by Helena Halme
* * *
Kaisa heard the telephone ring in the hall before she was awake. It was eight o’clock on a Monday morning and Sirkka had already left for work.
‘Hello,’ Kaisa said trying not to sound sleepy. She hoped it might be Mr Heinola from the bank.
‘Kaisa, I found you!’
For a moment Kaisa wanted to put the receiver back on its base, or pretend she was Sirkka, a game the sisters had played as teenagers, but she couldn’t do it.
‘Vappu?’ she said.
‘Listen, I’m in the telephone box outside your flat. Can I come up?’
‘Now?’ Kaisa looked at the clutter in the small flat. Her bed was unmade in the lounge, and from the hall Kaisa could see the plates and cutlery from last night’s dinner, as well as her sister’s breakfast dishes, piled up in the sink. Her own clothes were scattered around the lounge, on chairs and at the foot of the bed.
‘It’s bloody cold in this phone box and it stinks of wee,’ Vappu said.
‘OK, I’ll buzz you up,’ Kaisa said.
She put the phone down and pulled on a pair of jeans and a jumper. She made the bed as best she could and rammed her clothes inside her suitcase, which she pushed into a hall cupboard. She opened the venetian blinds and the room flooded with light. ‘That’s a bit better,’ Kaisa thought, but she didn’t have time to assess the state of the kitchen before Vappu was ringing the doorbell.
Her friend’s belly was even larger than Kaisa remembered, and it was hard to hug her. Vappu smiled and said, ‘I know, I look like a bloody beached whale!’
‘When is it due?’
‘Oh, today, actually,’ Vappu said and, added, ‘but don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be late.’
Kaisa couldn’t help but smile at her old friend. Her shape was completely different, with the pregnancy, and Kaisa spotted a few lines around her eyes, but otherwise she was the same lanky 14-year-old that Kaisa had met at her new school in Lauttaaari all those years ago. As she made the coffee, Vappu looked up at Kaisa from the small kitchen table. With a serious tone of voice, she said: ‘I wanted to see you before I get busy with this little one.’
Kaisa nodded. She had no idea what her friend was talking about, or why it was so urgent for them to see each other.
Vappu gazed at Kaisa, ‘You know that I’m married, right?’
Kaisa shook her head, ‘No, but I sort of guessed …’
‘Well, while I’ve been with Risto, I’ve come to realise that what happened to you with Matti, when you were so young, it wasn’t right.’
Kaisa stared at her friend.
‘The thing is, Risto is a policeman. That’s how I found you, just as well I remembered your maiden name and that your sister is called Sirkka.’ A quick grin passed over Vappu’s face.
Kaisa nodded, but couldn’t return her friend’s smile.
‘Anyway, he’s worked on an underage sex case before.’ Vappu’s blue eyes were steadily gazing at Kaisa. She was wearing a colourful long blouse over a pair of black pants. Her legs were spread wide and she was leaning onto the kitchen table for support. Kaisa realised it must be very uncomfortable sitting with a large belly like that on the small kitchen chair.
‘Do you want to go and sit in the lounge? There’s a comfy chair there.’ Kaisa held her hand out and helped Vappu up to her feet. Once they were both settled in the room next door, Kaisa asked, ‘When you say cases like these, what do you mean?’
‘Well, you were underage, weren’t you, when Matti and you ..?’
‘Yes, but he’s gone now, so …’
‘But he has – had – photographs, didn’t he?’
Kaisa was stunned; how did Vappu know about the awful pictures Matti had taken of her? ‘Yes, but what, how?’ Kaisa stammered. She put her head into her hands in shame. Had Vappu seen the images of her wanton and smiling like a whore into the camera? To calm herself, she slowed her breathing. Looking down at the floor, she continued, trying to steady her voice. ‘How do you know about the photos and what do they have to do with anything?’
‘Matti gave me the negatives before he – before the so-called accident.’
