The English Heart

by Helena Halme

  Peter must have known what Kaisa meant, but she needed to be sure he was having the same discussion as her. Peter let go of Kaisa and lay down on the blanket. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t said anything. It was as if she’d broken the spell, as if she’d veered off the written libretto and brought the opera down to earth, down to reality, down to the present day. But Kaisa couldn’t bear the uncertainty. She watched Peter reach out for his sunglasses and speak to the blue sky above him, ‘I didn’t tell you, but I’m joining a submarine up in Scotland next week.’ He turned to Kaisa but she couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark glasses. ‘And you’ve got two more years at university?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kaisa muttered.

  Peter put his arms around her. ‘If only Finland was in the EEC, then you wouldn’t need a stupid work permit. You could just come and work here – in a pub or something. I’m sure someone would take you on…’

  Kaisa moved away from him. She was shivering.

  ‘Are you cold?’ Peter removed his glasses and looked at her with concern. He handed Kaisa his jumper. It smelled of his American coconut shaving foam and cigarettes. Then he lent over into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved a packet of Silk Cut cigarettes, and lit one.

  Kaisa was grateful for the interlude. Blood was rushing in her head and her heart was beating so hard she could hardly breathe.

  Peter blew smoke out the side of his mouth. ‘We’ll just have to be friends.’

  Kaisa looked at his long legs. They were crossed and his white trainers looked shabby all of a sudden. She couldn’t look into his eyes, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When we’re not with each other, we can be free to do whatever we want.’ His tone was casual, as if he was talking about changing the make of cigarettes he smoked.

  It was as if he’d hit Kaisa in the face. ‘You mean we’ll be free to see other people?’

  There was a brief silence. Kaisa listened to Peter take a long, final drag on his cigarette. He stumped it out on a small stone near the trunk of the tree and flicked the end away from them. He faced Kaisa again, ‘You know I love you.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Kaisa got up and turned her back to him. She started tidying the uneaten sandwiches back into the container.

  ‘Come here.’

  ‘No.’

  From the corner of her eye Kaisa saw how Peter lifted himself up into a sitting position. His long hands hung above his knees and he’d put his dark glasses back on. He spoke, gazing at his fingers, ‘Look, this has happened to me before.’

  Kaisa froze.

  Peter continued, ‘When I was on a commission in the Canadian navy I met this girl. She…well, we fell in love. But it didn’t last. She couldn’t work in Britain and I couldn’t afford to go to Canada all the time. So we slowly drifted apart. It was very hard.’

  Kaisa felt dizzy. She dropped the Tupperware box onto the blanket and sat down. She couldn’t talk.

  Peter put his arms around Kaisa. In a low whisper he said, ‘I just don’t want that to happen to us.’

  Kaisa looked into his dark eyes, at the straight line of his mouth. She turned around and rested her head on his shoulder and twined her fingers with his strong, long ones. She wanted the world to stop here. They sat like that while Kaisa waited for the tears to come. But there weren’t any.

  ‘You OK?’ Peter said.

  Kaisa turned to him and heard herself say, ‘Yes.’

  Eleven

  Kaisa had never felt as numb as she did waiting to board her flight at Heathrow after the two weeks with Peter. There were just a handful of people sitting outside the gate for the Finnair flight to Helsinki. No one wanted to travel from London to ‘Hel’ as the label on Kaisa’s luggage read. It felt like Hell was just what she was going back to.

  Peter and Kaisa hadn’t discussed the future since Hyde Park. Kaisa had accepted she was on the losing side. He meant more to her than she did to him. That was one fact Kaisa understood. It served her right, she thought, as she watched a man wearing a pinstripe suit sitting opposite her read his Financial Times. Had Kaisa not similarly cast aside a man who was more than devoted to her? Matti’s heart must have hurt as much as Kaisa’s did now. What’s more he’d been right all along. A foreign man, a sailor, would have a girl in every port. Peter didn’t care for Kaisa, not in the way Matti did. But the thought of going back to her ex-boyfriend made Kaisa shudder. No, she’d have to learn to be on her own. How difficult could it be? Tuuli was on her own, she’d never had a serious boyfriend. Kaisa felt more alone, sitting on the hard plastic seats of the airport terminal, than she’d ever done in her life.

