‘Come here, I’ll show you how to do it.’ Fredrik stood behind her and put his arm on hers so they were holding the stone together. ‘Bend your knees, start with your hand low, look at the surface, follow the surface with your gaze as you throw.’
He let go and she threw again, the stone bounced once and she punched the air.
‘I did it!’
‘Course you did. You can do anything if you want to.’
Outside the window the storm swept in, whipping up gravel and flying leaves. The dawn sun pushed its way through dark clouds, colouring the whole farmyard with a golden glow. Inside, it was warm from the crackling fire in the wood stove. When Elin came into the kitchen, Micke was sitting there, leaning back on one of the kitchen chairs, legs akimbo, in just underpants and an unbuttoned checked shirt that bared his sweat-slicked hairy chest. She stopped in the doorway and turned, but it was already too late. He’d seen her.
‘Hello, missy. Awake already? Nice to see you.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Is that the way you greet a stranger?’
‘Where’s Mama?’
‘In bed. She’ll be out in a bit, you’ll see. She didn’t get much sleep last night.’ His booming laughter filled the room. He took a piece of bread from the chopping board, threw it high in the air and caught it in his mouth. On the table there were some half-full cocktail glasses covered in greasy finger-prints, and a bowl of peanuts. Elin turned her back on him, opened the larder and took out the plates. She cleared away the washing-up and put the plates on the table, all on the kitchen bench side, none on Micke’s.
‘Erik and Edvin will be down soon. You should go now.’
He looked offended.
‘Go? I’m not going anywhere.’
Elin went on clearing up in silence, and soon Marianne opened the bedroom door and hurried in. She yawned and stretched up to the ceiling. Her purple robe was tied tightly around her waist and her hair was dishevelled, sticking out like a backcombed halo around her face. The skin under her eyes bore traces of sooty black mascara. When she caught sight of Micke she stiffened.
‘What are you doing here?’ She tried to smooth her hair, embarrassed.
He took hold of her shoulders with both hands. He tried to mouth the words at her, but he wasn’t quiet enough and Elin heard him say:
‘I think we should tell Elin. She’s big enough.’
Marianne shook her head. She took his hand and pulled him with her, back into the bedroom. They went on talking in low voices, then the bed creaked as two heavy bodies fell onto it. Elin crept up the stairs to her brothers’ room and into Edvin’s bunk. He’d wriggled halfway down the bed in his sleep, and she sat above him, curled up on the pillow with her hands clamped over her ears.
It was one of those rainy, stormy nights, when shoppers hesitate before going back outside. Gerd gave them hot coffee in paper cups and crumbly little oat cookies. A few wet waterproofs were hanging up by the door, and the floor of the aisles was covered with muddy footprints from the day’s customers. Elin was helping sort the magazines and papers: the old ones were being bundled up and sent back and the new ones had to be brought into the shop and put out on the shelves. She sat on the floor by the newspaper stand and read the dates on the covers carefully before sorting them and filling in the issue numbers and quantities on the returns slips.
There was a flash from the sky, then a low rumble. Elin saw Marianne come running along the main road, with Sunny loping along after her, head low and ears back. Marianne smiled when she came in through the glass door. Wet tufts of hair were slicked across her face. She shook herself like a dog, making the drops from her jacket fly through the air. Then she hung it up with the others and ran straight up to Gerd. They hugged. Elin crept closer and tried to hear what they were saying, but she only caught a few words. Move in. He loves me. Happy.
She moved closer, out across the floor, hiding behind the sweet rack. Now she could hear as well as see. Gerd was shaking her head.
‘She’s only just moved out. And you’re going to move in straight away?’
Elin’s lips parted. She stared at Marianne and the long wait for her reply made her heart beat hard in her chest.
‘He loves me,’ she whispered at last, earning a guffaw from Gerd.
‘He needs a wife. Someone to work on the farm. Don’t go wasting your life again now.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘I understand more than you think. Much more than you think. With you, he even gets money thrown in.’
