‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ Irma wailed, still laughing. ‘At least no one can say our lives are boring!’
‘Did you wet yourself?’
‘I did now!’ Irma squealed, starting over again from her high, tinkling chime. Siiri was laughing too, even though she wasn’t sure there was much to laugh about. But at least Irma knew how to have fun.
‘Döden, döden, döden,’ Irma said huskily and sighed. ‘Well, I have to say, this is one convenient remodel. A couple of sharp blows to the bathroom wall, and whoops, a studio and a one-bedroom are suddenly one big flat. We’re flatmates now, don’t you see? We don’t have to look for our keys for half an hour to pop over for a cup of coffee.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Siiri said, considering the possibilities presented by the new circumstances. ‘And when you use the bathroom, I’ll be able to hear everything in my kitchen.’ Irma squealed in delight and started laughing again. Siiri rose to dress. All the signs were that it was going to be a busy day, and she had no intention of receiving any more visitors in her nightshirt and bathrobe.
After waiting for what seemed like an eternity for the cursing sledgehammerer to return, as they were certain he’d promised to do, they grew restless. Irma wanted a glass of red wine, and Siiri wanted to go down to the office to see if anyone intended to do anything about the hole in her wall.
They collected their bits and bobs, which, in this case, meant their handbags and keys, and made for the stairs, having blissfully forgotten that it was still only a quarter to seven in the morning.
Chapter 2
The lobby at Sunset Grove was a seething hive of activity. The fluorescent lamps glared brightly, as no sunlight could penetrate the building. A crowd of elderly residents, each more disoriented than the last, shuffled through the stale air to the sounds of banging and drilling. Some, like Irma and Siiri, were dressed appropriately – if you didn’t count Irma’s ridiculous rubber shoes, that is – but many had sallied forth in their nightshirts. No one knew what time it was, or what season, or why they were there. Director Sinikka Sundström had not shown up for work yet, and the task of calming the restless residents fell to the young nurse who had worked the night shift and the Filipina foot masseuse, Elelibeth Bandong.
‘Is the Soviet Union attacking?’ a hunchbacked old man asked Irma and Siiri. He was the one who had moved into the fat lady’s apartment over a year ago: he wore a flat cap, day in day out, even indoors, and propelled himself along at a peculiar forward lean, rocking his arms at his sides and making little in the way of progress. Siiri laughed merrily at his joke, but the poor fellow was dead serious. He genuinely believed the time for digging foxholes had passed and he was needed at the front. He was followed by three women asking where the nearest bomb shelter was. Neither Elelibeth Bandong nor the Spanish night nurse understood what Soviet Union or bomb shelter meant.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Siiri said, taking the Second World War veteran by the arm. ‘They’re just replacing the plumbing.’
‘Why, the Soviet Union doesn’t even exist any more!’ Irma cheerfully announced, to a look of disbelief from the man. The women still wanted to find the bomb shelter, but they didn’t believe the enemy was coming from the East this time. They thought living at Sunset Grove posed a risk to life and limb.
‘It even smells funny. Maybe someone used chemical weapons. Or a nuclear bomb went off,’ they mused. Irma and Siiri spent some time assuring them that the annihilation around them was the result of a mundane retrofit, not some catastrophe, but the women wouldn’t relent. Suddenly, Irma assumed an officious tone and raised a hand: ‘Ladies, I’m going to have to ask you to move on. You’ll find the temporary bomb shelter this way. Rations will be distributed there shortly.’
She indicated the dining room, where the doors had just opened. The women scurried along to await further orders as quickly as their walkers and osteoarthritis allowed.
‘That worked like a charm,’ Irma said in satisfaction, then scanned the chaos for familiar faces. The veteran was still clinging to Siiri’s arm and seemed to be waiting for orders, too. Even while standing in place, he fanned one arm and swayed so violently that he was on the verge of toppling over and taking Siiri with him. The more wildly he rocked, the more tightly he clamped down on Siiri’s bicep. Siiri patted him on the shoulder and tried to think of what to say. She had to remove herself from his clutches somehow, but giving orders didn’t come as naturally to her as it did to Irma.
