“I’ll get started on dinner,” Maud said.
As usual Charlotte didn’t seem to hear what she’d said. She lay down on the bed with a sigh and turned her face to the wall. Hopefully she would stay there while Maud cleaned up the bathroom and put a load in the washing machine. Then she would peel some potatoes and fry the meatballs. The sauce was easy: she simply added hot water to powder from a packet. Cooking wasn’t Maud’s strong suit, but she had to do it for Charlotte’s sake. Her sister didn’t eat much, but she liked meatballs. No doubt the coleslaw would remain untouched.
Maud was peeling the potatoes when she became aware of a cold draft from the hallway, which was odd. She always locked the front door . . . It could mean only one thing. She dropped the potato and the peeler in the sink and ran. The sight that met her eyes froze her blood.
The door was wide open. Somehow Charlotte had managed to open it and had tottered out onto the dark landing. Maud could just make out her thin figure in the faint glow of the light coming through the elevator window. A long stone staircase led down to the main door of the apartment building.
“Hello?” Charlotte’s faint voice echoed through the stairwell.
Slowly she moved closer to the edge of the landing. Maud thought it looked as though she were being drawn toward a black hole. The long, steep stone staircase . . . The paralysis eased and she ran.
From that point on, Maud’s memories were unclear. She’d shouted something to Charlotte as she swayed on the top step—or had she? She’d reached out to grab her sister—she clearly remembered the feeling of the soft fabric against her fingertips—but Charlotte . . . disappeared . . . into the darkness.
Then there was chaos. The ambulance. The hospital. ICU, with all those tubes and machines, beeping and hissing. Her sister, lost in the big bed. A serious concussion with bleeding on the brain. Her head, swathed in bandages. Charlotte died three weeks later, without regaining consciousness.
During the weeks she spent sitting by Charlotte’s bed, Maud had plenty of time to think. She avoided speculating about what had actually happened on the landing. What mattered now was the future. She had always taken care of their joint finances, depositing her sister’s disability check into a separate account. As time went by, she had accumulated a tidy sum—more than enough for an Interrail ticket in the summer, plus all her costs during the trip. She would travel all over Europe by train. And before that she would treat herself to a few days in Paris at Easter. But in the future, she would need another source of income.
Maud was woken by her neighbor across the aisle, who had started snoring. He was big and fat, and the resonance his bulk produced was loud to say the least. Several passengers nearby were looking at him and making faces. The flight attendant realized what was going on and glided toward his seat. She woke him discreetly by asking if he’d like a drink. He cleared his throat several times, then ordered a bottle of water and a whisky.
When the excitement was over, Maud began to think about the memory that had drifted to the surface while she was sleeping. It didn’t feel like a dream; it was definitely more like a memory . . .
No, she hadn’t pushed Charlotte down the stairs. But she hadn’t grabbed her sister’s robe to stop her from falling either. She’d stood there and watched her disappear into the darkness. That was what had happened when Charlotte died.
But what’s done is done; we can’t change the past. Maud began to feel a little better, and her thoughts wandered to the period after her sister’s funeral.
A week later, Maud had contacted a building company, and they’d converted two of the larger rooms into four rooms that she could rent out. The tenants would share a small kitchen and bathroom.
Over the next few years, the income from the rentals had enabled Maud to travel all over the world. When she retired she’d given up renting rooms; she’d saved a considerable amount during her time as a landlady. She also sold a number of paintings for a very good price.
Things had gone well. The sale of Father’s silver collection and everything else that had been in the gentleman’s room had made her a millionaire. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
The gentleman’s room . . . forever tainted. Blood on the floor.
The image of the man lying in a pool of blood flickered through her mind, and her eyes flew open. At that moment a voice came over the speaker system asking passengers to fasten their seatbelts, put away their tray tables, and prepare for landing at Dubai International.