‘How dare you suggest …’
Marianne turned on her heel and Elin jumped, banging her head on the shelf. The sharp edge sent a shock of pain through her, and she let out a shriek.
‘Are you eavesdropping?’ said Marianne.
Elin shook her head.
‘I’ve told you not to run about in here. Gerd needs peace and quiet to work. This isn’t a playground.’
Gerd stepped between them, put her arm around Elin and pulled her close. Elin felt the warmth and safety of her soft stomach.
‘The lass is helping me. And she gets some pocket money for it.’
‘There’s a whole heap of things to help out with at home too. Especially now we’re moving.’
Elin felt for Gerd’s hand. When she found it she squeezed it hard. Gerd stroked her thumb over the back of Elin’s hand comfortingly.
‘Shouldn’t you give this a little more thought before you make your mind up?’
Marianne pulled Elin’s hand out of Gerd’s and led her towards the door. She looked down at her.
‘You heard me, don’t look so shocked. We’re moving to the Grinde farm and that’s all there is to it. Where’s your jacket? We’re going home.’
‘Marianne, I’m not saying it isn’t love. I’m just saying you should think it over a little before you decide. Think of the children.’
Marianne jerked open the glass door and went out into the rain without putting on her jacket. Elin turned and waved as she followed her.
‘I’ll take care of these last few, you’ll get your money still,’ Gerd called after her.
Marianne was walking a few steps ahead of her. The wind came in gusts, making it hard to balance. Leaning into it, they struggled on through the storm.
‘Why are we moving house?’ At last Elin dared ask the question.
Marianne didn’t stop or respond. She sped up and the distance between them increased, and Elin saw her take the short-cut through the hedge. Micke’s car was in the farmyard, parked behind their own, the shiny blue paintwork glowing through the hedge’s bare branches. She heard the front door slam, and through the kitchen window she saw Marianne falling into his arms. Edvin and Erik were there too, sitting on the kitchen bench, following the adults’ movements with fascination. Elin stood outside for a while. The rain streaked down her cheeks like tears, but she just felt cold and empty inside. She went round the corner, to her chair. She pressed herself against the wall for shelter from the rain, and took out her paper and the stubby pencil.
Now its too late. Were getting a new papa. You dont need to come home any more.
She underlined dont need to with a thick hard pencil line. Then another. And another.
NOW
NEW YORK, 2017
Alice is sleeping on the sofa when Elin gets home, curled up under a blanket. She carefully stacks the four tins just inside the door and then sits down close beside her daughter. Alice’s feet stick out from under the blanket and her toes are red, swollen and bruised. Elin takes them in her hand, caresses them, blows on the damaged toes. It’s been a long time since Alice was home; in the beginning she came back all the time, but since Sam moved out it happens rarely. Alice turns over and Elin strokes her forehead tenderly.
‘Is it late?’ Alice murmurs.
Elin shakes her head.
‘No, it was quick today, just one picture. It’s still afternoon.’ Elin takes her phone out to show her, but Alice turns her he
ad and hides her face in the back of the sofa.
‘That’s lucky, I would’ve slept too long otherwise.’
‘I’m so glad you came over. It turned out all wrong at the restaurant.’ Elin lies down beside her, her arm around Alice’s middle.
‘I don’t know who to go to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Who out of the two of you. If I should go to Dad’s or to yours. It’s so weird, all this.’ Alice clasps her hands nervously, making her knuckles whiten.
‘You can stay with both of us, can’t you? You needn’t choose. Alternate, or do whatever works best. Come to the one you’re missing most.’ Elin untangles her daughter’s fingers, strokes them gently.
‘It just feels all wrong. I miss him here and you there. He should be here, you should both be here. I want everything back to normal.’
Elin hugs her. They lie quietly. Everything is still.
After a while Elin reaches for her phone on the coffee table. She puts a song on and the sound of Esperanza Spalding fills the apartment. Alice nods her head.