‘Perhaps you . . . Sir . . . Perhaps you could also go over to the bomb shelter to wait for breakfast. You don’t want to be marching on an empty stomach.’
Three men in neon vests and noise blockers stomped past, hauling electricity cables on yellow spools. They bulldozed through the elderly residents as if they were heaps of rubbish and growled something which sounded Slavic and very beautiful. No wonder the more senile among them thought they were witnessing the continuation of the Continuation War with the Soviets. The decampment of the veteran and trio of bomb-shelter hopefuls prompted a mass exodus of sorts. Everyone made their way to the dining room, thinking it was a safe spot where field rations would be handed out. On normal days, breakfast wasn’t served until eight, but now the beleaguered Sunset Grove staff realized that they might want to start pouring the coffee early. Elelibeth Bandong and the Spanish night nurse shepherded the terrorized residents of Sunset Grove over to the canteen tables.
‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!’ Irma trilled shrilly, waving a hand high in the air. She had spotted Sunset Grove’s young lovebirds, Anna-Liisa and the Ambassador, stepping out of the elevator. The Ambassador was snazzily dressed in his day-wear: grey trousers, a brown smoking jacket and a pair of nicely polished brown leather dress shoes. He was leading Anna-Liisa by the arm, as a gentleman should. In her right hand, Anna-Liisa carried her cane, a wedding present from her husband, as married life had proved so invigorating that she no longer used a walker. She had combed her hair up into a bun and donned a brown dress, even though she had generally favoured trousers during her decades as a bachelorette. A wedding ring adorned with ten brilliant-cut diamonds glittered on her left ring finger, and she had rather boldly tossed a green scarf around her neck. They looked happy and handsome as they made their dignified approach towards Irma and Siiri.
‘Isn’t it awful!’ Siiri huffed before Anna-Liisa and the Ambassador had even seated themselves at the card table.
‘How’s that?’ the Ambassador asked. The racket was ear-splitting.
They still gathered every day around the baize-topped mahogany table in the corner of the common room to play cards or simply enjoy each other’s company. Many of the original members of their canasta club had passed away, most recently Reino the printer, the Hat Lady, and the fat woman from wing A, but new people had taken their place. Margit joined them whenever she could spare the time.
‘This is worse than the Winter War!’ Irma shouted.
‘Let’s not exaggerate, Irma,’ Anna-Liisa said frostily, dropping her cane to the floor as she took her seat. She looked even more peevish than normal, rather fatigued, in fact. The Ambassador retrieved the cane with some effort and seated himself. ‘What do you know about the Winter War, anyway? Didn’t you spend it in indoor comfort arranged by your papa while the rest of us thawed out frozen bodies in jury-rigged saunas while the temperature dropped below—’
‘That’s enough, dear,’ said the Ambassador. He didn’t care for reminiscing about the war, although he happily pinned his oak-leaf veterans’ insignia to his tux.
‘I was in a military hospital. I cared for the wounded,’ Irma said, offended. ‘One man mistook me for an angel, since I was the first person he saw when he came to. I was rather pretty, you know, with blond curls like the girl on the oatmeal box, and when I wiped his brow with a cool rag he opened his eyes and thought he’d gone to heaven.’
‘That’s enough, Irma,’ Anna-Liisa said in turn. She was eager to get to the burning questions of the day.
‘Oh, have I told you that story before?’ Irma asked innocently, rummaging through her handbag for playing cards or a handkerchief. ‘I’m such an old fuddy-duddy, that’s what I always tell my darlings. They get so riled up if I tell the same story twice, although a good story never suffers from being retold, quite the opposite. Children like hearing the same bedtime story dozens of times. And they repeat the same news on the radio every hour on the hour, word for word. Besides, I tell my darlings, there are so many of you that there’s no way I could ever keep track of whom I’ve told a story to, and it’s perfectly natural to have to listen to the same story twice now and again.’ Irma had numerous children and grandchildren, whom she always referred to as her darlings. ‘Have I told you about the time my husband was drilling a bookshelf into the wall and the anchor gave, so the entire shelf came crashing down around his ears, books and all?’ she continued.
‘Yes!’ the others cried in unison.
