Elin gathered up the shopping and stuffed it into the cloth bag. She hung her head. Gerd held out a lollipop for her, she hesitated until she saw Marianne nod.
‘How’s the love life, by the way? I suppose you’re trying to find someone new now you’re rid of Lasse? It can’t be healthy to live alone.’
‘Find someone? Where would I be looking?’
‘Someone will turn up, you’ll see. Otherwise I guess you’ll have to take Lasse back, when he gets out again.’
‘Take him back? What? But he’s not …’ Marianne stopped short and nodded towards the door. ‘Elin, you go ahead, I’ll be out in a minute.’
Elin went out through the door. As it swung shut she heard the women go on talking, whispering heatedly.
‘He’s not all there, he’s just a vile thief who frightens the life out of people. He almost killed her and that’s why he’s in jail. If you ask me he should stay there.’ Marianne sounded furious.
‘Yes, you’re right. He must have been drunk, men do such stupid things when they’ve been drinking.’ Gerd was trying to calm her down.
‘You mark my words, we’re better off now without someone staggering around, scaring us silly.’
The door rattled as it swung shut behind Elin and their voices fell silent. She sat on the upstairs doorstep of the house, the ground floor of which housed the grocery store. Some of the mortar had come away to expose the red clinker slabs beneath, just like the ones on the floor of the cold store. She picked at it, pulling off small pieces and throwing them towards a puddle in the road. Beyond the puddles lay the fields and the forest, and beyond them the largest farm in the area. The people there were so rich they had an indoor pool in one of the wings of their house.
A few wisps of fog swept across the field closest to her. The combine harvester had left straw stubble where just a week earlier beautifully swaying rye had grown. It almost looked as though some tiny clouds had toppled down from the grey sky. The sunlight still managed to force its way through, making the vegetation shimmer before her eyes. She concentrated on the beauty of the scene.
Footsteps approached from behind her, making her heart race, and she heard the floor creak in spite of the closed door. She ran quickly down the stairs and disappeared around the corner of the building. From there she saw Marianne come out and walk towards the main road and their home. She had the half-full cloth bag over her shoulder, and her gaze was fixed on the ground in front of her.
Gerd was crouched in front of the bread rack when Elin came back into the shop. She was stacking wrapped loaves on top of one another, and dropped a whole pile as the door tinkled. She smiled when she turned around and saw who it was.
‘Hello, little one. What are you doing back here? Did Mama get terribly cross with you? Sorry. She didn’t hit you like she said, did she? I had to tell her, you understand that, right?’
Elin shrugged. The lollipop stick stuck up out of her jeans pocket, and she took it out and pulled off the cellophane. Then she sat down on the floor beside Gerd with the lolly in her mouth. She passed packs of bread to her and Gerd put them in the right place.
‘How lovely to have a little helper today, just when I needed one. Now there’s rye bread for the Grindes and Skogaholm loaf for the Lindkvists and the Petterssons.’
‘How do you know who buys what?’
Gerd chuckled.
‘I know quite a lot. Syrup loaf was your papa’s favourite. And maybe yours too? Am I right?’
Elin nodded, Gerd held a loaf out for her.
‘Take this one home, it’s the expiry date today. I always take loaves home and freeze them on the expiry date. They stay fresh then. I can give you bread every week, if you’re having a hard time.’
‘But Mama will think I’ve taken it.’
Gerd stroked her cheek.
‘Not if I tell her it’s bread we’ll throw away otherwise. You can freeze it in bags of four slices each, and take them out when you need them.’
Elin hugged the loaf tightly under her chin. Inhaled the faint scent of bread in one deep breath.
‘I understand that it’s tough at the moment, now that Papa’s gone. He’ll be home again soon, you’ll see,’ Gerd went on.
‘Mama says he’ll never cross our doorstep again.’ Elin pressed her lips together sadly.
‘Is that what she says? Well, perhaps that’s the way it’s going to be. But I’m sure he’ll have his own doorstep. And you can cross it.’
Elin nodded.
‘Do you want to talk about it a little?’
