A Question Mark is Half a Heart Page 10

  ‘Enough. We’re a real bunch of bandits, have you thought about that? Just wait till Erik and Edvin get going.’

  Elin eyed her in alarm. Marianne suddenly lit up, a grin spreading across her face.

  ‘Mama, that’s not funny.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk, stuffing milk cartons down your top. Little burglar.’

  Elin fell silent. Marianne filled the pot with water and started peeling the potatoes. Elin tipped in her carrot slices.

  ‘At least we don’t rob shopkeepers with rifles,’ she muttered.

  Marianne stopped what she was doing.

  ‘So you know now?’

  ‘Everyone knows. Everyone whispers about it. You talk about it too, do you think I don’t hear?’

  ‘You’re right, it’s not funny,’ said Marianne. ‘I’m going to get a job, a good job, I promise. As soon as I’ve got a job I’ll stop stealing. Pinkie promise.’

  She held out her little finger and Elin hooked her own around it doubtfully.

  ‘Does that mean I can nick milk as much as I like? Until you’ve found a job?’

  Marianne turned off the running water and took Elin’s face between her hands. She kissed her forehead.

  ‘No, sweetheart. The two scoundrels we already have in this family are quite enough.’

  Elin pushed her hands away and went back to slicing the last carrot.

  ‘Does that mean we’re still a family?’ she said. ‘You, me, Papa, and the others?’

  ‘I guess we’ll always be a family, in one form or another. I’m your mama, he’s your papa. That will never change.’

  ‘But do you love him?’

  Marianne said nothing. She took the parsnip from the counter and peeled it quickly with long, rapid strokes.

  ‘Do you love him?’

  Marianne turned to Elin, dropped the parsnip and the peeler in the sink and gripped the countertop.

  ‘Elin, he robbed a shop with his hunting rifle. Do you understand? He shot the cashier with it. She could have died.’

  ‘That hasn’t got anything to do with it. Do you love him? Answer me.’

  ‘It’s got plenty to do with it.’

  ‘Answer me!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You used to.’

  ‘Maybe. But not now. He’s too dangerous, he gets dangerous when he drinks. Do you love him?’

  ‘Yes, of course. He’s my papa and he’s kind when he’s not drinking. You know that too. Don’t you remember? The cuddles, and when he used to sing for us. We used to laugh so much.’

  ‘But I don’t want to have him here any more.’

  ‘You’ll never get him, you know that, right?’

  ‘Who? Papa? I don’t want him.’

  ‘You know who I mean. That other guy, Micke. Don’t think I don’t know. He doesn’t give a shit about people like us.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Elin dropped the carrot , ran out of the kitchen and left the house. She ran to the chair behind it and sank down beside the four small crosses on the kittens’ graves. The rain had stopped falling. She took the paper ball out of her pocket and carefully uncrumpled it, then wrote a few words at the bottom:

  Behave nicely in prison so you can come home soon. Otherwise youll screw it all up. Please come home. We miss you.

  NOW

  NEW YORK, 2017

  It doesn’t look like a restaurant. A large neon sign on Essex Street leads you in to an unpretentious store selling antique jewellery from tatty display cases. Alice is standing by one of them when Elin arrives. She looks up and their eyes meet, for the first time since Sam moved out. Elin’s are pleading, Alice’s accusing. She turns her back on Elin without a word and moves further into the store. At the back wall stands a well-built man, wearing a leather jacket and black sunglasses, who looks them up and down. When they get to him he nods discreetly and pulls open the door behind the counter. Beyond him, a whole new world opens up. It’s like walking into a country manor, with an elegant staircase leading to the upper floor and the dining room. Alice walks ahead of Elin, her denim skirt so short and tight that Elin thinks she can see a glimpse of her underwear. With it she’s wearing a baggy red t-shirt with a wide neck, which has fallen askew and bared one of her shoulders. Her hair is gathered in a messy knot, her face unmade. Still, she fits in with the surroundings somehow. She glows, she looks youthfully cool.

  A waiter shows them to their table. The music’s so loud it’s hard to hear what he’s saying. Elin pulls her chair closer to Alice and Alice moves away the same amount.

