“They could get a train,” Mum says. “That would only take a few hours. It’s not as if they live in a different country.”
“They’re just busy with their own lives.”
He wants the conversation to be over.
“If I had a daughter like Anna…” Mum says and her eyes momentarily tear up.
He’s not sure if he should put his arms around her. He hesitates. Mum likes Anna a bit too much sometimes. When he first brought Anna home, he was happy that his mother approved. But when he realised that she had taken the top spot on the likeability chart, with him dropping down to second place, then it became… well, not a competition, but definitely annoying.
“Anyway,” Mum says. She wipes her eyes and is back to her normal self and there is no need for a hug. “The boys don’t have any clean underwear. Doesn’t anyone do laundry in this house?”
*
Erik walks up the stairs to take a shower. Mum has promised to visit Anna this morning so that he can rest. The sun outside is radiating an annoying sense of warmth and happiness, not reflecting his mood. He feels cold and out of place, like this is no longer his house, the bed no longer his, the shower foreign. He glances at Anna’s shampoo and scented soaps. Should he throw them out or leave them where they are?
Before Mum leaves, she pops her head into the bathroom.
“Please hang the washing in the drying cabinet when you wake up,” she says. “I will pick the boys up from day care this afternoon so that you can go back to the hospital.”
“Thanks,” he says.
“Oh, and Erik?”
“Yes?”
The hot water burns into his back.
What is it now? Just leave me alone.
“Everything is going to be okay.”
“Sure.”
Whatever you say. Just go.
*
With the washing machine whirring in the background, Erik pulls out Anna’s laptop from her school bag and places it on the kitchen table next to a strong cup of coffee. He pulls the blinds down to block out the neighbours and anyone else walking past. Even though it’s still cold outside, the town seems to come alive when the sun is out. It’s all very formal and polite. People walk and talk and nod with a high-pitched ‘hej’ when they pass each other. Anna loves how friendly this place is but Erik thinks it’s fake. He prefers bigger cities where you mind your own business. At least their house is on the main street of Mörna which means they’re not tucked away in a cosy neighbourhood with weekend barbeques and coffee mornings. They only have two immediate neighbours: a ninety-year-old woman they hardly ever see and a family with grown children who they’re only required to wave to every now and then. The mother has made an appearance since the news about Anna broke. With sad eyes she offered to help Erik with the children or food shopping –‘anything at all’ – but he has politely declined. He can cope. He will cope, and for now, Mum is here.
He should be sleeping as per the nurses’ orders, but he can’t. No one knows that he has Anna’s laptop and it makes him feel guilty. That night when she had to ‘dash down to school’, she left it in her workbag at home and when his band-mate Rob hurriedly drove him to the hospital, Erik grabbed the bag on his way out. It was parked by the door, as if she had forgotten it.
“She might need her bag,” he told Rob.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rob said. “You don’t even know what state she’s in mate.”
“Yeah, but it can’t be that bad. Otherwise, they would have said, right?”
How wrong he was.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he said. “I’m… I mean… she’s going to be okay though, isn’t she?”
He started crying then, the full waterworks. Obviously she couldn’t use her laptop. He ended up leaving it in Rob’s car and by the time Rob gave the bag back to him, the police had already searched the house. He should have handed it over but something held him back. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the police; he just doesn’t think they will prioritise it. Too often, he reads about the lack of resources in the newspaper, people having to look for their stolen goods themselves. Only last week, two teenagers had to turn investigators and search for their stolen mopeds. That’s just wrong. Erik can’t leave this in someone else’s hands.
*
He flops onto a white, Danish designer chair, the motion sparking a recent memory of Anna’s persuasive decision-making. She insisted they buy these chairs.
“They’re expensive and uncomfortable,” he said at the time. “That’s a bad combination.”
She bought them second-hand. Avoiding conflict but still getting her way.
