Elin remembers everything now, especially how important the shoot is. She runs out into the street and hails the first taxi she sees.
The lawn is full of them even though autumn is on the way and their season should be long over. Unwanted little yellow suns in the lush green. In front of her, everything is a stage set. Behind her, everything is a memory. She pulls her shoes off and stands barefoot in the grass, feeling the damp chill of the earth against the soles of her feet. The model on the boat stretches, arches her back, and pouts her bold red lips. The full skirt of her dress is taped to the stern of the boat to create the illusion of wind blowing. The make-up artist is standing in the water with his trousers rolled up to his knees, ready to jump in and correct the smallest hair that settles out of place, a comb in his back pocket and a powder puff in his hand. Two assistants are holding the studio lights to stop them blowing down and behind her stand the rest of the team: the stylists, the art director.
She holds the camera to her eye, wiggles her fingers in the air and asks the model to look at them, pulls her hand to the side, has the model follow them with her gaze.
‘Your face too, turn a little, just a little. Chin up.’
She walks closer, taking pictures from different angles, then asks one of the assistants for a reflector. He holds up the shimmering gold surface so it reflects the impression of sunshine onto the model’s pale skin.
‘There. It’s a wrap. We’ve got it.’
There’s a wave of protests, but she lowers the camera. The model stays standing in the same stiff position. Elin waves to her.
‘You can come in, relax, we’re done. Pull the skirt off there, it’s only tape.’
She puts the camera straight down on the grass and picks up her shoes, then walks off slowly across the lawn. Her tears spill out. It feels odd. The team are standing behind her, watching.
‘She hasn’t started drinking, has she?’ she hears one of them whisper, but she still doesn’t stop. She starts running, flying across the grass, carrying on until the grass becomes asphalt. It’s hot under her feet, warmed by the sun. She runs down Fifth Avenue, shoes still dangling from her hands. Past the hawkers, past the souvenirs, past the tourists studying their unfolded maps in bewilderment. One street-hawker has put out a blanket on the sidewalk and is selling bracelets, braided with small colourful beads. They are displayed in rusty metal tins. Elin stops and stares at them.
‘How much do you want?’ she asks.
The man nods and holds up a few different coloured bracelets on his finger. He twirls them in front of her.
‘Five dollars, ma’am, five dollars,’ he says.
She shakes her head.
‘Not the bracelets. The tins, I want the tins. All of them.’
‘Sorry, ma’am, they’re not for sale.’
She takes a wad of notes out of her pocket. Gives him one after another: fifty dollars, seventy dollars, eighty dollars, a hundred and thirty dollars. The notes run out. He stares at her and then rapidly empties all the tins without a word, letting the bracelets fall onto the blanket. She gathers them up, four rusty tins just like the ones she once owned.
THEN
HEIVIDE, GOTLAND, 1979
The darkness and silence enveloped Elin as she lay wide awake on her bed, fully dressed. The hands on the alarm clock glowed green in the darkness; it was almost midnight and everyone else was sleeping. She heard Fredrik from a long way off. Not his whistling, his footsteps; the gravel crunching under the soles of his feet. She quickly crept out of bed and downstairs, and found him waiting on the swing seat. He looked gloomy.
‘Have they been fighting again?’
Elin sat beside him. The cushions weren’t there, so the taut steel fibres on the seat’s base cut into her thighs and buttocks.
‘We’re moving,’ he said.
‘Where to?’
‘Visby.’ He swallowed audibly.
‘But you’ll be here sometimes won’t you? Is Micke going to move too?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t really understand. It’s got something to do with money, we haven’t got any money.’
‘But everyone says you’re loaded. Aren’t you? Isn’t it true?’
‘Come on, let’s walk.’ Fredrik acted as if he hadn’t heard her question. He took her hand and together they walked down towards the sea. The cold limestone made the path glow white against the black backdrop of the autumn night. Fredrik was carrying a book, the one about stars that they liked to look at. Elin had matches in her pocket and a thick blanket under her arm.