  The man in the suit dropped his paper and gave Kaisa a quick smile. She looked at her watch. The flight was due to leave in five minutes. They should already be boarding, but there was no sign of an official by the gate. She felt shabby in her jeans and a jumper. She should dress more smartly and take an interest in financial matters like the man opposite. Kaisa was a student of economics after all. Instead, she sat there like a lovesick puppy. Kaisa straightened her back and spoke to the man, ‘Is the flight delayed?’

  ‘Looks like it.’ He turned a page and lifted the paper again, covering his face.

  Kaisa took out her book, Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles, but she couldn’t concentrate on the text in front of her. Peter had given her the paperback, saying it was one of his favourite books. Kaisa touched her lips and remembered the long kiss he’d given her by passport control only half an hour earlier. She thought about what he would be doing now. Would he be listening to Radio One, singing along as he drove back to Portsmouth in his yellow sports car? Would he give a thought to Kaisa? On the way to the airport he told her it was the last night he’d spend with his friends in the terraced house in Portsmouth. His face had looked sad then. Kaisa wanted to shout, ‘What about me? This is the last time you’re going to see me too.’ But she said nothing. Instead she listened to him tell her how the four friends were going to go out to the pub for a goodbye dinner.

  Kaisa didn’t even have a forwarding address for Peter. He’d told her only the name of the submarine he was going to join. ‘I’ll write to you as soon as I’m settled up there,’ he’d said when they were standing outside passport control.

  Kaisa had nodded.

  ‘I promise.’ Peter had cupped Kaisa’s face into his hands and kissed her. ‘I love you, remember that.’

  Kaisa hadn’t been able to speak. She gave him a last quick kiss and turned towards the man in uniform waiting to check her ticket and passport. And she didn’t look back.

  Helsinki was cold and rainy. The leaves were already turning yellow and brown. Autumn was here. The smart Finnair bus dropped Kaisa off at Töölö Square and she heaved her heavy suitcase down the hill to Mannerheim Street. She carried her luggage onto the tram and then onto a bus, which took her to the empty flat in Lauttasaari. Kaisa ignored the pile of post, mostly bills, which she’d received while away. Instead, she dug out of her bag two LPs Peter had bought for her in Bath. She read Tess of the d’Urbervilles while she listened to all the tracks on the Christopher Cross and the Earth, Wind & Fire albums over and over.

  Kaisa’s lectures at Hanken restarted three weeks after Kaisa came back from her holiday in England. It was October and the afternoons were already turning dark in Helsinki.

  On the first day of term she got up early, gathered all her bills, including the overdue rent for the flat, and headed into town. She needed to check the balance on her bank account. It was embarrassing being late with the rent, especially now she’d broken off the engagement with her ex-boyfriend. The flat belonged to his aunt after all. She’d tell his mother if Kaisa was late paying, and that would confirm all her suspicions about Kaisa’s flaky personality. How unreliable she was. How she could not be depended upon. Just like her divorcee mother.

  The ladies in the bank wanted to hear all about Kaisa’s holiday in England. They felt responsible for the love affair with Peter, especially the Finnish naval officer’s wife
, who’d organised for her to go to the cocktail party at the British Embassy. When eventually Kaisa tore herself free from their chatter, and asked for her bank book to be updated, she stared at the black printed figures on the small page.

  ‘What’s up?’ the teller who’d handed her the book asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Kaisa said and left.

  At Hanken, she headed straight for the students’ advisory office.

  ‘My grant’s not been paid into my bank,’ Kaisa told the lady at the desk. The woman remembered her from the first year when Kaisa had filled in the forms. There weren’t many students who were eligible for a student aid grant at the Helsinki Swedish School of Economics in 1981. Most students were from well-to-do families, not from a broken home like hers.

  The woman with pale-blue eyes and messy blonde hair, with grey streaks, looked at Kaisa kindly. ‘I’m afraid your grant was denied.’

  Kaisa was speechless.

  The woman pulled out a sheet of paper and looked at it. She turned it over and pointed at a set of computer printed figures. Kaisa saw her name at the top of the sheet with perforated edges and grey faded print on pale-green-and-white-striped paper.