Kaisa found herself staring at Vappu’s face again. She was thinking hard. Was her awful fear that he’d taken his life true after all? ‘You mean he?’ Kaisa couldn’t bring herself to say the words, ‘Did he?’
Vappu nodded. Her face was serious, and her gaze was steady. ‘He gave them to me for safekeeping, and so that I could give them to you.’
‘Oh, my God.’
‘He couldn’t live with himself. He asked Risto if you were right to say it was illegal. And,’ Vappu eased herself out of the low-slung chair with difficulty and put her hand on Kaisa’s knee. ‘You know that girl, Satu, he was about to marry. She was just fourteen when they met two years ago. He told Risto he had no idea it was against the law. But Risto said he must have known.’
Kaisa couldn’t speak. Why hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut? Why had she gone and stirred up everything? Again ruining other people’s lives.
‘Risto blames himself,’ Vappu said.
Kaisa pressed her hands together, trying to hold herself still. She had a great desire to stand up and howl. She was feeling dizzy.
‘But we’ve only been together two years ourselves, and Risto had no idea how young Satu was. She is like you used to be; she acts a lot older than she is.’ Vappu took a white envelope out of her handbag and handed it to Kaisa. ‘Anyway here you go. Do whatever you want with them.’
Kaisa opened the flap of the white envelope and saw a set of dark films inside. She got up and hugged her friend.
‘Look Kaisa, this is not your fault. Remember that.’
Sixteen
Kaisa woke up late. She’d heard her sister get up and go to work, but had fallen asleep again, only to have another wonderful dream about Peter. But after that she’d had a nightmare in which Matti rose from his grave, walked into the chapel in a black suit and was met by the sixteen-year-old girl in a white gown. Auntie Bea had smiled at Kaisa, who was one of the guests, and said, ‘Isn’t it wonderful that they can still get married even though Matti is dead?’
Kaisa shook her head and tried to tell herself it was just a dream. She stretched her neck to look out of the window. It was Sunday and she’d promised to go for a jog with her mother. She saw it was a sunny and relatively warm April day. The winter was finally giving way to spring. Couples were walking hand in hand, or with their children between them, wearing light overcoats or macs. It had rained heavily the night before – probably why she’d had such an awful night’s sleep, Kaisa thought – and the side of the road was running with water. The temperature on the side of Sirkka’s living room window showed 10 degrees Celsius; Kaisa decided she’d wear a padded jacket over her jogging clothes.
She walked up to the next floor of the block of flats and, using the key her mother had given her the day she’d arrived in Helsinki, opened the door.
‘Hello,’ she called out. Kaisa was still not used to the emptiness of her mother’s flat. Each time she stepped through the door, she expected to be greeted by Jerry, the cocker spaniel they’d got after their parents’ divorce. He’d died just before Kaisa had left Faslane and Peter. If she was truthful, the dog’s death had touched Kaisa deeply, and was one of the reasons she wanted to come home.
Neither Sirkka’s small flat below, or her mother’s roomier apartment on the third floor of the five-storey block, felt like home to Kaisa. After two months on her sister’s sofa bed, Kaisa was desperate to find a place of her own.
‘I’m not ready yet,’ her mother called from the bathroom, and Kaisa stepped into the kitchen. Seeing there was freshly brewed coffee in the percolator, she took off the padded coat she’d borrowed from her sister, placed her scarf and gloves on the kitchen table, and poured herself a cup of strong black coffee. She ran a little bit of cold water from the tap over the cup. While she’d lived in Britain, she’d got used to weaker coffee, a fact that neither Sirk
ka or her mother let her forget. ‘You’ve become an Englishwoman,’ they’d laugh, but Kaisa knew behind the joking there was hurt. They didn’t want her to change, nor lose her to England. Well, they’ve got me back now, Kaisa thought. She sighed and sat down to gaze at the view of the inner courtyard while she waited for her mother to get dressed.
‘It’s still cold out there. Are you sure you have enough on?’
