by Helena Halme
As time passed, Kaisa began to feel angry. Why was he late this time of all times? On the telephone from Stockholm, she’d told him about the awful goodbye with her father, and everything else she’d endured before leaving Finland. Surely he must have known how important this time was for Kaisa? She imagined how delighted her father would be to see his stroppy daughter now. ‘I told you, foreigners can’t be trusted,’ he’d say. Next, standing there in the middle of the station concourse, feeling shabby and foreign, blocking the way of the people hurrying past her, Kaisa pictured the satisfied face of Matti, her ex-fiancé. ‘See, he’s left you in the lurch, just as I told you he would.’
Kaisa took a deep breath.
She saw a row of plastic seats by the side of the stairs and made her way to them. She sat down opposite the station clock and looked up at it. She dug a packet of Silk Cut out of the Marimekko bag and lit a cigarette. She decided to stay calm and wait until two o’clock. That was over an hour from now. If Peter hadn’t turned up by then she’d take a taxi to the nearest hotel and take a room for the night. Kaisa had just about enough money for that. She tried to convince herself that it wouldn’t come to that. Any minute now Peter would appear in the centre of the station concourse, look around, spot Kaisa, run to her, and fling his arms around her, apologising profusely.
But Peter was nowhere to be seen.
Twenty-Four
Kaisa sat and waited on the orange plastic seat at Liverpool Street Station for over three hours. It was a chilly February day, and as the light began to fade in the late afternoon, she finally saw a tall man running through the throng of people, dodging an old woman pulling a large suitcase, and several men in smart suits carrying small black briefcases.
‘God, I’m so sorry!’ Peter was panting. He took Kaisa into his arms. ‘I was afraid you’d gone.’
‘I have nowhere to go,’ she said. Now the tears she’d been holding back for several lonely hours began to roll down her face. Kaisa wiped them away, trying not to smudge the mascara. She took in his smell and rested her head on his shoulders. They kissed.
‘You poor darling,’ Peter said and took Kaisa’s face into his hands. He kissed her again and hugged her for a long time. ‘You’re safe now,’ he said. Kaisa let her body relax in Peter’s arms.
Peter explained how he’d been waiting at Waterloo. After an hour he had enquired about the trains from Harwich and to his horror realised Kaisa’s was arriving at Liverpool Street instead. ‘The traffic was awful and I couldn’t find a parking space anywhere,’ he said, as he lugged her heavy suitcase down the busy street outside. It was already dark and Kaisa realised it must be rush hour. ‘It’s a bit of a hike,’ Peter said, taking Kaisa’s arm.
‘Are you OK?’ Peter said, as they walked along one narrow street after another. He looked so miserable, Kaisa couldn’t be angry with him, even if she wanted to. The warmth of his fingers around her cold hand was such a sweet sensation, she didn’t care about anything else. ‘I’m fine,’ Kaisa said and smiled in spite of herself.
* * *
They spent the ten days together, just the two of them, in the little house in Southsea. Peter’s friend, Jeff, who owned the place, was still in Ireland, and a new tenant wasn’t due to come in until later.
‘It will be nice for you not to be all alone here,’ Peter said.
Kaisa’s new companion was another Navy friend, whom she’d met only once before, but remembered as a well-spoken and well-mannered guy. ‘James’s father was an admiral,’ Peter said. James had been with the Australian navy for the past three months and needed somewhere to live in Portsmouth while on a course at the base. ‘He’s a skimmer, but alright.’ Peter said.
‘But Jeff is a skimmer!’ Kaisa laughed.
Peter kissed her. ‘You’ll make a good submariner’s wife yet.’
She threw a pillow at him. They were sitting in bed on the Sunday morning. James, the admiral’s son, was due to arrive that evening and Peter was going back to Naples early the following day. Kaisa was trying not to think about having to say goodbye to him again so soon.
