‘Antti, come on,’ Sophia giggles, giving him a tiny shove in the chest.
Calle wonders what Vincent actually said to him. Does Antti know what happened? Is he poking fun at him? Are the other people looking at him weirdly? But no. He is being paranoid. Why would Vincent have said anything? And besides, if Antti knew what had happened, he wouldn’t have been able to bite his tongue.
‘Don’t you want to go to the club and party with us?’ Sophia says. ‘They’re stricter about mingling with the passengers now, but Andreas is the general manager tonight and he won’t make a fuss about it.’
Calle shakes his head. ‘It would have been nice, but …’
‘What are you doing up here anyway?’ Antti cuts in.
‘I was just picking something up for Filip.’
Sophia opens her mouth to say something.
‘But we might swing by later,’ Calle quickly adds before she has a chance to offer to wait until he has fetched the something, ask what this something is.
‘Brilliant,’ Sophia says. ‘You have to have a proper celebration tonight. I’ll buy you bubbly. Promise you’ll come, promise.’
‘I promise,’ Calle says.
‘Good seeing you,’ Antti says without even trying to look like he means it.
Sophia gives Calle a peck on the cheek and he squeezes the last ounce of strength out of the muscles holding his smile in place, somehow managing a polite nod. He moves to Filip’s door like a sleepwalker. Closes it behind him as soon as he is inside.
He takes in the familiar scene. The blue vinyl floor. The unmade bed. The wardrobe. The little desk with the mirror above it. The darkness that moves almost imperceptibly outside the window. It has started raining again.
There is a bottle of vodka on the desk. He goes over to it, studies the photographs stuck into the frame of the mirror and spots a younger version of himself. The picture was taken at his leaving do in a conference room on deck ten. Pia is laughing hard in the background. Calle stares at his younger self, touched and surprised that Filip has the picture up. He lets his eyes rove across the other pictures, recognising the girl behind the bar in several of them, and the singer who was performing down at Starlight.
Calle grabs the vodka bottle. Lies down on the bed. Listens to the soft patter of rain against the window. Unscrews the top. He is not leaving this cabin until they are back in Stockholm.
Albin
‘Check out that drunken old bat,’ Lo says, pointing to the TV screen. ‘She’s going to pass out any minute now.’
They are on the bed in Lo and Linda’s room, watching Club Charisma’s dance floor. It is packed, bodies jostling against other bodies. Albin scans the screen until he finds the person Lo is talking about. A blonde woman is being pushed this way and that. Albin can’t make out the details of her face, but it is clear she is only semi-conscious.
It is past midnight. Dad still hasn’t come by to make sure he and Lo are in bed.
‘Her name is Anneli and she is a hairdresser,’ he says.
‘Right,’ Lo says. ‘Her salon is called Curl Up and Dye.’
Albin shoves a fistful of liquorice in his mouth to stifle a laugh. Keeping a straight face has become the name of the game.
‘Anneli’s number one advice is to go on a booze cruise,’ he says.
‘Number one,’ Lo agrees.
It makes him warm inside. He is starting to speak her language now, and it is as though they are creating a bubble around themselves when they use it.
‘Anneli never wants to go back home,’ he says.
‘Right, because she has the most boring husband ever, who eats his own earwax when no one’s looking.’
‘Heartbreaking,’ Albin says, biting his cheek. ‘Poor Anneli.’
‘Nothing heartbreaking at all about Anneli,’ Lo says. ‘She’s having the time of her life.’
Suddenly, the woman’s head disappears. She has finally collapsed. People around her turn. A few kneel next to her, others keep on dancing.
‘Anneli’s just having a bit of shut-eye,’ Albin says. ‘The floor is so soft and comfy.’
Two security officers are making their way through the sea of people.
‘Can’t they just leave Anneli be?’ Lo says, pretending to be upset.
The officers pick the woman up. Her body is far too limp, like there are no joints holding her bones together.
‘I hope they don’t wake her,’ Lo says, and fumbles about for the remote control.
