to give myself away.
‘I was going to tell you,’ he says. ‘That’s why I came home early on Friday. But I couldn’t do it.’
‘On Friday?’
He nods. ‘How long have you known?’
‘Not long.’
‘I was due for retirement anyway,’ he says.
I stare at him. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The student,’ he says. ‘I’ve lost my job.’ Something flashes across his face, something I try to get a grip on.
‘You’ve lost your job? When?’
‘A few months ago,’ he says. ‘I thought you said you knew.’
‘I know about the student.’
‘The one in final year that I was helping? It was misconstrued by the school.’
I reach for the edge of the bay-window seat and sit down.
‘Marta?’ Hector says.
He doesn’t seem familiar to me any more.
‘Who told you?’ he asks.
I can’t answer.
Hector comes and stands in front of me. ‘It’s not true.’
His eyes are clear and blue, unblinking.
‘It hasn’t been proven,’ he says. ‘They’re investigating, but they won’t find anything.’
‘Who made the complaint?’ I ask.
‘That young teacher, Mr Dahler,’ he says. ‘He wanted my job.’
‘And did the girl confirm it?’ I ask.
‘Of course not,’ Hector says. ‘It isn’t true.’
‘Is she all right?’
Hector looks confused. ‘She’s fine,’ he says. ‘Nothing happened. She’s doing her final exams, but she’ll do well: she’s a bright girl.’ There’s a silence. ‘You know I have a close relationship with some of my students,’ he says. ‘They depend on me. It was just misinterpreted.’
I want to believe him, but I remember what I saw, so many years ago. I begin to feel afraid.
‘You’ve been off work for how long?’ I say.
‘About two months. I’m on suspension while they investigate.’
‘Where have you been going every day?’ I ask.
Hector sighs. ‘The park, the market, the pub, anywhere I can think of. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I don’t know why.’
The thought of Hector lying to me, watching me at the market, in the house, makes my skin feel itchy.
‘I’m not sure I can believe you, Hector,’ I say.
His eyes darken. ‘What do you mean?’ he asks.
‘You’ve been lying to me,’ I say. ‘This has been going on for two months, and you haven’t told me about it. How am I supposed to trust you?’ My heart is beating fast.
‘You should know I would never lie to you,’ he says. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think less of me. I’m supposed to be supporting this family and now I can’t.’
I stare at him. ‘I’m your wife,’ I say. ‘You should be able to tell me things like this.’
‘Can’t you see, that’s the reason I couldn’t tell you?’ he says. ‘Because you are my wife. I didn’t want you to think that I had failed you.’
‘It’s the same as lying, Hector. If you didn’t do anything, why wouldn’t you just tell me?’
Hector stands silhouetted, his fists clenched.
‘I need you to remember everything I have done for you. And Kylan.’ He takes my hand. ‘Please,’ he says. ‘I need you to trust me.’
I see my former self, lying in Hector’s bed, while he sits with a tray on his knees and spoons food into my mouth, as if I am a baby.
I think again of the school steps. Of Hector pulling the girl towards him.
His hands are trembling. There’s a pain in my chest.
‘I saw you, Hector,’ I say. ‘I saw you outside the school.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I saw you with a student. Years ago. You hugged her outside the school.’
He stares at me, his eyes wide. Then his face changes, and he laughs, short and sharp. ‘I hugged her?’ he says. ‘What does that even mean?’
‘I think you were having an affair with her,’ I say. ‘And I think you’ve done it again. I think you’ve been doing it for years.’
‘Marta,’ he says, ‘listen to yourself. You think that because you saw me hugging a stu
dent that I was sleeping with her. That I’ve slept with all my students. Can’t you see how ridiculous that is? I’m old enough to be her father.’
I tell myself not to fall for it, that he is trying to trick me again.
‘I don’t think I can stay here,’ I say.
‘What do you mean?’ he asks.
‘I think I need to leave.’
Hector’s face flushes. ‘It’s not true,’ he spits. ‘I’m really hurt that you can’t believe me, Marta. After everything. I took you in when no one else would. I made you better, and now you’re going to leave me when I need you the most.’