He grabs a pillow and places it behind his back to make himself more comfortable while also delaying the inevitable: logging onto her computer. It doesn’t feel right. Yet it’s necessary. The police will need his help.
“Anything you can think of, let us know,” they said.
He wants to be obliging and more importantly, he wants to be involved.
Pressing the start button on Anna’s laptop, he realises that he has never used it before. The children haven’t even been allowed to play games on it. ‘My work laptop’, she called it, even though she had bought it with her own money.
A blue screen stares at him, requesting a password. He tries various combinations. The usual ones. Birth dates, mother’s maiden name, name of the pet she had when she grew up.
Please try again.
He tries again and again but has no luck. He snaps it shut. It was a bad idea anyway.
That’s when it hits him. The whole situation. It’s completely surreal! His wife is in a coma and he has no idea when – or even if – she will ever wake up. It’s indescribably painful, this limbo… His knuckles whiten as they press hard around the edges of the laptop. There’s a cramp inside his chest. He slams the computer down and punches the table, releasing the pressure. What the hell is he going to do?
He breathes deeply, composes himself the way Mum would do. Takes a sip of coffee ‘to calm his nerves’.
“Bloody hell!” He burns himself on the Filippa K mug that’s been designed without an ear. Stupid invention.
One of Anna’s classes gave her a whole set for Christmas. Looking around, he realises that Anna is everywhere. Even the furniture is a reminder of her. The few pieces he contributed when they met have slowly been replaced with eclectic ones that Anna has either recycled from flea markets or bought via online auctions. Will she ever do that again?
He calls Rob, the only friend he can truly be himself with. “I’m so fucking frustrated,” he says, not just referring to the failed login to Anna’s laptop but to everything that has just happened. “I feel so lost. I don’t know what’s going on. Will she get better? Why can’t someone answer that simple question? And the police… I don’t know, they expect me to tell them stuff but… but then they don’t tell me shit!”
Spitting the words down the phone makes him realise how true they are. How can they exclude him like that? They are married; he is her next of kin.
“I’m sorry, man,” Rob says. “I know that sucks but you’ve got to keep faith. Anna is strong. And maybe the police have been really busy. I read in the paper this morning that someone was murdered in the city.”
“And that’s more important, you mean? Anna is still alive so why should they keep writing about her in the papers?”
He knows he’s pushing it too far but it feels good to take his frustration out on someone else.
“Look, Erik,” Rob says. “Perhaps it’s just that this other case has left Anna lost within the pages. It doesn’t mean no one cares.”
Erik rocks back and forth in the chair. The plastic creaks. Another thing he hates about this chair. It’s irrelevant, though. Is Anna going to wake up? That’s the important question.
Rob clears his throat. “It’s really tough, Erik. I know. I mean, obviously I have no idea, but I can imagine. Anna is a gem… I really wish I could help.” He stops rambling and sighs
before starting again. “Hey, why don’t you call that policewoman I dated last year? Big hair, bad breath? Eh… Tina. I’m sure she could, you know, give you some info, tell you what’s going on.”
Erik starts to listen. He has no idea who Rob is talking about but it gives him hope.
“I don’t want to get pulled into something messy though,” he says. “Why did you break up?”
Rob coughs. “It’s totally cool,” he says. “I mean, it wasn’t like that. She agreed that I wasn’t the one for her. She needed too much attention, you know, always creating drama.”
“Well, I prefer drama to no info,” Erik says and notes down her number.
As soon as he’s put the phone down, he calls this Tina.
“Erik? Rob’s friend?” She doesn’t sound impressed but the moment he tells her about Anna, she changes her tone. “That’s your wife? I’m so sorry. Look, from what I can tell, there’s not really anything new.”
“I see.” He starts to cry but he doesn’t mind that she can hear his tears. He wants sympathy.
“Look,” she says more quietly. “I’m not supposed to tell you this. They spoke to her colleagues and rumour is she was very close with one teacher in particular… Kent.”