She changes the channel to the other dance floor, where a woman in a red dress is singing on stage in front of a red curtain. Albin wonders what she sounds like and if she is beautiful. The stage lighting is so strong her face looks almost scratched out on the screen.
A lot of couples are dancing in front of the stage. Men with women, women with women. He is getting sleepy, but he doesn’t want to doze off and miss out on even a minute with Lo.
‘Ew, gross!’ she shrieks, so suddenly Albin almost drops his plastic tub of liquorice on the floor.
She changes channels again.
‘What happened?’ he says.
Lo whimpers. ‘I saw Mum! With a hideous guy wearing the world’s most heartbreaking jacket!’
‘Can I see?’ Albin asks, reaching for the remote.
‘No!’ Lo yells, and turns on her side, rolling up to protect the remote with her entire body.
‘Please.’
‘No way.’
‘Come oooon! I want to see your new daddy!’
‘Cut it out!’ Lo screams.
But there is laughter in her voice too. Albin climbs on top of her. She squeals while he tries to pry her fingers off the remote.
The door to the cabin slams open; panic jolts through Albin. When he turns around, his dad is in the doorway, swaying gently on his feet. The corridor behind him is brightly lit.
Albin climbs off Lo. Sits down cross-legged on the other side of the bed. The room is suddenly too hot.
Leave, he pleads inwardly. Please, leave.
‘Am I interrupting?’ His dad’s voice is thick and coming from the back of his throat, as though he is slowly suffocating. Lo sits up on the bed.
‘No, of course not,’ she says, and runs her fingers through her ponytail.
His dad enters, closing the door behind him. The cabin gets darker. He moves slowly across the floor. Grunts when he collapses on the edge of the bed next to Albin, way too close.
‘I just wanted to check on you before turning in myself,’ he says.
His tongue sounds thick and numb, as if he has been given a local anaesthetic.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Albin says.
‘Still out with Linda.’
Albin thinks about his mum in her wheelchair. What is she doing while Linda is dancing with some bloke in an ugly jacket? Do people talk to her, or is she by herself? Would she be able to get back to their cabin on her own if she wanted to?
He can easily picture her, the way she gets when she is nervous in public. The forced smile. The eyes that dart around without really seeing anything at all, like she wants to signal that she is a part of what is going on, just like everyone else, that she is no different from other people.
His mum, who tells him that she has stopped dreaming that she can fly, the way Albin so often does. Now she dreams that she can run instead. To her, that is just as unattainable. So then how must it feel to be surrounded by dancing people?
Suddenly he wants nothing more than to find her and hug her, hard.
‘It’s great to see you getting on so well,’ his dad says, patting Albin’s leg. ‘Family’s important.’
He turns to Lo. His eyes are shiny in the glare from the telly.
Leave, Albin thinks. Please, please, Dad. Leave.
‘Linda and I promised one another that our children were never going to feel unloved. Children need to know that they are loved unconditionally.’
He reaches across Albin and strokes Lo’s cheek. Albin can tell she wants to pull away. H
ow can his dad not notice?
‘I love you too, Lo. Almost as if you were my own child. I want you to know that.’
She gives him a stiff smile. Wraps her arms around her legs.
‘Goodnight, Dad,’ Albin says, but he doesn’t seem to hear.
Even his blinking is in slow motion.
‘You should always look out for one another,’ he says. ‘Promise me.’
‘We promise,’ Albin says, and Lo nods.
‘No!’ his dad says, sounding angry all of a sudden. ‘You have to goddamn promise so I can tell you mean it! Don’t be such fucking sissies! A person needs to know they can rely on their family!’
Lo presses herself against the headboard. Having been preoccupied with feeling ashamed of his dad, it is only now that it dawns on Albin that Lo is scared.
‘We promise,’ Albin quickly puts in again, scooching down to the foot of the bed and standing up. ‘Now you should go to bed, Dad. You look tired.’
