by Helena Halme
'It's only Monday, and aren't you going to drive later?' she says absentmindedly to her mother. The words come out louder and more critically than she had intended.
'Oh, not for hours yet. By then the alcohol will have evaporated to nothing. Besides, you're on holiday!' Hilda smiles and lifts up her glass.
Alicia notices that the smile is somewhat strained, so she nods and asks the waiter, who at just that moment stops in front of their table, for a glass of what her mother is drinking. The waiter is a lanky blond boy, with a long white linen apron over his worn-out jeans that makes him loom even larger over the two women. His serious eyes survey Alicia, 'And food, do you want to order food?'
'In a minute, thank you, Nils.'
Hilda gazes at the boy as he leaves them. He says something to his colleague, a pretty girl with a streak of green in her hair, which makes her laugh. He pours Alicia's glass of wine at the bar.
'They just want to take your money in this place. So rude!' Hilda is speaking too loudly, enough for the boy and girl to hear.
When Nils comes back, Hilda orders the Caesar salad, and Alicia does the same.
Their food arrives. Without looking at either of them, or speaking, the waiter places the bowls down harshly, and a bit of Alicia's lettuce falls onto the table.
'Excuse me!" Hilda says loudly, and stares at the boy.
'Oh, sorry,' he says in a way that shows he's not in the least sorry.
'That's Margaret's son, you know,' Hilda whispers when the boy is out of earshot.
Alicia doesn't know who Margaret is, or she has forgotten, so she sighs and begins to eat. A row with a waiter is the last thing she needs. She gazes at her mother, who is keeping a close eye on the two youngsters, who are still laughing and joking together.
'Wasn't that a nice young man?' Hilda says suddenly.
Alicia looks back at the waiter, who's standing very close to the girl. They look like they are together. The place is almost empty; only a few other tables are occupied.
'Yes, very nice,' she replies.
'No, I don't mean that little rascal! I was talking about Patrick!'
'Oh.'
'His father-in-law owns Ålandsbladet.'
'Yes, I know.'
'I bet he could get you a job if you wanted,' Hilda says as she finally begins to pick at her salad.
Alicia stares at her mother, 'What do you mean?'
'On Ålandsbladet.'
Has Alicia heard her mother right? 'I live in London, why would I want a job here?'
Hilda's gaze doesn't leave Alicia's face as she carefully places her fork at the side of the large bowl.
'Now, don't be mad, but I got the feeling Liam didn't leave because of work.'
* * *
To change the subject, Alicia asks about what Patrick told her.
'Somebody broke into the shop?'
Hilda doesn't look at Alicia, but just waves her hand, which is holding a fork. 'Oh that. Just some kids.'
'But they emptied the till?'
'Yes,' her mother replies.
'Was much taken?'
Now Hilda lifts her eyes. 'Well, it's early in the summer season, so the takings were only just under a hundred Euros. But I might have told Patrick the sum was a bit bigger.' Hilda gives Alicia a guilty smile. 'Any publicity is good publicity.'
'Oh mamma!' Alicia is shocked, but she's more worried about the future of mother's business.
'Don't tell Patrick, whatever you do!' Hilda says and grins at Alicia.
'We're not friends, you know. I just happened to see him and Mia on the ferry. And then yesterday, when I was dropping Liam off at the terminal, he was meeting some guests coming to their party.’
At the mention of the Eriksson's Midsummer bash, Hilda's eyes light up and Alicia realizes she's lost the opportunity to ask her more about the shop's finances. It's nothing to do with me anyway, Alicia thinks, and she listens to her mother go on about what they should both wear and how it’s too late to find anything unique.
'You need something nice too,' Hilda says and winks at her daughter. 'I saw how that young man looked at you!'
Alicia's cheeks begin to burn at the thought of Patrick's touch on her palm as he said goodbye that morning.
'Mum!' Alicia says. 'I'm married and so is he!' Alicia turns her head away.