Kaisa nodded, ‘I’ve got Sirkka’s jacket.’ She surveyed her mother, who sat down opposite her at the kitchen table. People said Kaisa looked just like her, and there was no denying it. Often, especially recently, in Helsinki, the face looking back at Kaisa from Sirkka’s bathroom mirror was a younger version of her mother. It was a more modern version of the woman who smiled happily from the framed black-and-white wedding day portrait that her mother still displayed on her dresser in the living room. Pirjo had always looked younger than her age. Now, at 49, she sported curly, mid-length, blonde hair. Today (for a jog!), she’d made her face up with light blue eyeshadow that went with her shiny jacket and pale pink lipstick that matched her nails. She looked good, and the only difference in their appearance, apart from the make-up, was that Kaisa’s mother was a couple of kilos heavier and a few centimetres shorter. People often – no, always – thought they were sisters when they were out and about, a compliment her mother revelled in. However, such comments made Kaisa feel invisible; the thought of her mother appearing to be in her twenties rendered Kaisa’s existence insignificant, or even impossible.
The two women jogged along the now quiet Linnankoskenkatu towards the sea. In that morning’s Helsingin Sanomat there had been an article about the ice no longer being thick enough to support people’s weight. The two women therefore decided to run on the path along the shore. You could make out dark patches in the middle of the sea where the ice was melting.
‘It’s very late for the sea to be iced over, isn’t it?’
‘Hmm,’ Pirjo said.
Kaisa looked at her mother. The sun was high up in the piercing blue sky, but there was a harsh wind, which made running more difficult than usual.
Instead of replying to Kaisa’s comment, Pirjo lifted her eyes to her daughter. ‘So, Kaisa, have you come to a decision about what you are going to do?’
Kaisa had anticipated this question, and thought it to be the reason she’d been invited on this Sunday jog.
‘No, not yet.’ She didn’t want to tell her mother about the meeting with the bank manager, nor her lunch and failed date with Tom. Both of these things were just what her mother wanted to hear. She wanted Kaisa to make a life for herself in Helsinki, near to her and Sirkka, but Kaisa still wasn’t sure she wanted to stay in Helsinki. After Vappu’s visit, and the revelation that Matti had taken his own life, all Kaisa could think about was fleeing the city. But where to? England? Where would she live?
At least she now knew the awful pictures that Matti took would never be seen by anybody. Right after Vappu’s visit, she’d cut the negatives into tiny pieces and put them in the bin. When she’d dropped the plastic bag into the large container in the courtyard she’d felt a huge weight lift off her chest. Her life with Matti was history, and her marriage with Peter was history. She knew she shouldn’t care about Peter anymore, but she couldn’t stop loving him. She was still his wife – for now at least – and obviously Peter thought that too. Even though the letter had been cold, or positively chilly, it was a letter. With money. The cash had angered and saddened Kaisa at first, but afterwards she wondered if that was Peter’s way of saying that he still loved her?
‘Oh,’ Pirjo said.
‘It’s difficult, because I don’t really know what Peter is planning, or thinking.’
‘I know, darling, but it’s been two months now, and …’
Kaisa said nothing. It was upsetting to say the word, ‘divorce’, even though she needed to face it. Really, she thought it was too soon, but how could she explain this to her mother?
‘Did Sirkka tell you her news?’
Kaisa stopped and turned to face her mother, ‘No.’ She was panting, suddenly feeling very out of breath.
Her mother took hold of Kaisa’s arms, and said, ‘You know that man in Lapland? Jussi?’
‘Yes, but I thought that was over?’
‘No, it isn’t. He’s coming to see her for a weekend.’
Kaisa stared at her mother. ‘Did she ask you to tell me this?’
‘Er, no, not really, but …’
‘So why did you?’
‘Well, I thought you needed to know. I mean, the flat isn’t big enough for two, really, so when Jussi is there …’
Kaisa began jogging again. Her mind was in disarray; why hadn’t her sister said anything about this development in her on-off relationship with Jussi?