If only he was brave enough to tell his dad the truth: that he is a disgusting, messy drunk. The rage inside Albin is so strong something is bound to snap soon.
His dad turns his head towards him. His stubble is like little black dots against his pale skin.
‘Yes, I am tired,’ he mutters. ‘I’m so fucking tired of all this crap. I try and try, but … everything turns out wrong, no matter what I do.’ He gets to his feet, staggers, almost falls back on the bed. But he rights himself. ‘I’ll be going so you don’t have to be embarrassed,’ he says, and looks at Albin.
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Albin replies automatically.
Except it was. It was exactly what he meant. But his dad is on the verge of turning into Crying Daddy now. And that dad never wants to leave.
‘I thought we were going to spend some real time together – that that was the point of this cruise – but apparently no one’s interested. You couldn’t pretend for even a lousy twenty-four hours.’ He chuckles and shakes his head. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he says.
But he doesn’t move from where he is standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily through his nose.
‘Goodnight, Mårten,’ Lo says quietly.
‘Goodnight, sweetheart,’ his dad replies.
Finally, he walks across to Albin and kisses him on the forehead. His stubble scratches Albin’s nose. ‘I’m not such a bad dad, am I? Or should we have left you in Vietnam, do you think?’
Albin can tell that Lo is shocked, but it is not the first time his dad has said something like that.
‘No, of course not,’ Albin says. ‘Goodnight.’
They quietly watch as his dad finally leaves. Hear him enter the cabin next door. His shoes thud against the wall when he kicks them off. And then, faint whimpering. His dad is crying on the other side.
What if he comes back?
Albin is standing stock-still, feeling Lo’s eyes on him. He doesn’t know what to do now. Can’t look Lo in the eye. Can’t go into the other cabin, where dad is. Can’t escape out into the ship, where unaccompanied children are not allowed this late.
‘Are you okay?’ Lo says.
‘Yes,’ Albin replies, and sits back down.
He stares fixedly at the TV. His ears are straining.
‘You can stay here tonight if you want,’ Lo tells him.
‘Okay.’
Lo puts a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t want her to feel sorry for him. He just wants Lo to comment on someone on the dance floor, for everything to be like it was before his dad stopped by.
More thudding from next door. The toilet flushes.
‘Hey,’ Lo says.
‘Mm.’
‘If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell your parents?’
Albin finally looks at her. Nods.
‘Promise,’ she says, her eyes narrowing.
‘I promise.’
‘Mum thinks Mårten is borderline. And that Grandma was too.’
Albin swallows hard. He had been hoping Lo would tell him something about her, something that would get them talking about anything other than his dad.
‘What do you mean borderline?’ he says. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s like a mental illness.’
Albin freezes. If he doesn’t move, maybe time will stop, and the rest of this conversation will never happen.
‘She talked to some people at the hospital where she used to work,’ Lo continues.
‘Dad is not borderline.’
‘You don’t even know what it is.’
Albin can’t think of anything to counter that.
‘She looked it up online as well. There were loads of symptoms that matched what Mårten is like.’
Linda talks to people about his dad. She talks about the things Albin has never talked to anyone about, not even his mum.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lo says. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I just figured it would be easier to know …’
‘Dad gets sad sometimes, but there’s nothing wrong with him.’ Albin cuts her off. ‘He’s had a hard time since Grandma died.’
‘He was weird well before that. It’s just that you were too little to get it, or that you don’t remember it …’
‘And you’re saying you do?’
‘No,’ Lo says, ‘but Mum’s told me he was always the same, even though it seems to be getting worse and worse now.’
She is wrong. She has to be.
‘Linda doesn’t know anything about Dad. We haven’t even seen you in more than a year.’
‘It’s actually the other way around,’ Lo says. ‘Mum knows exactly what he’s like. That’s why we haven’t seen you. She can’t deal with him any more.’
Albin realises the next-door cabin has gone quiet. What if his dad can hear them? What would he do?