‘How many do you think we’ll see today?’ she asked.
‘Shooting stars?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Enough. But I guess you’ve got enough already? Is it true your mama got Aina’s inheritance? I heard Mama telling Papa.’
Elin hesitated, then decided not to answer. They walked on in silence. She lifted her right foot automatically as she came to one of the thick roots that stuck up out of the path. Even though it was dark she knew exactly where it was. Fredrik tipped his head back and looked up at the stars as they walked.
‘I wonder if she’s sitting up there right now?’
‘Who, Aina?’
‘Mmm, maybe she’s become a big, bright, golden star.’
‘Gold would really suit her,’ Elin laughed.
‘Just imagine her pretending to be poor even though she was so rich. Why would someone do that? It’s weird.’
‘Is this the last time, do you think? That we’ll sneak out and watch the stars?’ Elin’s question stopped Fredrik in his tracks. He held the book out to her.
‘No, of course not. I’ll come to stay with Papa sometimes, obviously. You can keep the book here, I’ll never look at the stars with anyone but you, I promise.’
There was a flash in the corner of his eye. A little drop of sorrow ran down his cheek, leaving a winding trail of moisture on his freckled skin. He ignored it.
When they got to the beach they lay on their backs under the stars. The roaring sea washed in over the stones. Elin held the book close to her chest. Her thoughts were full of Micke and Marianne, but she dared not reveal to Fredrik what she knew. She didn’t want to make his sorrow any heavier.
‘Being an adult seems so hard. They just fight and get divorced and get sent to prison and cry. When I grow up I’m going to marry someone just like you,’ she whispered.
‘Promise?’
Fredrik rolled over on his side and stretched out his little finger. She hooked her own around it.
‘Promise we’ll always be friends. Whatever happens,’ she said.
A shooting star flew across the sky, leaving a pale pink streak.
‘Let’s wish for it. Then it will happen,’ Fredrik said, pointing at the sky.
‘Dummy, you said it out loud.’
‘OK, worrywart. I promise we’ll always be friends. No matter what happens.’
The only thing she could think about was that this was probably exactly what being a thief felt like. To be able just to grab what you wanted without needing to think about it, taking a little here and a little there. Elin stayed a few metres behind the others as the family walked around the shop, Erik and Edvin running back and forth in ecstasies, round and round Marianne’s legs so she nearly stumbled. They couldn’t keep still, they jumped around, pulling at everything they passed. Edvin stopped occasionally, winding his way around the racks of clothes. They bought bikes, balls, toys. All the things they’d always been lacking. All the things other people had, but they’d only dreamt of.
‘And you? What do you want?’ Marianne turned to her. Elin shrugged.
‘Too much to choose from?’ Marianne let out a peal of laughter. ‘Don’t choose, then. Take everything you want. And when you’re done, take a little more. It’s all on Aina.’
‘Stop it!’ said Elin.
‘You don’t understand. We’re rich now, we can buy everything we’ve ever wanted, everything we need. You don’t need to think twice. Take
the first thing you see that you like.’
Elin eyed the shoe racks where a pair of low-heeled leather shoes glowed white. She picked them up, inspected them, then put them quickly back on the shelf.
‘White will get dirty in the forest, it’s not very practical,’ she said.
‘No, neither are heels. But take them anyway. You might get invited to a disco sometime. Get a nice pair of Velcro trainers too, you can wear them for school. Everything’s changed now. You need tops, too, all of yours are too small.’
Elin tugged at the red t-shirt she was wearing. Marianne was right, it was tight across her stomach and barely covered the waistband of her trousers. She always stretched her tops when they were damp after the wash. First widthways, as far as she could, then lengthways. They ended up a funny shape from this rough treatment, the seams twisted around her body rather than hanging straight. She swept her hand over the row of t-shirts, some in single colours, some with prints, and put two pink ones and a purple one into Marianne’s basket. Marianne nodded in approval and then held up a grey sweater.