‘Thanks. I love her – what a voice, what great rhythm.’
‘I know,’ says Elin.
‘Have you always liked jazz? Why?’
‘Hmm. I don’t know, it’s music that gets into my soul somehow.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I feel it, it’s like it creeps inside me, under my skin, into my blood.’
‘I get what you mean.’ Alice nods, then grimaces, lifting her legs in the air.
‘My feet hurt so much.’
Elin moves to the other end of the sofa and lays Alice’s legs across her lap. She picks up one foot and blows on it.
‘That’s the price you have to pay.’
‘The price for what?’ Alice scowls, then flinches as Elin touches her toe.
‘To get where you want to go.’
‘I don’t know if I want to get there any more. It doesn’t feel worth it.’
‘You were dancing before you could walk. You used to stand up and rock back and forth on those chubby little legs. You’ve always danced.’
Elin reaches for the framed photos on the bookshelf, takes one down and angles it towards Alice, who smiles and reaches out to take it. She looks at the little child for a long time.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ she says finally.
‘Not maybe. Tell me, how do you feel when you’re in the middle of a performance?’
‘Like life doesn’t exist. The other stuff. It’s just me and the music. The steps, the moment.’
‘See? That’s what it’s like for me when I’m taking photographs. That’s probably how it is for everyone who has a passion.’
Alice places the photo face-down on the coffee table.
‘But what if it’s just an escape?’ she sighs.
‘An escape?’
‘Yeah, an escape from reality.’
‘In that case, I don’t need reality.’
‘Ugh, don’t say that, Mom, it sounds so tragic.’
A taxi pulls up to the kerb and Elin drags Alice towards it. She shuffles along on in her flip-flops, protesting wearily.
‘Can’t we just order takeout instead? It was nice on the sofa.’
‘What was that place called outside of Sleepy Hollow? The farm. You remember?’
‘Stone Barns? Why do you ask?’ Alice furrows her forehead.
‘Drive to Sleepy Hollow,’ says Elin, leaning in towards the driver. He accelerates and pulls out right in front of a truck, which beeps.
‘But Mom, come on, I don’t have time for this, forget the food. I need to study tonight. And rest.’ Alice leans forward. ‘Stop at Broadway and Broome please, I’ll take the subway home.’ She puffs up her cheeks and exhales heavily, laughing and shaking her head.
‘Stone Barns. Mom, what are you thinking? You don’t even like the countryside and you hate animals. Stone Barns is a farm. What are we going to do there?’
‘They have good food. We went there once when you were little and you liked it. Please?’ Elin tilts her head pleadingly.
‘I’m not little any more. You’re just being weird now. What’s past is past. Let it go.’
‘Well we can do something else then, go for a walk, go to an exhibition.’
‘Mom! You’re doing it again.’ Alice sighs loudly.
‘What?’
Alice extends her foot towards her mother, lifting it so it’s almost touching her chin. Elin’s nose wrinkles at the sight of the crusty scabs.
‘Have you already forgotten? I can’t walk. You’re hopeless at listening, you know that?’
She puts her foot down again as the taxi pulls onto the kerb. As Alice wriggles out onto the sidewalk, Elin leans across the seat.
‘I’m sorry! Come back, we’ll eat someplace else,’ she calls, but Alice has already limped away. Elin gazes after her.
‘Ma’am?’
The taxi driver is looking at her questioningly but she hesitates, sits in silence a moment. Alice has disappeared from view and all she can see is other people walking past, a fast flow of thoughts and unknown destinations.
Impatient, the taxi driver sounds his horn loudly, making her jump.
‘Stone Barns,’ she says. ‘Just outside Sleepy Hollow. Please.’
‘It’s a long way. It’ll cost you,’ he replies.
‘That’s fine. Just go!’