  ‘Are you enjoying college? How’s the dorm?’

  Alice sighs.

  ‘I thought we were here to talk about you and Dad?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe, but more than that we’re here to celebrate you. I missed that dinner with Grandma and Grandpa, you know.’

  ‘I’m guessing that was the last straw for Dad, you missing that dinner. How could you just not bother to turn up?’

  Alice holds the menu up in front of her, hiding her face, only her hair visible above it.

  ‘It’s not that I didn’t bother … I …’

  Alice looks around the side of the menu, eyebrows raised.

  ‘You didn’t want to?’

  ‘Alice, I was working.’ Elin is pleading for understanding, but Alice has already vanished behind the menu again. When the waiter comes she casually orders a starter and main. Elin hasn’t had a chance to look yet.

  ‘I’ll take the same, that’ll be fine,’ she says, pushing the menu aside.

  ‘They’re sharing plates. It’s better to order four different ones,’ the waiter says.

  ‘I don’t want to share with her,’ Alice says tightly, slamming the menu shut and handing it to the waiter, who leaves.

  ‘Alice, please, can’t you just try? Can’t we try to have a nice time?’

  Alice shakes her head.

  ‘This dinner isn’t going to be nice however much you try. You and Dad have separated. If there’s anything we should be talking about, surely it’s that?’

  The waiter comes back to the table and pours water into their glasses. The jug is made from white porcelain and a solitary pink rose decorates the crackle-glazed surface. Elin reaches out and touches it and the waiter puts it down in front of her, looking almost apologetic. Then he disappears again. Elin arranges the jug and then gets out her phone to take a picture.

  ‘Are you even working now, while we’re eating?’ says Alice, watching her.

  ‘I’m not working. It’s beautiful, it reminds me of something, that’s all.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something. Nothing. Please, tell me how things are going at school. I miss you so much at home, it’s so empty.’

  ‘It’s good. It’s hard. We dance. My feet hurt all the time. So, now you tell me. What’s with the jug?’

  ‘You’re stubborn. Just like your dad.’

  ‘Aha, is that a problem? Are you going to divorce me too?’

  ‘But I haven’t … I don’t want to … we’re not going to … what has Dad said?’

  ‘That you’re always working and that he can’t bear being home alone.’

  ‘Did he really say that?’

  ‘No. But that was what he meant.’

  The food arrives, two identical dishes. Elin leaves her plate untouched as Alice scoops the thin slices of tuna sashimi into her mouth, seemingly swallowing them whole. When she’s finished she eyes Elin’s plate.

  ‘Aren’t you going to eat anything?’

  ‘No, I’m not hungry. Take some of mine too if you want.’

  Elin pushes the plate towards Alice. She hesitates, but then begins to help herself greedily. Piece after piece disappears. When the plate is almost empty she looks at Elin.

  ‘I get angry when I’m hungry,’ she says.

  Elin nods.

  ‘Do you get hungry from all the dancing? Is it hard?’

  Alice reaches for the last piece of fish.<
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  ‘Mmm, that was so delicious,’ she says. ‘Now let’s talk about something else. Tell me about the jug. What does it remind you of?’

  ‘Elderflower cordial.’ Elin smiles.

  ‘Cordial? I’ve never seen you drink that.’

  ‘It was a long time ago. When I was little. Someone used to give it to me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t remember. But I can remember the jug.’

  ‘You’ve never talked about when you were little. Can’t you tell me more?’

  Elin turns and sweeps her gaze nervously across the other tables.

  ‘Does the music have to be so loud?’ she sighs.

  ‘Could you stop complaining? This place is good, I’ve wanted to come here for ages. And anyway, you can’t orchestrate everything so it turns out exactly like you want it to.’

  Elin spins to face her.

  ‘You’ve been talking to Dad.’

  ‘I hardly need to talk to Dad to know that. Lose control for once, Mom. Jump in a puddle, dance, play with a dog. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you even interact with an animal. It’s weird. You’re weird. You don’t have any interests besides your job. What makes you happy?’