  ‘You see, you only got 15 credits last term. You need a minimum of 20 to receive the funding.’

  ‘Oh,’ Kaisa lifted her eyes to the woman.

  The woman tilted her head slightly and opened her mouth to say something. But she closed it again and looked down at the computer print-out.

  Kaisa ran out of the office, past the common room where other students were smoking and drinking coffee. Loud chatter and laughter filled the space. She dodged the people, keeping her eyes to the ground. As she got to the door, a dark-haired guy held it open for her. Kaisa looked up and saw it was the guy who’d hit on her last year. He was looking straight at Kaisa for the first time since she turned him down. ‘Thanks,’ Kaisa said and quickly hurried out onto the cold street.

  What was she going to do? Kaisa had ninety-seven Marks in her bank account. That would last for a month, if she was very careful. But it didn’t pay for the rent, or for the electricity bill. Both were a week overdue. Kaisa didn’t have a job, and even if she got one now, she wouldn’t get paid until the end of the month. Besides, good jobs were hard to come by, even for fully-fledged graduates. Kaisa had only passed her first year. How would she explain that in the second year she’d passed only three exams of the eight she’d taken?

  On the Number 21 bus to Lauttasaari Kaisa’s dread for her future grew. What would she tell her mother? She’d been so proud when Kaisa got the letter from the School of Economics, saying she’d not only passed the entrance exam but also the language test in Swedish. This was compulsory for anyone coming from a Finnish school. Unlike the Finns with Swedish as their mother tongue, Kaisa had learned the language when she lived in Stockholm for three years. She’d been eleven when the family moved and fourteen when they returned to Finland. Kaisa had a Stockholm accent, which made her stand out at Hanken. But she really struggled with Swedish academic text. This is what she would tell her mother. As for her father, Kaisa decided not to contact him at all.

  At home, Kaisa was greeted by another bill: the telephone. With dread she opened it: 36 Marks and 79 pennies. Underneath the white envelope was a blue one. A letter from Peter. Kaisa felt the silky texture between her fingers and tried to resist the temptation to open it. Of course, rather than the struggle with Swedish, the reason for her failure to pass any exams was Peter. Instead of studying, she’d been re-reading his letters over and over again, lying awake at night waiting for his calls, daydreaming at lectures, or not even turning up after a sleepless, lovesick night. When Kaisa should have been studying employment law, she was planning a holiday to England. Instead of making the most of the lectures of a visiting professor in international law, she’d been looking out of the large windows of the lecture hall, remembering the feel of Peter’s kiss on her lips.

  * * *

  ‘When I arrived in Faslane it was snowing, can you believe that? It is so much colder up here in Scotland, just like Helsinki. And I got off at the wrong station and had to wait for another train for ages in the freezing weather. When I finally arrived at the naval base, I met an old mate who I didn’t know was also joining a submarine. Of course we had a few beers too many in the Back Bar and now I’m a bit worse for wear while writing to you, my love. I miss you so much. When I saw you walk through to the other side at Heathrow I thought my heart would break. The drive back to Pompey was horrible without you next to me wearing my Red Sox cap.’

  * * *

  Kaisa couldn’t read on. She pulled the letter against her chest and closed her eyes. Peter did love her. He missed her.

  Though it was a short letter, just two sides on one sheet of paper, it was powerful. He gave Kaisa a new address and said he couldn’t tell her when he would call, as he didn’t know when or where they would sail.

  ‘Even if I knew, I don’t think I could tell you, my darling.’

  Kaisa put the letter on the little dining table and went into the kitchenette to make coffee. When she opened the tin, she noticed there was just enough for one load in the percolator. Coffee was expensive, but she’d have to go and buy some for tomorrow morning. She’d rather have coffee and starve she thought to herself ruefully. And she’d rather see Peter than have coffee. What a stupid, stupid girl she was.

  Twelve

  The smart new ferry smelled of carpet freshener and paint. At the end of a long ramp a large-bellied man in uniform greeted Kaisa with a smile.

  ‘Welcome on board, Miss.’

