Now she looked out at the darkness in her yard, wondering what would unfold in her life. What would happen after this? She knew that things were about to change, but she wasn’t ready to think it through. She wanted to practice living in the moment and enjoying it.
Paula sighed, then sat down in front of the TV to watch a documentary, unaware that someone was sliding open the patio doors behind her. That someone was wearing a black ski mask to better fit in with the darkness—and he considered darkness his best friend.
CHAPTER 43
Good Lord, it’s not that complicated. You’re making a big deal over nothing!”
“You’re completely sure about all this?”
“I do it every month! It’s really easy! You mean to tell me you’ve never dyed your hair before?”
Marianne sighed, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Lola stood behind her wearing plastic gloves and holding a bottle. Marianne gave her a bored look. “All right, let’s do it.”
Lola smiled and got to work. Energetically, she rubbed the dye into Marianne’s hair. She’d mixed it according to the directions on the box, ignoring Marianne, who told her she was afraid her hair would turn out too black. Lola looked fantastic with her raven-black hair, but that color might not work with Marianne’s paler coloring.
“Why don’t you ever go to a stylist?” Marianne once asked.
Lola looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Why pay some young thing a few thousand crowns every month if I can do it myself for just a hundred? I refuse! I get my hair cut twice a year, and that’s good enough. I can manage the rest of it myself perfectly well.”
Despite being mature, Lola could be stingy about certain things. Hairstylists were on her list of things the rest of humanity had no trouble paying for but that she wouldn’t. So were cars. Lola still drove the car she’d bought upon returning to Sweden after many years in Germany. She’d no doubt drive it until it literally fell apart. One of her Skeppsholmen neighbors, an older gentleman, kept it running. She paid him one thousand crowns each time, no matter what he did to it.
Another thing Lola never spent money on: shoes. She thought it was vulgar how much young women paid for shoes these days, and she bought all her shoes secondhand. Sometimes, she even found a pair in her size. If she found one she liked in a different size, she’d have a shoemaker alter them. Marianne found all this a bit odd, but Lola always just snorted. Her logic was perfectly clear to her.
It was hard for Marianne to discuss these kinds of things with Lola, knowing that Lola spent a great deal of money on other luxuries. For instance, she bought makeup only from Chanel, insisting she was “allergic” to all the other less-expensive brands. She also spent a fortune at Östermalm Food Hall. Neither Lola nor Marianne’s father could be reasoned with when it came to gourmet food. Both just got angry whenever she brought it up.
Suddenly, Marianne cried, “It’s burning my scalp! Is it supposed to do that?”
Lola sighed as she dug her fingers further into Marianne’s hair. She accidentally scraped her scalp with a fingernail.
“Ouch!”
“Your scalp isn’t turning red at all—it’s fine. I don’t know why you’re so worried about a little hair dye. You’ve certainly been through much worse.”
“You’re right about that.”
Marianne’s plain gray hair had become an issue for Lola, and for the rest of Marianne’s family. Nobody understood why she’d stopped putting in highlights. But it was simple: she just didn’t want to fuss with it anymore, especially since Hans thought she looked better with gray hair. He said it gave her character. She’d liked that he approved of something about her, even if it made her look unnecessarily older, especially since she’d developed laugh lines around her eyes. She luckily didn’t have many other wrinkles yet. It probably helped that she was a bit plumper than average. Lola was always complaining about her own wrinkles. Yet Marianne suspected that Lola had had Botox treatments once or twice. Of course Lola would never admit to that—not even to herself. Denial was one of her dominant traits, but Lola knew what she was doing and if it made her feel happy, who was Marianne to talk?
“Do you have any wine?” Lola asked.
“Of course I do. What do you want, white or red?”
“Red, naturally. Have you ever seen me drink white wine?”
Marianne found a bottle of Ripassa in the servants’ hall and poured Lola a large glass.
“Aren’t you going to have any?”
“I’ll wait until we rinse out my hair. It smells so bad.”
“Just ten more minutes. I can’t wait to see how it turns out.”
Marianne thought it felt uncomfortable. “Come out into the kitchen while I have a smoke,” she said.
“Why do we have to go into the kitchen?”
“I only smoke under the stove fan.”
“But why? You live all alone in this apartment.”
“So?”
“Don’t you realize how strange that is? Why can’t we just smoke in the living room?”
“What if the girls come home? They’d notice.”
“Why would they care?”
“It just doesn’t feel right.”
“But this is your home! Nobody else lives here. Nobody can tell you what to do. You can smoke wherever you want. Your children won’t kill themselves because their mother has taken up smoking in her old age.”
“But I want to smoke under the stove fan. I don’t want my entire apartment to reek of smoke. Come on—otherwise I won’t be able to finish my cigarette before we have to rinse. I don’t want this awful stuff sitting on my head any longer than I have to.”
Marianne found her cigarette pack and offered one to Lola. Lola shook her head.
“You know you have to stop doing things like this?”
“Like smoking?”
“No, like living according to the rules Hans made for you.”