She shook her head. Gerd gave her a hug, and didn’t let go until Elin wriggled free.
‘They say Papa’s a murderer and that he’ll never come back,’ she said quietly.
‘Who does?’
‘At school. They say they’ve locked him up and thrown away the key. That he’s a criminial or whatever you call it.’
Gerd shook her head and laid a hand on her cheek. It felt warm and rough.
‘And what do you think?’ she asked.
Elin shrugged. The lollipop was almost gone. She took it out of her mouth.
‘What did he do that was so awful? Why won’t anyone tell me?’
‘Well, he didn’t kill anyone, you can be sure of that.’
Gerd laughed and looked over at the door. A blue Volvo slammed on the brakes just outside the door and out stepped a tall man with a red checked shirt and a cowboy hat. He took the stairs in two great leaps and jerked the door open.
Elin leaned towards Gerd and whispered.
‘Is it true they eat steak every Saturday at the Grinde’s place?’
‘You’ll have to ask Micke about that. Or Fredrik.’
Elin shook her head.
‘No, don’t say anything, it was just something someone said. It can’t be true.’
‘You shouldn’t listen to what people say so much. Let that be today’s lesson.’
Gerd lit up when Micke strode through the door. She followed him around the aisles, talking incessantly. Elin stayed where she was and played with the bags of bread. When he got there, she passed him a loaf of rye bread.
‘Hello, kiddo. How do you know what I want?’
He sat on his haunches alongside her with his arm leaning against the shelf. There was a large, dark, sour-smelling sweat patch under his arm. Elin looked up at Gerd.
‘She’s good at guessing, this little one,’ Gerd laughed.
‘You can say that again.’
He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a five-krona piece. He fiddled with it and then threw it up in the air. Elin saw it spin around and glimmer in the strip-lights’ glow. It fell towards her and she stretched out her hand to catch it.
‘You take it, buy something nice just for you.’
Micke turned his back on her, grinned at Gerd, and walked over to the cash register with his basket full of shopping. Gerd showered him in appreciation and listened carefully as he talked. Elin stayed where she was until she heard him leave the shop and climb into the blue Volvo. When the engine started she went back to the milk section and took out a red carton. She took it up to Gerd and put it on the counter.
‘I’d like to buy this. Can you write a note and tell Mama I haven’t stolen it? And about the bread?’
NOW
NEW YORK, 2017
The lift creaks as it makes its way up through the building, as though the cables holding it are close to breaking. The mirrors show every part of her body, she sees her own image everywhere. She draws her hand across a small callus on her back which can be made out through her dress, just above her waist. It appeared after she turned forty and refuses to go away. She bends forward and studies her face, searching for the beauty that used to be there, but she can only see dark shadows under her eyes and lines carving the skin of her cheeks. The lift doors open and before her lies the bright white floor that signifies home. Elin takes a step inside and turns up the lights. On the sofa sits Sam, reclining with his hands folded in his lap.
His eyes are closed, his face relaxed. The corners of his mouth point upwards slightly, even when he sleeps. He always looks happy, joyful somehow. That was what she fell for. The happiness, the confidence.
She sneaks past him with the heap of letters in her arms. Patters over to the desk and lays the letter from Sweden in the top drawer, the others in a pile on the tabletop. Then she sneaks back and curls up beside him. He groans slightly, as though he’s just woken up.
‘Sorry. It took a long time,’ she whispers, kissing him on the cheek. He jumps, as though the kiss is electric.
‘Where have you been? What’s the time?’ he mumbles.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You smell of wine. You missed dinner with my parents. They’re probably starting to wonder what you’re up to.’
Elin shrugs.
‘I just had a glass, on the way home from the studio. I was on my own. The shoot took ages, the sitter was terrible. Egocentric actors, you’ve no idea.’
She sighs deeply and leans her head against the back of the sofa, puts her feet up on the coffee table.
‘You almost caught them. They just left.’
‘Who?’
‘Aren’t you listening? My parents. Don’t you remember? We invited them for dinner to celebrate Alice and her dancing, her getting into the school. We even talked about it in therapy, that it was important to us.’