‘Take this too, get some more sweaters. And trousers. You need clothes.’
Elin went on dropping item after item into the basket. After a while she stopped.
‘But what about you, Mama? Aren’t you going to have anything new?’
Marianne smiled.
‘You’re always thinking about others, Elin. It’s nice, but think of yourself too. Mums mostly need dresses, blouses, and things like that. And you get those in other shops, not here at the Co-op.’
‘Are you going to wear dresses at home?’
‘Yes. I am. From today on I intend to wear dresses and red lipstick. Every day. Just because I can.’
It seemed reasonable. Unnecessary, but reasonable. Elin smiled at her. Anxiety had lost its grip on Marianne. The worry lines had filled out. Her cheeks and mouth were no longer as tense, her skin was rosier and less sallow. She knew now that worry wasn’t just a feeling, buried deep inside the psyche. Worry could be seen, almost touched. Marianne reached out and stroked her long hair.
‘What are you doing, that tickles!’ said Elin, shaking off the unfamiliar caress.
‘I just wanted to touch your hair, it’s so pretty and shiny. You’re so lovely.’
‘You are too, Mama.’
‘Not like you. No one’s like you. You’ve got a heart of gold and the light from it shines out of your eyes.’
‘Oh, you’re so silly. My heart’s red and blue and purple, just like everyone else’s.’
‘No, not yours. It’s special.’
‘What about us? Aren’t we lovely?’ Edvin protested loudly from the skateboard he was riding back and forth along the aisles.
‘You too,’ Marianne said. ‘All three of you. You’re my aces, my three aces. A little trio of joy, what would I do without you?’
Marianne picked up the overstuffed baskets at her feet and took the escalator up to the tills. Elin followed her. At her side she had a new pink bicycle with dropped handlebars. She carefully stroked the gleaming white saddle, frame, and handlebars, blinking away the tears that stubbornly filled her eyes.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘I would have given you all of this long ago, if only I’d been able.’
‘I know, Mama, I know.’
That evening they cooked together, all four of them. Chicken, on a bed of onion and potato, with thick creamy sauce. The kitchen filled with warmth and scent. They ate until they were full, and when they were full, they ate a little more.
Elin and Marianne washed up, then Marianne disappeared into her bedroom. Elin saw her pulling a silvery new blouse over her head, smooth silk with a bow at the throat, and pairing it with a corduroy bell-shaped skirt that fit snugly around her waist. She painted her lips red and swung back and forth in front of the mirror, observing her figure from the front and the back. When the house had fallen silent and the lights were out the car came. Elin heard it a long way off. The low growl of the engine, the car door slamming, the door to the house opening, Micke’s voice.
Then came the shrieks again, the bed shrieks she hated so much.
The swing seat squeaked a little. Elin was lying on the worn cushion with her hand hanging over the side. She was holding on tight to a tuft of grass and pulled on it now and then to speed herself up. Through the holes in the shabby beige plastic canopy she could see grey clouds in the sky. It would start to rain soon. She pulled on the tuft. Back and forth. The cloud formations came and went as she listened to the creak and groan of the wind in the treetops.
‘Are you out here all alone? Aren’t you cold?’
Marianne lifted her legs and squeezed in at one end. Instead of replying, Elin turned in to face the back of the seat and pulled up her jacket to cover half her face.
‘Maybe we should chuck out this old heap of trash now, it’s barely standing.’
Elin peeped out at her mother as she stretched up and touched the canopy. The plastic had eroded, and flakes peeled off and floated to the ground.
‘When’s Papa coming home again?’
‘Elin.’
‘Why do you say that? Why do you say “ELIN” every time I ask about Papa? Don’t you think I have a right to know? I’m ten, I’m not some little kid like the others.’
‘OK. He’s not coming back. Not to this house in any case. And maybe not even to Gotland. It’s over. We’re better off without him.’
‘But he can change, can’t he? Can’t scoundrels ever be good again? He’s our papa. We need him.’