There was a layover of almost three hours in Dubai before boarding the plane to Johannesburg. Maud decided to have something to eat. She enjoyed a delicious lentil soup in a very pleasant café. Afterwards she drank a tiny cup of strong Arabic coffee, accompanied by a selection of small cakes. They were sticky with honey and sugar, apart from one, which was in a shiny wrapper with “Gingerbread Cookie” printed on the side. Pepparkaka. Was this a nod to the fact that it was Christmas in Christian countries? Unlikely, in a strict Muslim culture. Or was it because international tourists didn’t always appreciate the sweet Arabic pastries? She didn’t know or care. Gingerbread cookies were delicious. When she opened the packet, the familiar smell reached her nostrils immediately, and she inhaled a wonderful mixture of spices: cinnamon, ginger, cloves.
Those Christmas aromas . . . Another memory popped up, quite a recent one this time. Fifteen . . . no, fourteen years ago. Apparently her brain had decided to clear out more than one suppressed memory during this journey. This one wasn’t unpleasant, though. Obviously it wasn’t pleasant, definitely not, but it was nothing to worry about.
She had done what was necessary. Certain Problems have only one solution. That’s just the way it is.
The Peter Pan Problem
Over the years Maud had spent some time with Elsa Petrén, the seamstress. They weren’t best friends or anything, but they got along pretty well. Elsa had always been there when Maud needed help with an alteration or a repair. Maud had even ordered a new item of clothing occasionally, and Elsa had done an excellent job. They would chat over a cup of coffee sometimes—for no more than half an hour, then Maud would get to her feet and make her excuses. She wasn’t used to spending time with a friend and found it quite uncomfortable in a way, but as the years went by, she came to appreciate these moments. They didn’t happen often, so there was no pressure. Both women shared a mutual understanding of the fact that they were quite isolated, without a great deal of social contact.
Elsa had lost her husband to stomach cancer, when her son Johannes was quite young. She’d managed to rent a small apartment on the fourth floor in the same building as Maud. She’d set up a sewing room and quickly established a loyal client base among the ladies of Vasastan; she had an excellent reputation. She hadn’t remarried, and Maud had never heard that she was seeing anyone. She devoted all her time to her work and to little Johannes. She was financially secure, and her health was good. Maud thought very highly of Elsa, but the same couldn’t be said of her son.
When he was crawling around on the floor, Elsa would kiss his drooling mouth and change his stinking diapers with a tender smile. He yelled when he wanted food or attention. As far as Maud could see, he was an evil-smelling, fat little Buddha figure, always demanding something or other. Needless to say, she didn’t mention this to Elsa.
As a toddler, Johannes continued to demand attention. He would cry for hours if he didn’t get his own way; Elsa would give him candy and cookies to keep him quiet. A spoiled, fat brat, Maud thought.
Things didn’t improve much when he started school. He was bone idle, but managed to scrape by with passing grades in most subjects. Elsa pointed out that he’d really only failed in music, craft, and drawing—and they weren’t important, she would add. She was a little worried, of course, but she attributed his mediocre results to the fact that he missed his father. Hardly, Maud thought. He can’t even remember his father. Time to put som
e pressure on the kid; make him buck up his ideas. She didn’t say that to Elsa either.
When Johannes was approaching his fourteenth birthday, he started taking confirmation classes. He did his best to get out of it, but for once Elsa was implacable. All his classmates were going to be confirmed at Whitsun, and he would be there too.
One afternoon, Maud was standing in front of the full-length mirror in Elsa’s sewing room. She’d come to try on a dress that needed shortening and taking in at the waist. In the mirror she saw the front door open and Johannes slide in. She glanced at Elsa, who was pinning the waist. Maud noticed a calculating look in the boy’s eyes. In a second, he grabbed Elsa’s purse, which was on the hall table. He dug out her wallet, removed fifty kronor, and shoved it into his pocket.
“Hi, Mom. I’m meeting Krille, then we’re going to church,” he called out.
Before Maud could say anything he was gone, slamming the door behind him.