  ‘It was an old lady, a neighbour, who used to give me cordial. And lend me books. OK?’ Elin doesn’t look at her daughter.

  ‘Good. What else?’

  ‘Nothing else. It was good cordial, and she had it in a lovely jug like this.’ Elin reaches out her hand and strokes the surface of the jug.

  ‘Where? In Paris? There’s something else, I can tell,’ Alice says.

  Elin folds her arms and shudders.

  ‘This is hard for me too, your dad moving out.’

  Alice looks up and meets her gaze.

  ‘It’s your fault, Mom, don’t you realise that? To be honest I can understand him being tired of you always working. I am, too.’

  It’s raining when they leave the restaurant. Warm, damp summer rain that falls on their heads and shoulders. They’re not talking. Neither of them seems to have any more words to share. They ate the rest of the meal in silence, paid, and left. Now they’re standing side by side on the pavement.

  The street lamps glitter in the puddles and everything shimmers. Elin hails a taxi and opens the door for Alice, who climbs in and pulls the door shut without looking at her. Elin stands alone and watches the red rear lights disappear into the night with the most precious thing she has. Or had. Everything seems to be slipping out of her hands. Everything she fought so hard for.

  THEN

  HEIVIDE, GOTLAND, 1979

  Elin had been standing behind the lime tree eavesdropping for a good while when the little group of people disappeared, one after the other, in through the glass door. Her breathing quickened. She was holding a handwritten list and a fifty krona note. She stuffed both into her jacket pocket and turned on her heel, then ran as fast as she could along the gravel verge of the main road. It was too slow, so she stepped out onto the road instead. Took long strides on the asphalt, swinging her fists up to her face as though she were running a race. Faster, faster, faster. She crossed towards the hedge without slowing down, sliding through the hole and getting mud on one of her trouser legs. She tore the door open and rushed in with her shoes on. Marianne didn’t stop her. She was sitting on her chair, cigarette in hand, with her hair rolled in huge curlers. Elin stopped short in front of her, panting. Her hair was dishevelled and full of leaves from her slide across the lawn, her trousers and shirt muddy. Marianne looked at the ashtray and stubbed out her cigarette, pressing it down so the butt wrinkled up into a little lump that disappeared down into the sand along with her fingertip. Then she looked up.

  ‘The state of you. What have you been doing? Where’s the eggs and butter?’

  Elin shook her head, couldn’t get any words out.

  ‘My God, child, what’s happened? Has someone else died?’

  ‘Gerd and Ove, Aina …’ she managed at last.

  ‘What about them? Has something happened to them?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘Have you stolen money from Gerd and Ove?’ Marianne stared hard at her. Elin shook her head eagerly, she was stammering and could hardly get the words out.

  ‘Money, they’ve …’ that was all she managed before there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Take your shoes off and brush off that mud,’ Marianne hissed at her. She got up slowly and walked over to the door. A thin shawl was wrapped around her shoulders and she was hunched as though cold. Elin followed her. As the door opened, she looked into the solemn eyes of someone she’d just seen outside the store.

  ‘Are you Marianne Eriksson?’

  Elin saw her mother nod and suspiciously pull the door towards her a little. She touched her hand to her head cautiously and pulled out the curlers.

  ‘Yes, who’s asking?’

  ‘May we come in?’

  ‘What is this about?’

  ‘We’ve got good news, can we do this inside?’

  ‘Of course.’ Marianne took a few steps back and let them step into the hall. There were three of them. Two men in brown suits and a woman in a full skirt and neat blouse. None of them took their shoes off. The woman had a folder full of papers in her hand, just as she’d had when Elin saw her outside the shop. They sat down at the kitchen table and Marianne folded her hands over her stomach.

  ‘What do you want? Is it Lasse? What’s he done now?’

  The three visitors looked surprised.

  ‘Lasse?’ said one of the men. ‘No, we’re here to talk about Aina. Aina Englund. Our condolences.’