* * *
‘How do you do?’ James said when Kaisa opened the door to him. He shook Kaisa’s hand timidly and didn’t take off his coat nor put his bag down until Peter noticed him standing awkwardly in the cold, dark hallway. ‘Come in and make yourself comfortable!’ he said. As they sat in the living room Kaisa suddenly noticed how shabby the house in Southsea was. James in his crisp, well-pressed navy trousers, striped shirt and cashmere jumper looked far too tidy to perch on the lumpy three-piece suite Jeff had inherited from his parents. Apart from the old furniture in the front room, there was a TV on a cardboard box in the corner, a record player with two large speakers either side, and no coffee table. That explained the stains on the worn-out mustard-coloured carpet around the sofa.
In spite of its appearance, it was a happy house. People came and went, and everyone renting a room there was immediately taken into the ever-expanding group of Peter’s friends. It was as if being in the Navy, or being the girlfriend of a Navy man, allowed entrance to an exclusive club, one that those outside the services weren’t allowed to join.
However correct and formal the new recruit to the Southsea house gang was, Kaisa appreciated his presence. As she waved Peter goodbye at the train station the next morning, and took the bus home, she was glad she’d not be alone in the little terraced house.
Kaisa spent most of her first months in England studying for the final exams she was to take at the Finnish Embassy in Chelsea. Before Peter left Southsea for Naples, he’d set up a small office for Kaisa in the unoccupied middle bedroom. They’d found an old trestle table in the lean-to conservatory at the back of the house, which Kaisa wiped clean and then set all her books and papers on, as well as the old typewriter she’d lugged with her all the way from Finland.
Now sitting at the rickety table, Kaisa gazed at the neighbour’s garden beyond their narrow one. The house opposite looked identical and was occupied by a young family, the mother always at home. Kaisa often saw her during the day, washing dishes at the kitchen sink, or hoovering in the living room. She usually wore a skirt and a blouse, but never looked up. Kaisa guessed she was too busy to worry about her neighbours.
Kaisa wondered if her life was going to be like that a few years after she’d been married. Sometimes she even daydreamed about having Peter’s children, then, horrified at herself, turned back to her exam revision.
The new lodger, James, was rarely at home; he spent his days as well as many evenings at the base in Portsmouth. Occasionally he’d come back to his rented room early in the afternoon and offer Kaisa a cup of tea, which she accepted. Kaisa had decided to start drinking tea, even though the smell of the milky drink made her wince. During the three times she’d stayed with Peter’s parents in the country, Kaisa found she couldn’t consume as many cups of coffee a day as the English did tea. Besides, she wanted to surprise Peter when he returned with her new, very British habit.
One evening in early March James got back from his course before Kaisa had gone to bed. She’d stayed up, hoping for a call from Peter. It had been three days since they’d last spoken and Kaisa was dying to talk to him. As usual, James made them both a cup of tea, then perched on the worn-out sofa next to Kaisa. After talking about the weather – it had been raining every day that week – he finished his tea and fiddled with his empty glass mug. He glanced at his watch and yawned. ‘Guess it’s time to turn in,’ he said but didn’t move. It was past midnight.
Kaisa picked up her half-drunk tea and his empty mug and took them to the kitchen.
‘Right,’ James said and half rose from the sofa.
‘Goodnight,’ Kaisa said, and she started to walk up the narrow stairs.
Kaisa heard him cough and turned her head towards the living room. ‘Hmm, if you don’t mind, I was going to make a phone call...’
‘OK,’ Kaisa said.
‘You’re not expecting...?’
&
nbsp; ‘No, I don’t think he’ll phone tonight.’
‘In that case,’ James lifted his eyes to her. ‘It’s long-distance...a girl I met in Australia.’
‘Ah,’ Kaisa said and smiled. She felt like an old, experienced woman. As she lay in bed, trying not to listen to the muffled telephone conversation below her, Kaisa thought how far Peter and she had come. From meeting at the British Embassy four years before, to walking down the aisle together in less then three months’ time. Kaisa thought about all the happy and tearful phone calls they’d had; the heart-breaking goodbyes and the blissful reunions; the many misunderstandings and then the realisation that they couldn’t live without one another. Kaisa’s stomach tightened when she thought about the wedding. She could hardly believe it was going to happen.