The taxi journey lasts forever, she manages to fall asleep and wake up and fall asleep again. When they finally arrive she sticks her Amex in the card machine and gives him a generous tip, even though the total is already dizzyingly high. Then she gets out onto the gravel in front of the grey-brown stone barn, which she can feel through the thin soles of her ballerina flats. Taking them off and holding them in her hand, she carefully walks barefoot around the buildings, letting her toes spread and focussing on the pain as the sharp stones dig into her feet. In the paddock behind the farm a few large, black-faced sheep are grazing. She walks to the fence and climbs over, into the paddock. There are black clumps of droppings on the grass but she lets her feet get dirty, drawing in the stench through her nostrils. It’s early evening and the sun is setting slowly behind the tops of the trees. She takes photos with her phone: of the grass, the trees, the feed racks. Her own feet walking on the grass. She sits down on a rock at the forest’s edge and listens. It’s quiet. She hears birds twittering, leaves stroking one another in the wind. She lies on her back on the grass, closes her eyes and lets the mild rays of the evening sun warm her skin.
The pink-lilac evening sky gets darker and darker. The stars begin to shine above her, in their thousands, their millions. She recognises many of them, knows the names of the constellations: knowledge she’s kept buried in her memory for many years. She lies there on the grass for a long time, watching them. In Manhattan there’s no real darkness at night. No stars. No blackness. Just artificial points of light.
And no peace. Everything is noise. Sirens, cars, music, shouts. Not like here, where her own breath sounds loud to her.
It’s late in the evening when she stands up, makes her way back to the road and manages to stop a car. The man at the wheel rolls the window down and reproaches her:
‘A woman shouldn’t be hitching on her own. You should be glad it’s me that stopped and not some crazy person.’
‘I am glad. Can I get a ride with you?’
Elin jumps in. He’s playing country music, and without asking she turns the volume up. The music fills the car, a lone voice and a guitar. The man sings along, glancing at her now and then.
Just call me angel of the morning …
The road winds through the dark landscape. It’s lined with tall trees which cast long shadows in the glare of the headlights. Here and there, beautiful white wooden houses lie nestled in the greenery. She suddenly longs to be far from the city that’s been her home for so long. She yearns for her own flowerbed, for roses, and grass damp with dew.
‘Do you live here?’
&
nbsp; He nods and turns the volume back down.
‘A little further up. And you, where are you from?’
‘It’s complicated. But I live in town.’
‘It generally is. I’ll drop you off at the train station in Tarrytown, is that OK? You can get to where you’re going from there.’
She nods. They fall silent again.
The station is empty and desolate. She walks slowly up the steps that take her to the platforms, aware of the gritty remnants of gravel and earth between her bare feet and the insoles of her shoes. There’s a bench on the platform and she sits down. Forty minutes to the next train, the minutes ticking by on the station clock. Her phone has lain untouched in her pocket since she used it to take photos on the farm, and when she gets it out she sees missed calls and messages. From Joe. From her agent. From the client.
Where are you? We need you in the studio.
The client’s not happy. We have to shoot again in the morning. 7:00 in Central Park. OK?
Elin where are you? Pick up!
We need you to be there. Can you confirm. Hair and make-up are booked. We’re rigging from 5:30.
She responds briefly to the last one, with a thumbs up. Then she swipes to delete the messages, one after another. She calls Sam, who answers sleepily.
‘I miss you,’ she whispers and the echo of her words spreads across the paved platform.
‘Elin, where are you? They’ve been looking for you.’ He suddenly sounds more awake, as though he’d been lying down and has now sat up.
‘I’m OK, I just didn’t look at my phone. What are you doing?’
‘Why are you ringing?’
‘We need to talk.’
‘You never wanted to talk before.’
‘But now I do.’
‘We need a break. Don’t you get that? You need a break.’
‘We’re a family.’
‘There is no we, no us right now. You are you and I am me. You have to live with that.’
‘It’s too hard. I can’t do it. I’ll never manage it.’
‘You have to try. We need breathing space.’
A Question Mark is Half a Heart Page 13