  Marianne nodded and took a few steps backwards until she was leaning against the kitchen counter. The woman took a piece of paper from the folder and cleared her throat. She read aloud:

  Aina Englund, Will

  15 August 1979

  I can feel the life running out of me. This is my last will and testament. I die alone. Without children or close relatives. I wish for all my possessions to be divided evenly between Gerd Andersson and Marianne Eriksson. The girls who have always been there for me.

  Witnessed by

  Lars Olsson

  Kerstin Alm

  The woman looked up again and lowered the paper a little. Marianne laughed out loud.

  ‘Aina! And she wrote this just recently?’ she said. ‘Well then, there can’t be much. She was the last one in these parts who still went to the privy to take a shit.’

  Elin elbowed her, but Marianne shrugged and laughed again.

  ‘What? It’s true. And she even ate the rind of the ham, always said the fat was good for the brain.’

  One of the men cleared his throat loudly and the woman took out another piece of paper.

  ‘Mrs Englund actually had a fair amount of money. I understand she concealed it well. It was family money, it’s tied up in stocks and bonds. She left behind …’

  The woman paused and pushed her large wine-red plastic glasses up the bridge of her nose.

  ‘Almost three million krona.’ She paused again. ‘And then there’s the house.’

  Marianne stared at her. The woman passed her the piece of paper.

  ‘But you’re not the sole benefactor. Half will go to Gerd Andersson.’

  Marianne took the sheet and stared in astonishment at the rows of figures. She turned, smiling, and Elin could see the delight in her eyes. They were sparkling.

  Erik and Edvin were jumping around upstairs, shouting. They pounded the floor but Marianne, humming to herself, seemed unconcerned. No one was fighting, no one getting hurt. Their loud laughter and singing poured along the walls and filled the whole house with joy, as though an entire orchestra was tuning its most beautiful notes. Elin sat at the kitchen table. She was holding the lists they’d written earlier that evening, filled with everything they lacked, everything they wanted. Star Wars toys, games, bikes, clothes. Not all at once, Elin was careful to point that out to Marianne. But as soon as possible.

  ‘
And you, Mama,’ Elin said. ‘You haven’t written anything, is there anything you’d like?’

  Marianne took the pad and the pen and started writing her own list:

  Canary Islands.

  Make-up.

  Clothes.

  A new pair of shoes.

  Two new pairs of shoes.

  Three new pairs of shoes.

  She laughed and her eyes glittered.

  ‘We’re not dreaming, are we?’ Elin watched her mother studying the document the lawyers had left behind.

  ‘No, it doesn’t seem that way. It will be more than a million krona after tax. It’s unreal. But true.’

  Elin saw her counting and thinking, her mouth moving and her lips forming silent figures.

  ‘We’ll have enough to get by on for a long time, if we live frugally. Even if I don’t get a job.’

  ‘It’s gone very quiet.’ Elin nodded upstairs.

  They crept up the stairs and peered into Erik and Edvin’s room. They lay close together in bed, under the flowery cover, flicking through a catalogue. Elin crept up behind them, putting her arms around both brothers’ shoulders. Erik flicked through the pages while Edvin pointed out items of interest.

  ‘Can we get real fishing rods now, Mama?’ Edvin whispered. He still had his lisp, and his hazel eyes looked at her full of expectation. Marianne sat on the edge of the bed, leaned forward and studied the page he was pointing at.

  ‘I want this one, can I have it?’

  She nodded and held him closer. They lay there together, in one big heap of family, pointing and wishing and dreaming.

  ‘What do you say to a trip to the Canary Islands over Christmas and New Year?’ she asked all of a sudden. ‘Wouldn’t that be fun, a little warmth and sunshine?’

  ‘Flying in an aeroplane?’ Edvin asked.

  ‘Obviously, dummy, how else will we get there?’ Erik shoved him so he fell sideways. Edvin whined, but Marianne pulled him close to her and kissed him on the forehead.

  ‘Come here, my little treasure,’ she said, hugging him tight. ‘Don’t fight, boys. I’m not joking. We can go, we can afford it. So let’s do it, shall we? We’ll stay in a fancy hotel with a swimming pool, so you can swim around like fish all day long.’