But the invitations had been sent. The English guests had all replied; there were going to be ten of them. They had even bought their flights, and Sirkka had booked the hotel in Tampere. Kaisa’s flight back, two weeks before the wedding, was booked, as was Peter’s. He was to fly with the guests a few days before the ceremony. All he had to do was to get a Certificate of Non-Impediment so that he could marry in Finland. All Kaisa had left to do was find a suitable silk tulle fabric for her dress and send it on to her dressmaker friend. Kaisa had planned to do that after her first exam in London. She knew exactly what she wanted to buy and had the addresses of three shops that sold fabrics near Oxford Street.
Before he left, Peter had given Kaisa a map of London and told her how to take the Tube from Waterloo Station to Sloane Square. Being alone in London was scary but exhilarating. Kaisa followed Peter’s directions and found the right line and the right stop on the Tube. Emerging from the dark tunnels, carrying her black leather briefcase and dressed in a sombre black suit, Kaisa left the station and walked fast in what she thought was the direction of Chesham Place. It was around noon on a Tuesday in mid-March. She tried to match the steps of the people rushing around her, wanting to pretend that she, too, was part of the hub of the city. Kaisa didn’t want to appear a tourist and avoided looking at the map.
The Finnish Embassy turned out to be just beyond a large green park, fenced off with freshly painted wrought-iron railings. There was a sign that read ‘Private’; Kaisa presumed the right to use the park belonged to the owners of a long row of white stucco-fronted houses. They had tall windows draped with heavy curtains. Along this wide street there were fewer people about, so Kaisa slowed her pace and at last dared to look at her map. She was very close, and turning a corner she saw the Finnish flag.
Kaisa travelled to London five times in all during March and April. The embassy staff got to know her and Kaisa got to know the front room with a small desk where she spent three hours each time, writing down her answers. The exams always came in a sealed envelope. When she pulled out the exam papers from the brown envelope, the same Finnish lady would stand by Kaisa. She had brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses. Her make-up was always quite heavy but carefully applied. Even when the weather got warmer in April, she still wore the same tweed skirt and white blouse, often with a blue-and-white silk scarf tied loosely around her neck. When she closed the door and left Kaisa alone, she’d say, ‘Good luck, see you later.’
On Kaisa’s last visit in late April 1984, when she was ready to go, the lady with the tweed skirt said, ‘It’s our staff sauna night, perhaps you’d like to stay?’ She told Kaisa how one of the previous ambassadors had built a Finnish sauna in the basement, and that evening was the regular bathing night for the female employees. They had one once or twice a month, if the Ambassador wasn’t entertaining. Kaisa had not brought a towel, nor a change of clothing, but they said they had some things for guests, so Kaisa spent an hour or so alone in the dimly lit basement where a wood cladded sauna stood. The smell inside the sauna of pine and soap, and the heat on her skin as the löyly water hit the hot stones made her suddenly very homesick. When she left, the secretary hugged Kaisa and made her promise to come and say hello to her when she needed to apply for a new passport.
Usually when Kaisa left the Finnish Embassy she felt tired but glad that another exam was over. She was in a hurry to get away, whether it was to go shopping on King’s Road, or to take the train back to Southsea. Feeling fresh and relaxed from the sauna, Kaisa was now reluctant to leave. It was as if another tie to her mother country was being severed. Even though the embassy would always be there, Kaisa knew it wouldn’t be the same to come back as an ordinary expatriate to renew a passport. She’d never again be offered a sauna, or sit in that little room, officially a part of Finland, feverishly writing, straining to remember anything she’d learned at the temporary desk in the little house in Southsea.
On that last exam day, the sun was shining. As Kaisa hurried to catch the next train from Waterloo, she remembered she was to meet the naval padre the following day. Her new life as a naval wife was getting closer, so there was no point in mourning the old one. The padre was to issue a Certificate of Non-Impediment to Peter, the final piece of red tape they needed for the wedding to go ahead.