Elin holds her hand up to her mouth as she suddenly remembers.
‘Sorry,’ she whispers.
‘You always say that. But do you ever mean it?’ Sam shakes his head, concerned. Sighs.
‘I do mean it. Sorry. I forgot. There’s so much going on right now, you know how it is. The team, I can’t just leave … everything depends on me. Without me there are no pictures. It’s not like a normal job.’
Sam flinches away from her touch, he stands up and walks with shuffling steps towards the bedroom.
‘I was waiting for you to say good night. At least. For you to talk to me, think about me.’ Sam shakes his phone at her.
‘Sorry. I’m here now. I rushed home as soon as you texted, I wanted to say goodnight here. Is Alice still around? Is she staying here tonight? Please tell me she is.’
Sam stops, but doesn’t turn around.
‘She left at about nine, said she had a class early tomorrow. But I think she was disappointed, you should probably ring her’.
Elin doesn’t reply. She’s already halfway out onto the roof terrace. She sinks down into a chair and kicks her shoes off, pulls out her phone and writes a message to Alice.
Sorry, sweetheart, I was late home from work. Sorry.
She looks at the words she’s just sent. Types a few red hearts, sends them too, and then puts the telephone upside-down on the chair beside her.
The wood under the soles of her feet feels warm. There’s still smoke rising from the wood oven Sam insisted on building when they moved in. She shudders when she sees the smoke, gets up and pulls the hatches across so they are tightly closed, smothering the embers inside.
‘What’s this?’
Sam comes out to her. In his hand he’s holding the star chart, which he waves in her face.
‘I thought you were sleeping when I came in?’
‘What does it say? What language is it?’
‘I don’t know.’ Elin shrugs a little.
‘You don’t know, but you hid it?’
Sam’s face is pinched, disbelieving. Elin swallows with difficulty.
‘I wasn’t hiding it, I just put it in there.’
‘And you have no idea who sent it?’ Sam sighs heavily.
‘I really don’t know, I promise. It must be some crazy admirer. A fan. I don’t even know what language it is. Do you?’
Sam takes a step closer to the terrace railing and holds the chart out over the edge.
‘And yet you hid it? I don’t believe you. Tell me who sent it!’
Elin shakes her head.
‘I don’t know.’
‘So it won’t matter if I drop it?’
Sam locks eyes with her. They look at each other. When she doesn’t answer, he drops the chart and lets the wind sweep it away. Elin stretches out her hand after it, but it moves too quickly. She sees it disappear down towards the street, follows it with her eyes, her hands gripping the terrace railing. The paper sways, twists, like a raft on stormy seas. They watch it fall, until it disappears from view. Then Sam turns to her.
‘So it doesn’t mean anything?’
She tries to stay calm. Sam doesn’t give in.
‘I can see you’re upset.’
Elin shakes her head and holds her arms out to him.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, I’ve had a long day and I have to sleep now. I have to get up early tomorrow as well.’
Sam backs away, pushes her hands away.
‘It’s Saturday.’
‘Please.’
‘That word would have suited me better.’
‘What do you mean?’
Sam doesn’t reply. He turns his back on her and disappears into the bedroom. His steps pound the floor.
Elin doesn’t follow him, but sneaks into the hall and takes the lift down. She’s barefoot and the asphalt scratches the soles of her feet as she runs up and down the street looking for the chart. She can’t see it anywhere. Maybe it got stuck on a balcony on the way down? She searches in all the corners and doorways, in vain.
She cranes her neck up at the building, looking for the exact place he dropped it from and tracking its possible path with her eyes. Maybe it’s blown round the corner, into another street? She runs towards Broome Street. As she comes round the corner, she almost runs into an old woman. Her hair is grey and greasy, she’s wearing a baggy green tracksuit with large stains on the front. In one hand she’s holding the star chart, in the other a rolled-up blanket, held together with a leather belt. Elin tries to take the chart from her, but the woman hisses at her, bares her teeth, high on something that isn’t alcohol. Elin recoils.
‘That’s mine, please can I have it, I dropped it.’