We stare at each other, and I feel myself faltering. He steps towards me, grabbing hold of my arms.
‘Think about it,’ he says, his blue eyes steady. ‘Why would I risk everything I have, you and Kylan, my job, my reputation, for a dalliance with a student. If you think about it rationally, you’ll see it makes no sense.’
‘But I saw you, Hector,’ I say.
‘You didn’t see anything,’ he says. ‘You saw me hug a student. I wish I could tell you which student it was, or why I hugged her, but I can’t. It was so long ago. Who knows whether you even saw it? We both know you have a vivid imagination.’
I remember the cigarettes I have found in my bag, in my hand, seemingly from nowhere; the girl who I have seen so many times now. I think of the line between Kylan’s eyes.
Really, what else do I have left?
Finally, I nod my head.
Hector smiles. He stands in front of me, holding his arms out. I rest my head against his shoulder and breathe in his smell, feeling his arms close around my back. We stand there for a long time.
Eventually, Hector breaks away, picking up the bags of recycling. ‘I’ll take these now,’ he says.
‘Do you have to go?’ I ask. I don’t want to be alone. I am afraid that without Hector here to explain, I will start doubting him again.
‘I won’t be long,’ he says. ‘Then we can go for a walk in the snow. It looks like it’s clearing up after all.’
I hold on to him, trying to push down my sense of unease.
Then he leaves, and it is just me and the house again.
* * *
Once everything is silent, there is little to do but pile up the plates. In the kitchen, I wash them with shaking hands. I collect the cloth and cleaning spray from under the sink.
The kitchen table reflects chunks of sky, and I am surprised to find no marks on the glass. I trace the surface until I find one. Smears rise up where the cloth has been, and I set to work rubbing it all clean. I don’t notice the tears until a couple run off my face, mingling with the milky splatterings of polish. It is only when I feel them on my cheeks, wetting the skin, that I stop and reach my hand up. My damp fingertips taste salty.
I try to tell myself that I am being irrational, that Hector is right. It doesn’t make any sense.
But I see her, in the half-light, raising her unmarked oval face to him. Her blonde hair glistens over her shoulders. Her hand, with the ring on the index finger, reaches up into his hair. Her fingernails are unbitten.
* * *
Soon afterwards, Hector arrives back, true to his word. I have been sitting at the kitchen table, staring out at the patches of receding snow on the brown ground, trying to think of nothing at all. For some time, I have watched a magpie, working at the frozen earth.
We dress in our warmest clothes, putting on as many layers as we can. When we get to the hallway, Hector holds out my coat for me, slipping my arms in and then buttoning up the front. He laces my snow boots, then his own.
He takes my arm and we go out into the cold together, trudging towards the lane. Hector’s stick leaves strange marks next to our footprints. We walk our old path, looking for tracks in the snow: I find some left by a bird in a field and he spots some footprints up near the farm. Hector uncovers a bench and we sit down.
The wind has made his cheeks red. He looks straight ahead, towards the distant fjord.
‘Do you think they’ll give you your job back?’ I ask.
He looks at me. ‘I don’t want to go back there again,’ he says, ‘not after this.’
‘Why not?’
‘It wouldn’t be the same,’ he says. ‘No one would trust me.’
He turns to face me then, his blue eyes watching me calmly, full of something raw, painful. It brings me back to the water underneath the surface of the sea on our holiday to the island. I remember the pressure in my nose and mouth, the tunnels of light fading towards the surface, the loosening of everything.
I see then how hard this must be for Hector. By suggesting he is at fault, by bringing his morality into question, they have broken the power he had over his students. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t tell me, because he was afraid of losing his power over me too.
‘Are you going to get another job?’ I ask.
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to,’ he says.
‘Why not?’
He sighs. ‘I suppose I’m too old now.’
‘You’re a good teacher, Hector,’ I say.
‘I’ve worked at that school for so long,’ he says. ‘Since before we met. It just feels like the end of my life.’ He takes my hand, squeezes it. ‘But at least I have you,’ he says. ‘It will be the start of a new chapter for us, with Kylan gone, and me retiring.’
As I watch him, I feel something around my neck, as if there are hands there, pushing against my voice box. I clear my throat and the feeling passes.