“Oh, I’ve broken one or two already!”
Marianne turned on the fan. Lola shook her head, sitting down at the kitchen table.
“And I’m inhaling, too,” Marianne added.
They laughed. The smoke went down wrong, and Marianne coughed. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t smoke. But I have started to diet.”
Lola stared at her. “What?”
“My gynecologist told me to lose weight and Chrisse suggested this diet. It’s called the Danish Hospital Diet.”
“So what are you supposed to eat?”
“Lots of grilled chicken and boiled eggs. Grapefruit and green beans. Black coffee. And smoking is allowed.”
Lola raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, healthy enough I guess. Have you lost any weight yet?”
“No, but I promised I’d stay on it for ten days. Of course I already broke my promise at lunch today. I had a sandwich with my vegetable soup. This diet is perfectly horrible. I’m hungry all the time. That’s why smoking helps. It distracts me.”
“I hardly think a sandwich with vegetable soup is all that bad, and I don’t think smoking instead is really better. Still, I guess it’s a phase you have to go through since you’ve become one of them.”
“One of whom?”
“The kind that diets. But maybe it’s a good thing. You have put on some extra pounds lately.”
“Thanks, I already noticed that. I’ve hardly moved all summer long. The only things I’ve eaten were sandwiches, and there’s not much good nutrition there. Becoming a widow isn’t exactly a health cure, let me tell you.”
Marianne sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose at the strong ammonia smell from the hair dye.
“That’s it! Get this stuff off my head.”
They went to the bathroom, and Marianne bent over the edge of the bathtub. She rinsed out the stinking goop.
“Hand me a towel, please. I think I
’ve gotten most of it out.” Lola obliged and Marianne dried her hair. She said, “OK, let’s see how this turned out.”
Suddenly, Lola looked tense and moved into a corner of the bathroom. She murmured, “Remember—it has to dry before you can see the real color.”
“I know. I did used to have my hair dyed.”
Marianne pressed at the turban she’d made with the towel and then unwrapped it. Simultaneously, both women screamed. Marianne’s hair had turned bright orange.
“Lola! What have you done?”
Lola looked frightened. Then, a few seconds later, they started laughing. Marianne sank to the floor of the bathroom and shook her head. “What am I supposed to do now? I have to go to work tomorrow morning!”
Lola hiccupped from laughing, turning back to Marianne and laughing again.
Marianne gasped, “It’s like when we were twelve and tried to pierce our ears with a pin and a cork! How could I have been so dumb as to let you at my hair?”
“Don’t blame me!”
“Who else am I supposed to blame?”
“We’ll have to go back to the store and complain.”
“I am not leaving the house looking like this! Besides, people at the store will just tell us that every person’s hair reacts differently. Mine obviously likes to turn orange. I’m going to call Sigrid. She’ll think of something.”
“Well, if you’re all right, I’d better hurry home. I promised Philippe I’d be home by ten.”
“You’re leaving me like this?”
“You’ll figure out what to do. Maybe you can wear a scarf over your head at work tomorrow. People did that all the time in the seventies.”
“Yes, and back then people willingly dyed their hair this color, too.”
“Call me tomorrow and let me know how you solve it. And, don’t forget to come on time tomorrow evening. Six o’clock sharp! You’re welcome to come a few minutes early.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I hope you understand if I decide not to show up looking like this.”
“Come on, now you’re exaggerating. You’ll fit right in with the cultured crowd.”
About three hundred people were expected for an opening at Lola’s gallery. Her openings were always well-attended. Many people would gladly pay a great deal just to get an invitation.
CHAPTER 44
Torsten walked into the kitchen for a tall glass of water. He flipped through the local paper and sat down on the sofa, listening for any sounds from Noah’s room. All he heard was his son’s deep breathing.
He turned on the television to catch an episode of a series he’d been following on TV 4 and had a sudden feeling of déjà vu. He remembered when Noah was a newborn. Katrin had been accepted for a course of study, and they’d both thought she should go for it. Torsten stayed home three nights a week during the hours she was gone. It gave him the chance to be alone with Noah. He missed those evenings even though he always had one ear tuned for any sound of something wrong. Baby Noah usually slept soundly, though, and Torsten became relaxed with his son as time went by.
When the commercial break started, Torsten grabbed some crackers. Then he rummaged through the refrigerator for suitable cheese. When he returned to the sofa, he was surprised to find Noah was there, wrapped in a blanket.
“You’re awake? How are you feeling?”
“So-so. A bit better.”
“Was the food bad?”
“No, I don’t think so. I felt nauseated even on the plane.”
“Would you like some crackers?”
Noah eyed his father’s plate. “I don’t know, maybe just one for now.”
Torsten knew how that would end—no crackers for him. Still, he was happy Noah wanted something to eat. They watched the show together. During the third commercial break, Noah said, “It was really strange being in Norway.”
“What was so strange about it?” Torsten was tense but tried not to show it.