“That boy is always in a hurry,” Elsa said with an indulgent smile.
The fat little thief had managed to move surprisingly fast for once, but Maud didn’t say a word about what she’d seen in the mirror. Elsa wouldn’t believe that her precious little boy would do such a thing, and she might get mad at Maud instead. Best to keep quiet.
Johannes grew up and somehow graduated from high school. He completed his military service as a desk clerk, which suited him. Crawling around in the mud and obeying orders weren’t exactly his thing. He then secured a place at the University of Gothenburg and started to study history. After one semester he switched to sociology. The following year he changed direction again. After a while, Maud abandoned any attempt to keep up with what he was doing.
“Johannes can’t decide what to specialize in,” Elsa said. “He’s interested in so many different things.”
That waste of space isn’t interested in anything but himself, Maud thought, unconsciously pursing her lips.
On the surface, Johannes seemed to have developed into a decent young man. Elsa always said he was like his father. He was good-looking, with thick brown hair and intense blue eyes. He was a little overweight, but because he was tall he carried it well. After eight semesters at the university, he ought to have had every chance of getting a good job. The problem was that he hadn’t actually finished any of his courses, and he wasn’t particularly keen on working. While he was a student, he’d done a lot of work for the union. When Elsa expressed her concern that this might affect his studies, he reassured her that this would be seen as a positive; it was regarded as a position of responsibility. As far as Maud could see, he’d spent most of his time in the union bar, but his mother had accepted his explanation. She trusted her beloved son. Maud wasn’t so easily convinced.
This was in the mid-1960s, when student protests and political radicalization were beginning to gain traction all over the world. Johannes didn’t give a shit about politics; he just wanted to party and hang out with his friends. During the third semester he found a one-room apartment in a condemned building in Haga, with an outside toilet. Elsa was horrified and begged him to stay at home with her. He didn’t pay her any rent, and he had access to food, a bathroom, and every comfort he could wish for. Plus, of course, he had to think about the allergies he’d inherited from his father: pollen, cats, nuts in general and almonds in particular. Elsa wasn’t allergic to anything. Johannes had had to be rushed to the hospital by ambulance twice when he’d ingested a tiny amount of almond by mistake.
On this occasion, his mother’s pleas for him to come back home fell on deaf ears. He insisted that he needed to be free, to stand on his own two feet.
After a few years Johannes moved to a two-room apartment on Sveagatan. Elsa was delighted; he had hot and cold running water, an indoor bathroom, and central heating. The rent was higher, of course, but that didn’t seem to be a problem. Unfortunately, only twelve months later he had to move out. According to Elsa, the building was due to be renovated, and would be uninhabitable while the work was being done. Maud, meanwhile, had come across an interesting article in the newspaper about a young man who’d been evicted from his apartment in the Linnéstaden area of the city, because the neighbors had complained about comings and goings at all hours of the day and night, as well as noisy parties several times a week. The police had mounted a surveillance operation and had caught him selling cannabis to a group of fourteen-year-olds.
There was no sign of Johannes for almost six months, but Elsa never mentioned his absence. Maud was pretty sure she knew exactly where he was. Maybe a few months in jail would make him grow up. That Peter Pan complex had lost its charm.
It became increasingly clear that Johannes had problems. He was frequently out of work, but always seemed to have plenty of money. He drove around in a red Porsche. If he did manage to get a job, he soon quit. There was always some issue with the workplace, the boss, colleagues, or what was expected of him. Never with Johannes himself.
He came to Elsa’s apartment for dinner several times a week; he obviously couldn’t be bothered cooking. Elsa loved fussing over her son, but Maud thought it was weird, given his declaration that he wanted to be independent. Once again, she said nothing; Elsa was blind when it came to her son. As far as she was concerned, he was the eighth wonder of the world.