Hilda is quiet for a moment. She must have seen the color on Alicia's face change, but, unusually, she doesn't comment on her daughter's embarrassment. Lowering her voice and placing her hand on Alicia's, she says, 'I know, darling. But a little flirtation never harmed anyone. It might be just what you need.' Alicia turns her eyes toward her mother.
Hilda peers at Alicia over her empty salad bowl. 'And being wanted by someone else might just bring that husband of yours running back to the islands too.'
Thirteen
When Hilda and Alicia get back to the house in Sjoland a few hours later, they find Uffe at home. He's speaking in an urgent tone on the phone, and when Alicia's mother shouts her usual, 'Hellooo' to the house in general, as if everyone inside the house is deaf, Uffe puts his hand up, his palm open in a gesture for her to be quiet.
'What's happened?' Hilda says in a whisper, her eyes wide. She walks to the other side of the kitchen where their landline, with a long cord, is fixed to the wall.
Uffe turns his back on Hilda and nods, dismissing her and listening to the person on the phone. Finally, he places the receiver back on its hook and sighs heavily, shaking his head. Alicia sees that he's close to tears.
'What is it?' both Alicia and Hilda ask in unison.
'One of the boys, you know the Romanians, had an accident.'
'Oh, them.' Hilda says, and begins to unload the shopping bags.
On the way home, they stopped at the grocery store to get more provisions, even though Alicia couldn't see how her mother could possibly fit anything more into the already packed fridge. But she knew better than to protest.
'We do have to eat. Uffe will have the leftovers,' her mother would say whenever Alicia protested about the amount of food Hilda bought. Hilda would look hurt, and an incident like this could trigger a mood change, which Alicia wanted to avoid at all costs. She now thinks that Hilda is shopping as if she had three more mouths to feed, not one. Has she forgotten that Stefan isn't here, would never again be here, and that Liam left the day before?
Uffe sits down on one of the kitchen chairs and lifts her eyes up to Alicia, 'He's only seventeen.' Uffe looks very gray, with his usually red cheeks drained of color and his eyes pale and watery.
Alicia sits opposite him, while Hilda stops unloading the bags for a moment and turns to gaze at her husband.
'I was on the tractor and the boys were lifting the potatoes. The guy, the one who speaks Swedish, told me that the row had been done. I had to reverse to get more room to turn around, and the boy was behind me. I didn't know he was there!'
'Is he alright?' A dread fills Alicia's gut. Her heart is beating so hard that she has to concentrate on breathing in and out. She thinks she might faint.
'His leg, oh my God, his leg.' Uffe stops for a moment, and runs his palm over his face. 'It went under the wheel, and the first thing I knew was a scream and the guy, the Swedish-speaker, waving his arms madly at me. I looked back from the cabin and saw his body lying there.'
Alicia stares at Uffe, then turns to look at her mother. Tears begin to run down her face. 'No!' she screams.
Hearing her yell, Uffe looks up and takes hold of her wrists. 'He has broken his leg, but he's OK. I was just told on the telephone.'
Alicia frees her arms, sits down and puts a hand to her mouth but she can't stop sobbing.
Uffe is still standing in front of Alicia. 'He's fine,' he repeats a little more quietly.
Hilda comes over and hugs her. 'There, there,' her mother says soothingly.
She lays her head on her mother's lap, inhaling her familiar smell of cooking and perfume. If only she was still a child, still living here in Åland, before
she'd given birth and lost a son. From under her mother's arms, which are covering her head, she hears Hilda scold Uffe.
'Look what you've done! You need to think before you speak!'
'But I was upset, it was horrible ...'
'Shush, that's enough from you.'
Hilda lets go of Alicia and hands her a tissue from her pocket. 'I'm sorry you had to hear that. But the boy is OK!'