Marianne shook her head.
‘We don’t need him.’
‘In that case you don’t need anyone else either. In that case it’s just the four of us.’
Neither said anything. Elin pulled on the tuft of grass but Marianne’s feet on the ground stopped the swing’s motion. She went on pulling, until the grass was torn from its roots.
‘Go away, I was here first,’ she hissed.
She felt Marianne’s hand nudge her back and tried to shake it off. Marianne held her hand there, calmly, as Elin went on thrashing like a dying fish.
‘Go away, I said!’ She kicked hard against Marianne’s leg with both feet.
‘Ow. Stop that!’ Marianne stood up and walked away. ‘Don’t stay out here too long, you might catch something. The rain will come back soon. The sky’s looking pretty dark, look.’
Elin didn’t reply, just let her mother disappear back into the house, back to the kitchen table and her cigarettes.
The swing seat slowed gradually. When it stopped there was silence, just the odd squeak when the wind set it in motion again. The raw chill in the wind made her shiver. She wondered if the rain was this persistent in Stockholm, if the sun shone as rarely, if it was possible to see the sky from a cell, if they were looking at the same clouds, she and Papa.
A soft whistle roused her from her thoughts. She peered over the edge of the seat and saw Fredrik running up the path. He sat down on her stomach, making her flail her arms and legs to get free. At last he moved, taking the spot Marianne had just left.
‘It’s going to rain soon,’ Elin said.
‘Great, that means we can skip the shower,’ Fredrik said and got the swing going so fast the stand swayed.
‘Promise me we’ll always be friends. Whatever happens.’
They sat beside one another on the pebbled beach. gathering small white stones in their hands and taking turns trying to hit one of the large stone blocks at the water’s edge. The surface was white with chalk from all the stones that had struck it and disintegrated.
‘Why do you always say that? We’ve always been friends, and we always will be.’ Fredrik shoved Elin, making her fall sideways. She got up straight away and gazed at him intently.
‘Whatever happens?’
‘Whatever happens. And what could happen here anyway? Nothing ever happens. Nothing at all.’
Elin took out a little pocket knife and quickly cut a nick in her fin
ger. She held the knife out for Fredrik.
‘What are you doing?’ he exclaimed.
‘Blood pact.’
‘You’re crazy! You know that, right? Is this something you’ve read about in one of those books?’
‘If you’re chicken I can help you make the cut,’ she said.
She reached out, but he shook his head, took the knife and held the little blade to his finger. Then he shut his eyes and pushed the point in. A dark red bubble of blood welled up on the skin and Elin quickly put her finger on his so their blood mingled.
‘No one can break a blood pact. No one and nothing. We’ll always be friends. Always. Whatever happens. Swear.’
‘Visby’s only twenty miles away. And I’ll be staying at Papa’s sometimes.’ Fredrik pulled his finger away and put it in his mouth, sucking the rest of the mingled blood off it.
‘Whatever happens. We’ll always be friends. Swear,’ Elin repeated and threw a stone. It missed the big rock and hit the water with three rapid bounces. Fredrik laughed out loud.
‘And you’ve never even managed to skip a stone before. It must be a sign. What comes in threes?’
‘Crazy parents!’ Elin laughed.
‘Only three? Which of them isn’t crazy then?’
‘Your mama,’ Elin mumbled.
‘Shows what you know. Last night they argued so much Papa took off. She was running after the car, totally naked. I saw her from the bedroom window. He put his foot down and sped off and she ran and ran and ran. She didn’t stop until she’d gone halfway down the avenue.’
‘Do you know why she was so angry?’
‘All I know is what she was screaming: “You’re not going to her place” over and over again. To her place. Maybe that’s why they’re getting divorced, because he’s in love with someone else.’
Elin stood up and walked to the shoreline, gathering a heap of flat stones on the way. She stood sideways on to the water, throwing stone after stone and trying to make them skip. Every one sank to the bottom.
A Question Mark is Half a Heart Page 12