“Well, it’s hard to say. Mamma was bitchy, and it was, like, she didn’t want me there. Oh, it was OK sometimes, but as soon as Peo came around, she acted all weird, like I was in her way or something.”
Torsten’s stomach churned. He didn’t like hearing such things.
“Perhaps she was nervous? She wanted everything to be perfect but it didn’t work out that way?”
Noah shook his head and grabbed the last cracker. “No, it wasn’t like that. I thought that maybe he was jealous or something. Peo’s kind of a snob. I don’t get what Mamma sees in him. But it’s, like, how she acted around him. It was embarrassing. She’d laugh too loud…stuff like that.”
“People do that when they’re nervous.”
“I don’t know. She’d snap at me to stop talking nonsense whenever I spoke to Peo—like I’m her embarrassing little brother instead of her son.”
“So what did you end up doing?”
“Mostly I stayed in my room and played computer games. That seemed to make her happy. When it was time to leave, she said it was time I learned to take the train to the airport by myself. I mean, she didn’t even want to drive me. And she said she couldn’t just drop what she was doing every time I needed a ride.”
Torsten had to bite back the impulse to call Katrin and give her a piece of his mind. He also wondered if this was just Noah’s delayed reaction to the divorce. Katrin couldn’t have possibly treated him that badly—could she? Noah kept talking.
“I actually know why she didn’t want to drive me. She and Peo were invited to a party. I can’t figure out why she even wanted me to visit if she thinks I just get in the way.”
“Maybe it was such a new experience for her, too, having you there. Maybe she’ll adjust.”
Noah shrugged and shook his head. “I have no intention of ever going back there. That Peo was angry all the time. And he definitely thought I was in the way.”
“I do think you should give your mother another chance.”
“No way. I won’t go back there. If she wants to see me, she can come to Stockholm. Remember what she was like before? Remember when we were invited to the neighbors’? The ones with the pool she always went on about? And how she insisted you wear a jacket?”
Torsten remembered that incident well. A new family had moved into the fin-de-siècle house on the hill in Älvsjö. They’d completely remodeled and put an entire spa in the basement and a pool in the backyard. The neighbor woman liked to go on and on about how wonderful it was being a full-time housewife, especially since her husband was often away on business four days a week. Katrin had gone into a tizzy when they’d received the invitation to their glögg party that winter.
Noah’s description of his time in Oslo disturbed Torsten. Just like that incident with the wealthy family, Katrin’s social ambitions sometimes took over. But it was unforgivable for her to make Noah suffer. Torsten took a deep breath.
“I think you should tell your Mamma what you just told me. Be honest and give her another chance.”
“She’ll just lay into me and tell me I’m wrong.”
“Then it will be her problem. Start by telling her what’s bothering you. Take it from there.”
Torsten knew that Katrin would call after hearing from Noah to accuse him of turning their son against her. He tried to examine his own conscience. Was he wrong not to demand that Noah return to Oslo? Noah was old enough to make his own decisions. He couldn’t be forced to visit his mother in Norway. She’d made her decision to move out of the country even though her son was a minor, and it wasn’t because of her work: Katrin had had a fine job at the thorax clinic at Karolinska Hospital, a position she’d wanted for years. It was only after she met Peo and moved to Norway that she’d been offered a much better job as chief surgeon there with a higher salary. Torsten tried not to judge her decision to move. But she could have stayed in Stockholm, and she and Peo could have flown b
ack and forth. It wasn’t a great distance. Instead, they’d decided to force their children to travel to them, including Peo’s two daughters from his first marriage who lived with their mother in Saltsjöbaden.
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” Noah said.
“Why not wait a few days and see how you’re feeling? Sometimes it’s better to let things take their time.”
“No, or it will just be the same thing. I—”
Without warning, Noah burst out crying. His face, with its recently sprouted peach fuzz, became streaked with tears. Torsten pulled Noah into a hug. He felt his sixteen-year-old son shaking and sobbing and had to blink away his own tears. He stroked Noah’s hair and said:
“It’ll work out. You’ll see. It’s good you’ve decided to talk to her. She’s probably just as sad as you are that the visit didn’t go so well. Maybe she was nervous about your first visit to her new home. Did she do a good job on it, by the way? How did she decorate it?”
“It felt, like, exaggerated,” Noah said. “Like being in a museum. You know, that Peo got all upset about the littlest things, too. Once Mamma put her cup on the coffee table, and he went into a real rage about her being more careful. He said the table cost a lot of money and the rings would ruin it. Stuff like that.”
Torsten was worried. Katrin had been the fussy one during their marriage. She always wanted things in perfect order—from pillow arrangement on the sofa to the jars of jam in the pantry. He couldn’t imagine anyone accusing her of being careless. He decided to stop thinking about it. Katrin wasn’t his wife anymore, and she was responsible for her own life. Still, he didn’t like how this affected Noah. That was going too far. He decided to tell her when she called, and he didn’t care how angry she’d get. She could scream at him as much as she liked—he’d just tell her that she wasn’t the one who had to comfort his son after the long weekend visit with her.
A Small Indiscretion Page 18