He would barge in here, shouting, accusing Lo of trying to turn Albin against him, the way he accuses Albin’s mum of doing exactly that. He would shout and shout and no one would be able to get through to him and Lo would refuse to ever see Albin again.
‘Mårten calls our house in the middle of the night when he’s been drinking,’ Lo says. ‘Sometimes he calls to yell at Mum and sometimes he says he’s going to kill himself.’
Albin can’t speak. There are no words in him.
But I would never do it at home so you or Mum would have to find me, I promise.
It’s not your fault if I do it, never think that. You’re the best thing in my life. I just can’t take it any more.
‘Mum doesn’t think he’s going to do it,’ Lo adds quickly, ‘but it’s really hard for her when he calls. And it must be a thousand times worse for you and Cilla, who live with him.’
Her hand squeezes his shoulder. Her touch feels very distant. He has imploded into a tiny dot deep inside his body.
‘That’s why we moved to Eskilstuna,’ she says. ‘So at least all he can do is call. Before, he used to come to our house at night. Sometimes she refused to let him in, but then he would call her friends and tell them she’s a fake who doesn’t deserve to have friends because she doesn’t even care about her own brother. And Mum is such a fucking coward she’s never going to say anything; we moved so she wouldn’t have to confront him.’
Lo makes his dad sound completely insane.
Is he insane?
And how long has Lo known?
Nothing makes sense any more. All the pieces are in all the wrong places.
He has to get out of here. He has to get away from this cabin, away from Lo, away from the wall with his dad on the other side.
‘You don’t know anything,’ he says. ‘You might think you do just because you and Linda have been gossiping, but you don’t know what it’s like.’
‘Where are you going?’ Lo asks when he starts moving towards the door.
‘To find Mum,’ he says.
‘Don’t tell Cilla. Please. I promised Mum I wouldn’t tell you.’
He doesn’t answer, opens the door to the hallway.
Madde
Being asleep is so comfy. That hand shaking her shoulder gently, it is being unfair. She tries to ignore it, sink back into the depths of sleep, but the hand is stubborn.
Now she is becoming aware of the music too. Somebody is singing about Sweet Home Alabama. And a voice next to her ear is telling her: ‘You have to wake up now.’
Madde grudgingly opens her eyes to see a woman with dark hair pulled into a topknot. And, behind her, a pretty fit guy who is smiling. She vaguely recognises them. They are both wearing uniforms.
‘You can’t sleep here,’ the woman says.
Madde blinks her eyes several times. Glances down at her lap. A shot glass is nestled in her limp hand. Drops of sugary booze have spilled out across her fingers and thighs.
The room is packed, but her table is empty. Everyone has left. And the girl singing on stage is failing to hit every single note.
Everything is so slow in Madde’s head. She can only deal with one impression at a time. Her tongue tastes bad, and when she pulls it across her front teeth she can feel the gunk on them, thick as a felt rug.
‘I’m not sleeping,’ she says. ‘I was just resting my eyes.’
‘I see,’ the woman says, exchanging an amused look with her colleague.
Madde should be angry with her for that look, but she just can’t be. The woman looks far too kind.
‘Maybe you should go and rest in your cabin instead,’ the man says.
‘No,’ Madde replies, ‘it’s fine. I’m wide awake now.’
‘Come on,’ the woman says. ‘We’ll walk you there and make sure you get into bed properly. Wouldn’t it feel good to lie down instead?’
It would, actually. Madde doesn’t have it in her to fight them.
‘I just wanted to have a good time,’ she says. ‘Look, I put gold on my tits. Proper party tits. Right?’
The man nods, looking embarrassed. Madde bursts out laughing and the kind woman laughs too.
‘Do you think you can make it there?’
‘Of course I can,’ Madde says, and stands up. She tries to put the shot glass down, but it’s stuck to her fingers and she starts laughing again, shaking her hand about until the glass comes off. She almost falls over, but the male security guard is there immediately, holding her upright.
Blood Cruise Page 16