'Yes,' Alicia manages to say. She blows her nose on the worn-out tissue. She's still concentrating on breathing in and out. The images she carries in her head about the accident have come vividly into her mind. Of Stefan's body lying mangled, covered in blood, his helmet that both she and Liam made him promise to wear, to one side, and his moped, still running and producing oily smoke, lying on its side further away. The policewoman told Liam that Stefan had hit a wall, for no apparent reason, and that he had alcohol in his blood. He'd not strapped his helmet on properly, or had possibly not worn it at all. They couldn't tell. They said it was lucky that when he'd hit the wall between Camden Lock and Chalk Farm Road, no one had been walking on the pavement and no other vehicles were on the road. It had been 9pm, so it was a miracle no one else was hurt. The police couldn't tell Liam why Stefan had slipped; they assumed it was black ice. That November night had been cold and the temperature had dropped to -3°C. Alicia asked Liam over and over whether a lorry, or one of those big 4x4 vehicles, could have nudged him and caused him to lose his balance.
'They have CCTV,' Liam had said, and when Alicia asked if he'd seen it, Liam nodded, with his head hanging, gazing down at the kitchen table, not looking at her. Alicia thought she wanted to see the film too, but Liam persuaded her she shouldn't.
Fourteen
Frida parks her bicycle in front of the low-slung red-brick building. She feels clumsy getting off the bar. She is so fat now that people have started giving her sideways glances. She sighs; she needs to think about the future, but not now.
She glances at her phone but there is no reply from him.
It's a beautiful evening, with just a slight wind rattling the empty flagpoles in front of the old people's home. The grass in the front garden has just been cut and gives off the scent of summer. She hears the horns of the ferries in the distance and glances at her watch. Six o'clock exactly. The ships going from the islands to Finland and Sweden are never late.
Frida hopes she can take her mother out to the small garden at the back to have coffee with the butter buns she's bought from Iwa's Konditori on Torggatan. The old woman gave them to her half-price because she’d known Sirpa when she was younger and working at Hotel Arkipelag. And because Frida lied and said that it was her mother's birthday. It's the end of the month and her funds are running low, mainly because the bastards at the newspaper pay her so little. Besides, Frida is doing Iwa Nygren a favor by buying up the leftovers.
Holding onto the paper bag containing the buns, Frida hesitates for a moment outside the glass doors to De Gamlas Hem. Or Oasis as it is called now. Which is a bloody joke as far as Frida is concerned. Almost as much of a joke as calling the dementia ward where her mother is, Solsidan. The Sunnyside! Frida often wonders if some smart ass had decided it would be funny to name a loony bin for the elderly after the popular Swedish comedy about well-heeled Stockholmare, or if it was just a lame coincidence.
She is tired after a day spent researching useless facts about dog tourism to the islands. A Swedish woman has opened a pet hotel in Mariehamn and one of the permanent reporters got Frida to do all the legwork for a feature about the new business. The place would last three months max, Frida knows this, so it was pointless for the newspaper to spend so much time and effort on the article. Correction, it is pointless for her, Frida to spend time trying to find out how many dogs visit Åland each year. Now Frida's eyes ache and her brain is fried because of all the useless information she has filled it with. All she wants to do after fixing her eyes on the screen of an office pc for eight hours was to go home, fire up her own brand-new Mac and do her own research.
But that would have to wait. First, she had to see her mum. She just hopes she recognizes her today, or failing that, at least is calm and quiet. Perhaps the butter buns will put her in a good mood.
Fifteen
'We must stop meeting like this,' Patrick says. He's wearing the same soft suede jacket, this time over a white polo shirt, with the collar up over his neck. His dark brown leather messenger bag is slung across his broad chest.
Alicia is standing in the open-plan office of Ålandsbladet with a woman from personnel, Birgit Sundstrand. She's just been interviewed for a job at the paper, and to her great amazement, has been offered a post as a part-time reporter. The gray-haired woman with half-moon glasses was so impressed by her CV, and especially her work at the Financial Times, that she immediately asked Alicia when she could start.
'Today, if you wish!' Alicia replied and the woman smiled, revealing pale yellow teeth with red lipstick marks all over them. Alicia wanted to tell her about the smears, but the woman stood up to shake Alicia's hand before she had a chance.