* * *
The next morning Sirkka was fast asleep when Kaisa heard the post fall onto the mat in the small hall. She got quietly out of bed, listening to her sister’s gentle snores coming from the open door to her bedroom.
There was the morning paper, Helsingin Sanomat, which Kaisa usually read cover to cover, soaking in the news and studying the job adverts, although there weren’t many positions advertised in the Monday edition. But on the mat, together with the newspaper, was a letter. It was a large brown envelope, addressed to her in Smuggler’s Way, but someone had crossed out the address and put Sirkka’s address on the side. She scanned the writing, but it wasn’t Peter’s hand. Kaisa tore open the letter. There was a magazine inside, and a single sheet of handwritten text.
* * *
Dear Kaisa,
I wanted to write to you to tell you how sorry I am about all that has happened. I feel responsible for some of my cousin’s behaviour, and feel that my involvement encouraged him. You must believe me that I had no idea of his true intentions towards you. Had I known, I wouldn’t have met up with you in London. Duncan merely told me that you were the wife of a good friend, smart and talented, and looking for a job. Of course, as soon as I met you, I realised he was right, and purely because of that I offered you the job. Please believe me, I had no ulterior motive, other than wanting to employ a talented person.
You must also know that I am not speaking to Duncan, and will not do so until he apologises to you fully.
* * *
Kaisa thought back to the letter she’d received from Duncan, in which he’d apologised for his behaviour but in the same breath invited her to see him in the country, so she didn’t really think his apology was sincere.
* * *
But I am also writing to let you know that I have left Sonia magazine to work in an exciting venture that I have known about for some time. Your situation did, I admit, play a part in my decision to leave commercial magazine publishing and enter more serious journalism. I am proud to tell you that I am now Chief Editor of Adam’s Apple, a feminist publication, produced since 1973 by a women’s commune whose work I admire. We carry stories of oppression against women from around the world, but also give advice to women on how to be a feminist today.
I am writing to ask you if you’d consider coming to help us in this cause? I cannot promise a large salary, but it will be a worthwhile job, a chance to play a role in an important publication. The Scandinavian countries are so much further ahead in the cause for equality, and we would be delighted to have you onboard to share your knowledge and enthusiasm. I know you are a fellow feminist; I remember our discussions. And I remember you telling me that you wanted a job where you could make a difference. Well, here I am offering you one. I’ve enclosed the latest issue of Adam’s Apple, so you can see what kind of magazine it is.
Please think about my proposal and write to me.
Yours sincerely,
Rose
* * *
Kaisa reread the letter three times before she could quite comprehend what it meant. She began leafing through the copy of the magazine, which to her looked very left-wing. The cover had a picture of three women against the backdrop of
a coal mine, with the caption ‘Women Winning the Strike’. So they were pro the miners. As a Finn, having lived all her life in the shadow of the Soviet Union, she was naturally sceptical about communism, but as a student of Political Science, she knew that the left-wing in the UK had about the same ideologies as the Coalition Party in Finland, which was the right-wing party. And Rose was right, she wanted to make a difference, and she was passionate about women’s rights. She felt the familiar butterflies in the stomach: a real job in London! A job where she could make a difference to women’s lives. Rose had said in her letter the magazine was produced by a women’s commune. What, she wondered, was it like working in a women’s commune in London? Did they all live where they worked, and was it a squat? She imagined a derelict old Victorian house without plumbing, cold and damp, with a garden full of faeces. No, she couldn’t imagine Rose in an environment like that. They must have proper offices if Rose was part of the organisation. Kaisa looked at the magazine again, and found that the address was Clerkenwell Close, London EC1R. Kaisa tiptoed back into the lounge, aware of her sister’s gentle snoring as she passed her bedroom. She found the London A-Z, which she’d sentimentally packed in her suitcase when leaving the married quarter at Smuggler’s Way. She found Clerkenwell Close and saw it was just a little north of Fleet Street, the area where all the newspapers were produced. Surely that was respectable enough?