‘Yes, well, all right. But then, perhaps, you can tell me why my husband was drilling a shelf into the wall, books and all. Wouldn’t that be impossible, as a matter of fact? My point is that I’ve probably been telling you made-up stories all these years, a little embellished, you know, but my mother always said, who can be bothered to tell a dull story? By which she meant—’
‘Irma!’ Anna-Liisa shouted with a force only accessible to the vocal cords of an experienced teacher, drawing a passing construction worker up short. ‘You may go,’ Anna-Liisa said to him benevolently, as if he were a well-loved butler at her manor. Then she rapped her knuckles in agitation against the baize tabletop, until she’d collected her thoughts and corralled them back onto their original path.
‘This plumbing replacement,’ she began, ‘is impossible.’
She was right, of course. The project had lasted less than two hours and Sunset Grove was in utter turmoil. What would happen when the bathrooms were off limits? Or when the dining hall closed its doors? Everyone had heard horror stories about plumbing retrofits; they were somehow in vogue these days. Irma’s cousin had been exiled to some cramped cubbyhole on the far side of town for eight months and the project still hadn’t gone as planned. The wrong tiles had appeared in her bathroom, and the shower had been installed sloppily, and far too high.
‘My cousin couldn’t reach the shower, and she’s an average-sized woman. Our family does tend to be short, too, but that’s on the eastern Finnish side, and I have nothing to do with them. Except for my cousin Greta, of course; she lives in Punavuori, and she’s the tiniest creature. Punavuori, or Rööperi, as they called it, used to be working class, but nowadays anyone at all can live there. The old buildings there are just lovely! Have you been to Punavuori? Siiri, you must have ridden through it on one of your tram rides. Have you noticed how many beautiful buildings there are?’
Irma inevitably started babbling when her nerves got the better of her and she didn’t know what to do with herself. But they all understood that this dreadful retrofit, reminiscent as it was of a bombing, had hurled them all into a state of discombobulation. Siiri was glad Irma was keeping spirits up with her chatter; it was soothing. But Anna-Liisa’s mouth had tautened into an impervious line, and her brilliant-cut diamonds flashed as she drummed her fingertips vigorously against the tabletop. It was only now that Siiri noticed Anna-Liisa had started using nail polish since joining the ranks of the wedded. Her nails were blood-red with a tinge of violet; in Siiri’s view a tad too dramatic for the decidedly mundane ambience of the retirement home.
‘Did you get a manicure? Or do you know how to paint your nails so neatly yourself?’ she asked Anna-Liisa.
‘Siiri, we’re in a crisis; can’t you think of anything else to say?’ Anna-Liisa wailed, her voice quivering with disappointment. ‘This cannot go on. I have tried discussing the matter with Director Sundström, but she claims that residents who are renting are responsible for making alternate living arrangements. She insists that she has her hands full with the residents from the dementia unit. She also had the gall to tell me that this is the normal practice in any building association. But Sunset Grove is far from a normal building association; it’s a retirement home. We pay through the nose because it’s supposed to be a . . . community where we’ll be safe. And the one time we need help, there’s none to be had.’
Siiri and Irma couldn’t quite figure out what sort of help Anna-Liisa expected. The residents of Sunset Grove had received numerous notices about the retrofit and its timetable, the type of work involved at every stage, and its effects on residents’ living conditions. As well, of course, about the costs, which were to be recovered through increased rents and service fees. The shrink-wrapping of the building had coincided with the emptying of the basements. The Ambassador was the only one of their little circle who had a basement storage unit, and he hadn’t cared to sift through its contents. He had hired a trusted friend to move them to a shipping container somewhere in the fields of Vantaa for the duration of the renovation. Anna-Liisa was convinced that the Ambassador’s belongings had been sold and would never been seen again. Next week, plastic sheeting would be distributed to every apartment so that residents could protect their belongings. Residents were encouraged to take down any pictures and pack small objects in boxes. The demolition dust got into everything, which was why it was recommended that furniture be covered in plastic. This reminded Irma of how they always used to go to the villa for the summer and how they covered the furniture to protect it from the sun, and she spent a considerable amount of time wondering out loud why no one ever did that any more. Didn’t people go to villas, or was upholstery more tolerant of sunlight these days?