Shortly after his fortieth birthday, Johannes informed his mother that he’d bought a newly converted penthouse apartment in a turn-of-the-century building on Tegnérsgatan, one of the more exclusive addresses in the city center. As always, Elsa was thrilled. Maud was slightly more critical; the apartment must have been expensive, and the monthly service charge was bound to be exorbitant. Where had the money come from? However, he seemed to be getting along just fine.
When his mother asked if he’d met a nice girl yet, he would breezily inform her that women came and went in his life. Elsa had never met any of these women. Must be a quick turnaround, Maud thought. Then again, she wasn’t at all sure they even existed. When he turned forty-five and still hadn’t settled down, Elsa began to wonder if she would ever be a grandmother.
The years passed, and Johannes continued to live as he always had. By the mid-1990s his partying had left its mark. His body was bloated, and his once-thick hair was thinning on top. The spark in his blue eyes had died, and he didn’t always manage to maintain a cheerful façade. Life is catching up with that boy, Maud thought, snorting to herself. She would soon find out how right she was.
Elsa turned eighty on December 14, the day after the feast of St. Lucia. She and Maud didn’t usually celebrate each other’s birthdays, but Elsa had bought a cake for Maud’s seventy-fifth a few months earlier, so Maud thought she should do the same. She took the elevator up to the fourth floor, just in time for morning coffee. With the cake box in one hand, she rang the doorbell. There was no response, so she tried again. Nothing.
Maybe she’s gone shopping, Maud thought. Just as she was about to go back to her own apartment, she heard shuffling footsteps approaching the door. It didn’t sound like Elsa at all; she was quite sprightly for her age. The door opened a sliver, revealing Elsa’s tear-stained face. Why is she upset? It’s her birthday, and I’ve brought cake!
“Happy birthday!” Maud said, a little too brightly.
When Elsa didn’t reply or make any move to let her in, Maud added:
“I’ve treated us to a cake, but if it’s inconvenient I can come back later.”
Hesitantly Elsa opened the door. She began to sob, which made Maud very uncomfortable. However, she steeled herself and went inside.
Eleven o’clock on the morning of her eightieth birthday and Elsa, who was normally so smartly dressed, was in an old robe and scruffy sheepskin slippers. Her eyes were red from weeping, and she hadn’t combed her hair. Her arms hung limply by her side, and she looked utterly devastated. Something must have happened to that little shit Johannes, Maud thought. She wasn’t sure she could summon up a c
onvincing show of sympathy if he was back in jail.
She took a deep breath. “Has something happened?”
Stupid question. They’d known each other for fifty-three years, and she’d never seen Elsa even close to tears.
Elsa simply waved a limp hand in the direction of the kitchen. Maud followed her. She liked Elsa’s kitchen. It was only half the size of Maud’s, but it was much lighter. The windowsill was crowded with pelargoniums and an electric advent candle bridge. There was a round table by the window, with a pretty embroidered cloth on it. A Christmas arrangement took pride of place in the center of the table: a white hyacinth and two miniature red tulips, planted in green moss.
Searching for something to say, Maud pointed to the flowers.
“Hyacinths really make it feel like Christmas, don’t they? The perfume, I mean.”
Elsa nodded. “They’re from . . . Johannes,” she said quietly.
Now Maud noticed the card propped up against the pot. Many congratulations on your 80th birthday, darling Mother! From Johannes, it said in almost illegible handwriting. So he’d already been here. Given his eighty-year-old mother a small—with the emphasis on small—Christmas arrangement.
“He came to see you then?”
“Yes. Yesterday. He’s coming again on . . . Sunday,” Elsa said tonelessly.
Was that why she was upset? Because her only son wasn’t prepared to celebrate her birthday with her? But she’s used to that, Maud thought. That waste of space is never there for her. Why is she so devastated. Is the little shit sick? Dying?
With a loud sob, Elsa sank down on the nearest chair. Maud placed the cake box on the counter and took the chair opposite her friend. She decided to get straight to the point.
“Elsa, why are you so upset?”
An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed Page 6