  Kaisa’s arm ached from carrying the suitcase and she barely managed a grimace in return. To her relief the luggage store was close by. She placed the heavy bag on a shelf and checked she had all she needed for the overnight crossing: toiletries, a small towel and her purse. She placed the items into a small Marimekko holdall and went in search of the free bunk beds.

  Fleeing Helsinki in the autumn of 1981, Kaisa felt like a refugee, escaping her unpaid rent and the wrath of her ex-boyfriend’s family. When Kaisa’s mother had said on the phone, ‘Darling, come to Stockholm,’ she didn’t hesitate. She had nothing to stay for. No money, no energy to study, no boyfriend.

  After the initial elation caused by Peter’s last letter, Kaisa had begun to doubt him again. She remembered his mother’s words about ‘all his girlfriends’ and Peter’s own wish to remain free to see other people. However much he missed Kaisa, he didn’t seem worried he might lose her to another man. Kaisa wondered whether she should write a reply, but then, the night before she was due to leave, came a phone call.

  ‘To Stockholm, when?’ Peter said.

  Kaisa told him it was lucky he phoned before she left.

  There was a silence.

  ‘What if I hadn’t called tonight?’ he said. He sounded angry. And tired.

  Kaisa didn’t say anything. She wanted to seem nonchalant, but his pain was hurting her too.

  ‘I was going to write from Stockholm,’ she lied.

  During the overnight crossing Kaisa slept very little. She had a prawn smörgås and an Elefanten beer in the ship’s cafeteria before turning in with a large bar of Marabou chocolate. The taste of her childhood in Sweden.

  Not all the bunks in the free sleeping quarters were taken. During the middle of the night a drunk came wandering into the room and for a moment Kaisa was scared; a large man occupying a bed opposite told him to leave.

  ‘I’ll call the ship’s crew,’ he said.

  As she lay motionless listening to the drunk’s slow but loud departure, Kaisa wondered if she’d always be this poor. Too poor to afford a cabin, like the man opposite her.

  Kaisa’s mother embraced her at the ferry port in Stockholm. ‘Your sister’s at work; she’ll see you tonight, and she said you can stay with her until you find a place of your own.’

  Kaisa relaxed. She wasn’t alone; her family would look after her.

  Sirkka worked at a large hotel
in the middle of the city. One night, a few days after Kaisa had arrived, Sirkka suggested Kaisa meet her after a late shift. ‘The staff go out together after we close; the bars and nightclubs are open till very late in Stockholm.’ Sirkka smiled at Kaisa over her mirror. She was putting on her make-up in the kitchen at a small table that folded out of the wall. The two sisters were sharing a studio flat. Sirkka had a bed in an alcove, and Kaisa slept on a corner sofa that their mother had bought when they all lived in Stockholm. It was worn out but Kaisa didn’t mind. Sharing with her sister was like being teenagers again.

  Sirkka had fled Helsinki three years before Kaisa. Not for money, work or studies, but an unsuitable boyfriend. She was two years older than Kaisa. They’d always been close, and spent their teenage years partying and going out together. Kaisa had missed her in Helsinki.

  ‘Just like old times,’ Sirkka now said, as if reading Kaisa’s mind, and took hold of her arm. She smelled of perfume and her hair was done up in large bouncy blonde curls.

  Kaisa had no money but Sirkka told her not to worry. ‘Pay me back when you get a job,’ she said and laughed. Her job as maître d’hotel paid well.

  Kaisa couldn’t believe how full the bar was at half-past midnight. The music was playing loudly, and all the tables were taken. Her sister waved at a large group at the back of the room. Two empty chairs were found for them. Kaisa was introduced as Little Sister, her name from the old days. After the bar they went to a disco, and for the first time since arriving in Stockholm Kaisa felt like having fun. She danced with several of her sister’s friends, as well as unknown guys who came up and asked her onto the floor. Men in Sweden were so much more approachable than in Helsinki. You could talk to them without instantly being hit on.

  ‘It’s because most of them are gay,’ Sirkka laughed later in her flat. She was making sandwiches. They were listening to a new Rod Stewart LP, Blondes Have More Fun. It was well past 3am. The loud ringing of the phone made them both jump.