He gets up then, and begins walking back towards the house. I watch him, his back slumped, and then reach my arm out to help him.
* * *
When we get back, it’s almost dark, and I am shivering from the cold, my teeth chattering. I tell Hector I am going to have a bath.
I turn on the taps and remove my clothes, feeling the hairs rise on my body. Once the bath is full, I lower myself in, leaning back and shutting my eyes.
I am still shivering, my body heavy and weak. My head feels dense, my eyelids weighted, as if a thick black fog has descended and I can’t find my way out. Opening my eyes is difficult but I do so slowly, looking down at the narrow limbs, emerging from the murky water, bowing slightly at the top. The knees are big and bony, the breastbone and ribs visible through the white skin. I watch my chest rise and fall, rise and fall.
It is not my body.
I lift myself up, moving forwards with such force that water slops over the rim.
When the water has settled a little, I look down. My old body has returned: the fleshy legs and dimpling skin; the wrinkled stomach; my drooping breasts like rats’ noses, pointing down into the water, which is still shifting against the sides of the bath. I try to slow my breathing, but I can’t calm myself. Even though the moment has passed I can still see the fine hairs on her arms and legs, her chest moving with my breaths. This was different: for a few seconds, she wasn’t just here, I was her: I knew how it felt to be her.
Hector comes running into the room.
‘Is everything all right?’ he says.
‘It’s nothing,’ I say.
He looks confused. ‘I heard you shouting. What happened?’
‘I saw something,’ I say.
‘What?’ he asks.
I shake my head. ‘It wasn’t anything,’ I say. ‘A trick of the light.’ But I know I am not telling the truth. She was really here.
‘Are you sure you’ve been taking your pills?’ Hector says. ‘You know what happens if you don’t, how unstable you can get.’
‘You saw me take them, Hector,’ I say.
‘Well, maybe they’re not working any more. You’re seeing things that aren’t there.’
‘Maybe they are there,’ I say.
‘Marta, listen to yourself. Do you think we should go and see someone?’
I don’t know why he says we, he means me.
‘I don’t need to see anyone,’ I say, my voice echoing around the bathroom.
‘The
re’s no need to shout,’ he says.
‘I wasn’t, I just—’
‘Look, Marta, I just want you back to normal,’ he says. ‘You haven’t been yourself.’
I wonder what he means by that. Does he just like me quiet, drugged, agreeing with everything he says?
‘What if I wasn’t myself before?’ I ask.
Hector frowns. ‘Why are you asking all of these questions? Are you not happy here?’
I think of the house, of Kylan, of Hector. I nod.
‘Perhaps I would be better if Kylan was at home,’ I say.
‘Marta, you know he can’t come back here. He’s getting married.’
‘But if he was a little closer—’
‘You have to let him go,’ Hector says. ‘Focus on our lives now. I’ll be home more now, and we can go on trips, like we did when we first met.’
I think of a hotel room, with a big bed and a view. A bathroom I don’t have to clean. But there is still that tight feeling, the hands closing around my throat. Wherever we are, it will still be the same.
At last, I nod. He looks sad.
‘This is a new beginning for us. You should be more excited.’
He bends down, taking my wet hand in his, staring at me. I can’t look him in the eye.
‘I can help you wash, if you like,’ he says. ‘Like I did in the old days.’
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I’m getting out soon.’
He stays there, his hand still in mine.
‘I love you, Marta,’ he says.
I watch the water. I know what I need to say, but the words tangle together in my throat, refusing to come forward. ‘I’ll be down soon,’ I say.
Hector drops my hand, and I watch his slippers move across the floor to the bathroom door. Once again, I have failed to give him what he needs.
16
Downstairs, Hector is standing by the microwave, reheating the remains of the halibut stew. I watch him remove the Tupperware container, flip off the lid with his nails and scoop the contents into two bowls.
He smiles when he sees me standing in the doorway.
We sit and eat in silence. The fish tastes better today, less salty.
My spoon feels strange in my hand: not right, too big, as if it has suddenly grown. I see another spoon for a moment, a child’s spoon with a plastic handle. I look down, and the image disappears.