The woman shakes her head. Elin rummages for money in her pockets, but they’re empty. She holds out her empty hands.
‘Please. It’s from a person who means a lot. I don’t have any money to give you, I can go and get some if you wait. But please give it to me,’ she pleads, helplessly.
The woman shakes her head and presses the paper against her chest. A corner is crushed against her body. Elin shakes her head.
‘Please be careful with it. It’s from someone I … someone who means very much to me. Please.’
The woman looks at her with a sorrowful expression, she nods.
‘I see, I understand, I understand. Love, love, love,’ she mutters, dropping the paper so it drifts down onto the ground at Elin’s bare feet.
THEN
HEIVIDE, GOTLAND, 1979
The main road was deserted. The edge of the asphalt was uneven and broken, split by the spring’s ground frost. Long cracks snaked across the carriageway and the white lines of the road markings were faded and scraped. Elin jumped from one marking to the next. The empty cloth bag on her arm fluttered after her in the wind. She jumped with great concentration, landing on her toes in the thin shoes.
Suddenly, in a laughing flurry, someone was in front of her. He jumped further than her, clearing two markings at a time with his arms stretched high in the air. He was dressed in blue dungarees and heavy boots, and was covered head to toe in muck. He stopped and smiled at her. It was hard to tell the splashes of mud from the freckles on his face. Elin gathered her strength and jumped past him, over two lines this time. Almost.
‘Come on, you weakling.’ Stung by his mocking tone, she pushed herself even further, jumped again, but still landed just short of the second line.
She glared at him as he roared with laughter.
‘You’ll never be stronger than me. Give up. I’m a guy, you know.’
�
�I’ll show you. One day,’ Elin hissed and stuck her tongue out at him. Then she cut across the road and started running towards the shop.
Outside the door was a tractor with a trailer full of wooden crates: potatoes, carrots, and swede straight from the ground. Micke came out through the door and glowered at the children.
‘Hello, Elin. Fredrik, you’re working, come on, no games,’ he called, his voice rumbly as though the words came from deep inside his stomach.
Fredrik tugged Elin’s hair gently as he ran past her. He took two large crates from the trailer, which came up above his nose and made him stoop under their weight. Elin took hold of the top one, trying to take it from him.
‘It’s too heavy, let me help you. I’m not in a rush.’
Fredrik shook his head.
‘Papa’ll go crazy. Let go. I can do it, I have to do it myself.’
Elin did as he wished, letting go just as Micke came out of the door again. He talked without pausing in his work, lifting three crates at a time, making his shirt strain across his chest as his muscles tensed. She could see skin through the gaps between the buttons, covered in curly black hair.
‘I’ve done three rounds and you’re still standing here flirting. A farmer’s son has to put the work in, you know that. Nothing gets done by itself,’ he snapped.
Fredrik reeled up the steps with the heavy crates, unable to see where he was putting his feet. Elin ran alongside him and held the door open. When he passed her, he whispered:
‘Run now before he gets cross at you for being in the way. I’ll see you later. Listen out for the tune.’
One round more, then they were gone. Elin heard the tractor start and drive off. The crates they’d left were stacked high by the vegetable racks. Muddy footprints led a trail from the door, like a reminder of the food’s origin.
Elin was awoken by someone whistling a soft melody. She quickly jumped out of bed and pulled on her jeans, worn bell-bottoms she’d inherited from a neighbour a little further down the road, and a tight green t-shirt with a four-leaf clover on the front. She cast a quick glance at herself in the mirror and smoothed down her hair which fell in thick tangles over her shoulders, fixing her parting so it cut sharply along the centre of her head. She opened the door cautiously, looking both ways down the hallway before going out. There was no one there. The door to her brothers’ room was closed, the light off. She crept over to the stairs without turning the lights on and peered down between the bannisters to where Marianne sat bent over the kitchen table with a grey woollen blanket wound tightly around her. There was a scent in the air but Elin couldn’t see a lit cigarette, no cloud of smoke. Marianne sat perfectly unmoving, as still as the late evening.
A Question Mark is Half a Heart Page 3