'I'll email a contract this afternoon. Come and meet everyone!'
The job title, 'Financial Correspondent', is rather grand. It's been open for a while now, Birgit told her, 'waiting for the perfect candidate.' Alicia is still in shock; she only popped into the offices of the one and only newspaper on the islands to see if they had anything for her, anything at all. She has decided to stay on the islands for the summer, perhaps until the end of August, and she needs something to get her out of Hilda and Uffe's way. Besides, she knows her mother will soon start to say how Patrick, and Mia's father, Mr Åland, could get a her a position somewhere in their vast empire. But she wants to get a job on her own merits.
Today, she really didn't think her visit to the paper's offices would get her anywhere. She simply wanted to be able to tell her mother that she had tried. She imagined that a promise to look at her ideas would be the most they would offer, and perhaps the possibility of printing a few articles in the future. Alicia didn't in her wildest dreams imagine she would get a job–even a part-time post.
'You can decide on your hours yourself, all we require is that you turn in an article each week, and a feature once a month. All subjects have to be passed by the editor. I'll introduce you to him now.' Birgit spoke rapidly while walking down the steps. At the bottom of the stairs, at a set of glass doors, she stopped and turned to face Alicia, 'Is that alright?'
Alicia nodded, 'Yes, of course.' She was still trying to get used to the idea of working on Ålandsbladet but tried not to show it. She wanted to come across as dynamic and enthusiastic, two of the adjectives she uses to describe herself in her CV, even though she can't remember when she last fulfilled either of those traits.
'Oh, you've met?' Birgit now says. Addressing Patrick, she adds, 'What are you doing here?'
'That's a nice welcome,' Patrick says to the woman while his eyes are on Alicia, who tries hard to keep her professional composure. There's a definite atmosphere between her and the Swedish reporter.
'I was interviewing Alicia's mother last week. About the break-in.' Patrick moves his eyes from Alicia to Birgit.
'Ah, OK,' Birgit says, looking at Patrick and Alicia in turn.
'So why are you here?' Patrick says.
'I ...'
'She's our new Financial Correspondent. Part-time,' Birgit interrupts her, straining her neck toward the end of the large room, which is filled with desks divided by bright blue partition screens. Most of the work stations are unoccupied, Alicia notices, but following Birgit's gaze, she sees an office in the far corner of the room, separated from the main open-plan room by a glass partition. Inside there's a large desk and a couple of tall house plants. A high-backed leather chair is pushed away from the desk, empty.
'I wanted you to meet the editor, but he seems to have popped out.' Birgit glances at her watch, making Alicia do the same. It's 11.15am. Alicia realizes she's been with the personnel manager
for just over 30 minutes and she is already a fully-fledged employee of the company.
'Well, well. Congratulations,' Patrick says and reaches his hand out to Alicia. She takes it and once again his touch sends currents through her body.
Pull yourself together.
Patrick sits himself on the edge of a desk, and nods toward the glass box at the end of the room. 'Came to see the old man but he's disappeared.'
Birgit's half-moon glasses move toward Patrick, and suddenly her face brightens.
'Alicia, why don't you tag along with Patrick? He can tell you more about this place at the same time You don't mind, do you, Patrick?'
He looks at the personnel manager, and then smiles at Alicia, revealing his white teeth.
'It'll be my pleasure.'
* * *
'What are you working on?' Alicia asks Patrick as soon as they step outside the modern building and the bright sunshine hits their faces. 'Apart from a little break-in at my mother's shop.'
They are standing on the pavement outside the Ålandsbladet offices. Patrick rests his hands on his hips, the strap of the leather bag cutting into his wide chest.
'I'm off to lunch.' Patrick says, not answering Alicia's question. 'You want to join me?'
Alicia stares at the man in front of her. He's attractive, she can't pretend otherwise. His blond hair and blue, flirtatious eyes are difficult to look at without smiling.
Alicia tries not to smile in appreciation and keeps her eyes serious.
'Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't realize. When Birgit said I should come along with you I imagined you were going to cover a story.'