Director Sundström had encouraged everyone to store their valuables in a secure place, for instance a safe deposit box, because, Anna-Liisa said, even though the contractor responsible for carrying out the project, Muhuväe Fix ’n’ Finish, was a reliable partner, you could never tell what sort of questionable thoughts were going through an individual construction worker’s head. Siiri thought this had sounded a little risqué coming out of Anna-Liisa’s mouth, and now she and Irma had started teasing each other: ‘You can never tell what’s going through a construction worker’s head.’
Many of them thought Muhuväe Fix ’n’ Finish had a familiar ring to it, and it had turned out to be the same company that used to provide Sunset Grove with janitorial services: the one whose invoicing was rife with irregularities and whose prices were scandalously high; the one they all imagined had ended up in receivership or its owners in prison in the aftermath of last year’s dramatic events at Sunset Grove, when financial improprieties were exposed in court and head nurse Virpi Hiukkanen resigned the moment she recovered from her nervous breakdown.
‘Focus!’ Anna-Liisa said emphatically, interrupting the others’ fumbling account of the information that had been disseminated. ‘These first two hours have already demonstrated that the line we were fed about dust-free methods and restricting noisy activities to daytime hours was pure poppy-cock. All of Sunset Grove was roused in the middle of the night by the thundering of drills while Director Sundström was snoozing away contentedly in her suburban home. There’s dust everywhere; it’s impossible to breathe.’
‘It’s always rough at the beginning, but the kinks will work themselves out,’ the Ambassador said gently, stroking Anna-Liisa’s clenched fist.
‘I’m getting this funny feeling that the name of the construction company isn’t Muhuväe Fix ’n’ Finish after all,’ Irma mused out loud, and she started digging through her handbag.
Siiri eagerly took up the gauntlet Irma had thrown down, since it was a simpler nut to crack than Anna-Liisa’s. ‘Yes, maybe it was just Fix ’n’ Finish? Sometimes these companies change names when they get into trouble.’
‘I’m sure my iPad knows what the name is. Give me a minute, while I warm it up.’ Irma started stroking her flaptop with big, arcing swipes.
Anna-Liisa disapproved of Irma’s theatrics. She sniffed so volubly tha
t the Ambassador offered her his handkerchief and patted her comfortingly on the shoulders.
‘Everything’s going to be fine, dear,’ he said, following Irma’s manoeuvring out of the corner of his eye.
‘I’ll just type in “Sunset Grove plumbing”. No, I’ll put “Sunset Grove retrofit”. And you’ll see, in just a moment we’ll have the answer!’
Anna-Liisa stopped her audible sniffling and cast a dubious eye on Irma’s progress. Photographs and text appeared on the screen, and Irma jabbed at one box with a jangle of her bracelets. Voila, her tablet spit out the answer.
‘Demolition and construction is being carried out by the Estonian company Fix ’n’ Finish, that’s what it reads here. What did my instincts tell me?’
‘Yes, I already knew that,’ Anna-Liisa said sourly. ‘As far as I’m concerned, that’s of secondary interest.’
‘But it’s the same company that made a mess of everything before, just under a different name,’ Siiri reflected thoughtfully. Irma clenched the tablet to her bosom with both hands, her face glowing in jubilation.
‘My little gadget makes me smart and improves my memory. Whenever I forget something, I look it up here. And if a computer’s memory starts slowing down, you can buy more. It won’t be long before they’ll be able to do that for people, too. Just think, what fun! We won’t need communal homes and there won’t be any demented old ladies around, draining the country’s coffers, because the doctor will just insert a little more memory whenever you need it!’ Irma laughed, her round body jiggling, and paid no mind to the others’ disapproving silence. She tenderly slid her machine back into her handbag and laid the playing cards on the table.
Anna-Liisa looked at Irma, eyes flashing: ‘A computer’s memory is empty. Information is loaded into it; only then does it have anything to offer. That iPad isn’t going to make you one iota healthier or wiser.’ The retrofit had done a number on Anna-Liisa; she was typically quite indulgent when it came to Irma. Now she was agitated and peevish, which elicited an unusual solicitousness in the Ambassador.
Escape from Sunset Grove Page 2