“Yes, I know.” Because of course he knows. But her tone… is she insinuating something else? He pictures Kent, his greying beard and hawk-like nose pressed against Anna’s, the two of them kissing. He laughs through the tears. What a ridiculous idea! Plus there’s Märta. Anna has mentioned what a great marriage they have. He does listen sometimes.
“He’s happily married,” he says even though she hasn’t asked.
“Well, they’re going to talk to him again. Now, I have to go.”
“That’s it?”
“Look, I don’t have to tell you anything.”
Fine. He needs her. “Thanks,” he says. “I mean it. I appreciate your help.”
*
He walks upstairs and surveys Anna’s desk. If he can’t get into her laptop, then what else can he look through? The next time he talks to the police, he wants to have something useful to say, and if he can’t find anything, perhaps he will have no choice but to give them the computer.
The old IKEA unit from Anna’s student days is constantly cluttered with papers; there must be something he can go on, something the police have missed? He imagines them searching her desk in a rush. The house wasn’t particularly messy when he arrived home, but then Anna is only a small-town teacher, not an important politician or businesswoman. Mum thinks he’s cynical but he’s just realistic. This isn’t a big city; it’s a claustrophobic little town where no one gives a shit about anyone else. Anything out of the ordinary turns to gossip. He imagines the whispers that must be going around about Anna and it makes him ill.
Erik pulls out the wooden swivel chair in front of Anna’s desk and sits down. There are a couple of books and he picks them up, paging through them. It’s mostly fiction. He recognises a few of the authors’ names, such as Selma Lagerlöf, August Strindberg and Karin Boye. Anna would be proud of him for knowing his Swedish literature, but unfortunately nothing is hidden inside the hard covers. Not that he had really expected there to be.
Under the books are a number of notepads with scribbled sentences. War and Peace intriguing enough? Presentations – Monday – book projector. Renaissance essays? Kent and Märta – Strindberg play Saturday. He remembers not wanting to go to the play and feels bad.
He tosses the notepad to the side and picks up a stack of papers instead. It’s mainly bills, which makes him realise he has to pay them. It’s always been Anna who logs into the Internet bank to pay their bills. He has no idea how it’s done. Maybe Mum can do it for him? Another realisation: they have many bills. Electricity, water, waste, phone, broadband, TV… His salary as a house painter doesn’t stretch far. They need Anna’s income. What will happen now that she can’t work? Will she still get paid? He realises he can’t ask that question. It will seem insensitive.
He pages through the bills, his heart growing heavier with each one. Then a note. He finds himself holding a personally written note, not a bill.
That was a nasty thing to do, Anna. You know I’m smarter than that.
It’s so small, no wonder no one has seen it. Erik looks closely at the words. The handwriting is tiny and neat. He reads it a few times, trying to understand if there is a hidden message. Who wrote this? A colleague? A student? Her sister? Anna has had her dramas through the years. She’s firm with people around her, but fair. At least that’s what she used to say. He’s not sure anymore. He stopped listening a long time ago.
Chapter 4 – Iris
1983
Billy Jean is not my lover, Michael Jackson belted out, making the crowd go crazy.
Billy Jean is not my lover.
But are you?
Iris watched as a woman with red hair navigated her way through the dance floor. She looked older, late twenties perhaps, tall and voluptuous, a cheeky fringe above green eyes. Iris parted her lips, raised her glass and slowly drank the cold white wine, conveying sophistication.
“I’m Hanna.”
The woman brought an air of perfume with her and gracefully stretched a hand out. Iris took it. It was soft but firm and she held it slightly longer than was customary for a handshake.
“Iris,” she said.
“Are you here alone?”
She was tempted to make up a story about a date abandoning her but Rolf wouldn’t have approved. Stay as close to the truth as possible. Their arrangement was so new, she didn’t want to let him down.
“Yes. And you?”