The padre wore a dark suit with a white dog collar. He was a tall man and his dark form loomed large over the front door of the terraced house. He offered Kaisa his hand and held onto her palm for so long she felt trapped by his grasp. But he continued gazing into Kaisa’s eyes and smiling, until she pulled her hand away.
‘And how may I help you, dear?’ he asked, after Kaisa had made him a cup of tea. They were sitting facing each other on the sofa in the front room.
‘I am from Finland. My English fiancé, a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and I are getting married there next month. He said you can issue him with a Certificate of Non-Impediment.’
‘Ah,’ the padre said, and he drank his last drops of tea. For a moment he looked for a table on which to place his empty cup and saucer, and then put it carefully down on the floor. He crossed his hands and said, ‘There may be a little problem with that.’
‘A problem?’
‘Well...what is the date of the happy occasion?’
Kaisa told him they’d be married the first Saturday in June, in just under five weeks’ time.
‘Hmm...well, oh dear. You see, I don’t issue these certificates. What happens in England – this may be the same in Norway –’
‘Finland,’ Kaisa interrupted him. She was getting a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.
‘Of course, yes, Finland.’ He gave Kaisa a sheepish look and smiled. She noticed the expression in his eyes did not change when his lips moved. He reached his hand across and touched Kaisa’s knee. ‘For your fiancé to get a Certificate of Non-Impediment he needs to have the bands read in his home parish.’
‘Yes?’
‘Has he had his banns read?
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Well, then he needs to do that. But it takes six weeks.’
Kaisa stared at the padre. She held her breath.
The padre squeezed Kaisa’s knee harder. She pulled her leg away. The padre placed his hands carefully on his lap; not looking at Kaisa, he said, ‘Can you perhaps change the date of the wedding?’
Kaisa thought how much her sister had organised for the day. How all the English guests had bought their expensive flight tickets. How Peter’s mother and godmother had already bought their outfits and matching hats. How the Cathedral in Tampere had been booked, how the hotel for the reception had been reserved, how the menu had been decided. ‘No...’ she said.
‘I understand, dear,’ the padre said, but the expression on his face remained unchanged.
Kaisa knew she needed to say something but her mind was suddenly blank. She couldn’t think at all. Did this mean they couldn’t get married? The pastor in Tampere had said that without this certificate he couldn’t marry them. Kaisa had never heard of any ‘bands’.
‘The purpose of the banns being read in the groom’s home parish is to establish that he’s not been married before...’ the padre hesitated when he saw Kaisa
’s face, ‘which I’m sure he hasn’t been, of course, but when a young man marries abroad the foreign – or in this case the Fi...Fin...’
‘Finnish.’
‘Ah, yes, the Finnish church has to be certain that he is not committing a crime.’
‘But...’ Kaisa was staring at this vision of the devil in a clergyman’s clothes. What the hell was he telling her?
‘We don’t have six weeks.’
‘Well, no,’ the padre said and went for Kaisa’s knee again.
Kaisa moved her leg away just in time.
The padre coughed. ‘What you could do is have a civil ceremony here in England, at a registry office,’ he pronounced the last two words carefully as if Kaisa was half-witted, ‘and then have a blessing in the church abroad. The wording of the ceremony is almost the same, and in the eyes of God you’ll still be married in the Church in...hmm...your country.’ The padre gave Kaisa another of his half-cocked smiles. ‘I have the telephone number here somewhere.’ He rummaged in his worn-looking leather satchel.
After the padre had left, Kaisa immediately went over to the beige-coloured telephone under the stairs and dialled the number for Portsmouth Registry Office.
The friendly man who answered the phone listened to Kaisa’s rambling explanation of the situation. How her fiancé was in the Navy and stationed abroad, how moments ago she’d only just found out that the wedding they’d planned for months may not happen, and how the only solution the naval padre had suggested was to have a civil ceremony in England and a blessing in the church in Finland. Occasionally he said, ‘Oh dear,’ or ‘I understand,’ or ‘Yes, yes.’ When Kaisa finally finished the tale, he said, ‘So would you like me to have a look in the diary to see what dates we have before the 2nd of June?’