“I’m here with friends.” Hanna nodded in the direction she had just come from. “They’re about to leave though. So… what do you do, Iris?”
The casualness of the question was an emotional U-turn.
“I work in a library,” she said dryly, anticipating a yawn from Hanna. That was generally the reaction her profession generated. Instead, Hanna’s eyes lit up.
“A lover of books!” Her smile broadened. “I’m an actress and also a lover of books.”
“Really? What are you reading at the moment?”
“A play I’m rehearsing, No Exit.”
“By Jean-Paul Sartre?”
Hanna tilted her head slightly. “You know it?”
“Of course. Who are you playing?”
“Inez.”
They looked at each other knowingly: Inez, the woman who ended up in hell for seducing her cousin’s wife.
*
Walking down a cobbled street with multi-coloured buildings on either side, they talked about the play; leaving the comforting, smoky buzz of the club behind.
“Inez sings as well,” Hanna told her. “They’ve set trestles in a row, with a scaffold and a knife…”
Her voice was beautiful and the intimacy it brought made Iris slip her hand into Hanna’s. Warmth spread through her palm. It was a crisp summer evening and still light outside. Iris loved the months of the year when it never grew dark; the optimism that filled the air, the love, the hope…
“… Come, good folks, to Whitefriars Lane, come to see the merry show!”
Iris clapped while still holding Hanna’s hand, not wanting to withdraw it. Hanna bowed.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s always been my dream to be on stage.”
They walked past a small harbour and a row of shoreline restaurants that were busy closing for the night. Iris let Hanna lead the way, not knowing where they were heading. She had travelled to another city, wanting to remain anonymous, and no street felt familiar. It was frightening but mostly thrilling.
“What about you?” Hanna asked. “Are you living your dream?”
“I’m happy.” She didn’t want Hanna to know that this was her first job out of university. “I love literature and now I’m surrounded by it every day.”
“Good for you.”
Hanna started singing again and soon they reached a modern, whitewashed
apartment building, each window frame displaying potted St Paulias, hydrangeas or orchids. One day, Iris was hoping to have a large garden filled with flowers. Hanna fished out a key from her handbag.
“So here we are, forever,” she said dramatically, opening the door. “Inez’s famous last words.”
The apartment on the third floor was a contrast of white furniture and colourful cushions, drapes and curtains. Vibrant and inviting, the open plan space was covered with candleholders: on tables, dressers and shelves. Hanna slipped out of her heels and retrieved a lighter. Barefooted, she elegantly leaned over furniture, gradually making the room glow. Iris silently watched her while taking her own heels off. Hanna was so graceful.
“Nice moves,” Iris said but the words came out all wrong. They sounded like Rolf’s. Cheesy. It wasn’t a line for her, she meant it. The words needed to be her own to sound authentic. “I mean, did you train as a dancer?”
Hanna nodded and kissed her. Just for a second, their lips touched, before Hanna removed Iris’s coat from her shoulders.
“Here, let me take that,” she said, her cheeks rosy. “Red or white wine?”
“Red, please.” She liked variety.
Iris stepped into the area allocated as kitchen. It consisted of a small oven and a cooker, a fridge and a microwave. Hanna pulled out the cork from an already opened bottle on the counter, and poured two glasses. The wine felt like a formality, their eyes observing each other over the brim as they took a couple of sips. Iris slipped her arm around Hanna’s waist, pulling her close. Quickly take charge. She pressed herself against Hanna’s soft lips, their tongues meeting in a playful kiss. Then Iris pulled away.
“Let’s slow down,” she said.
Hanna smiled but instead of releasing Iris, she pulled her closer. This was really happening. Go with the flow. Iris’s hands travelled over Hanna’s curves, caressing the firm behind, stroking her muscular back and shoulders, grabbing a handful of the long hair, pulling it back. Hanna moaned as Iris’s lips brushed her neck.
When I Wake Up Page 2