A Question Mark is Half a Heart Read online

  THEN

  HEIVIDE, GOTLAND, 1982

  The fire wouldn’t light. Elin struck match after match against the box and held them to the bonfire; soon, all the matches in their secret supply were gone. The first flames from the dried grass subsided quickly. She kicked a stone, kicked at the branches. Then she threw the matchbox onto the high bonfire.

  She pulled at her t-shirt in an attempt to make it longer, but it barely reached the waistband of her underwear. She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her middle. It was stiff with salt water and rain that had dried in the strong sunlight. Soon she was back on the path again, running with the blanket fluttering behind her, her bare legs peeping through the gap in the fabric. When she was level with the store she left the path.

  Gerd laughed at her when she came in through the glass door.

  ‘What’s all this about? Is it some new fashion?’

  Without replying, Elin stood just inside the door and scanned for the matches with her eyes. She found them on the shelf behind the till.

  ‘You look freezing. Do you want some hot chocolate? I’m closing soon, but there’s time for us to have a drink.’

  Elin nodded. When Gerd went into the kitchen she quickly grabbed a few boxes of matches and hid them under the blanket, in the hand she was using to hold it closed.

  ‘Here, get this down you.’ Gerd handed her the steaming cup and placed a flowery plate of vanilla dreams between them on the counter. She picked up a biscuit gratefully and put the whole thing in her mouth. Her stomach was aching from hunger after a whole day without food.

  ‘Almost as good as Aina’s,’ she mumbled, her mouth full of crumbs.

  ‘Almost, yeah. But it’s not good enough. I don’t know what it was she put in the dough to make them so lovely and crisp. I’ve searched the whole house for the recipe.’

  ‘Aina never used any recipes. She did a bit of what she thought best, she knew it all by heart.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess she did. She was magical, wasn’t she?’

  ‘You’re magical too. Your cookies are just as good.’ Elin took the other cookie too. This time she nibbled at it and let the sweetness melt in her mouth.

  ‘How are things at the farm? Are you sad now Fredrik has gone?’

  Elin didn’t reply. Gerd went on talking, as though she already knew the answer.

  ‘Of course you are. You two, you’ve always belonged together. I was scared something might change … you know, when … But you stayed together all the same. Friendship must be at least as strong as love.’

  ‘Friendship is love too, isn’t it?’ Elin turned to face her.

  ‘Of course, I suppose it is. Are they nice to you? Marianne and Micke? Do you have to work hard?’

  Elin held up a hand towards her, showed her the calluses on her palm.

  ‘Oh, lord. You know you can always come here if there’s something you need to talk about.’

  Elin nodded. Gerd babbled on.

  ‘It’s so lovely when you come, it brightens my day.’

  ‘Yeah, but now I have to go again.’ Elin took a last gulp of hot chocolate and stood up.

  ‘You young people are always in such a rush. Stay a while longer and you can have some more biscuits. There are nut cookies too.’

  Gerd opened the biscuit tin, but Elin was already on her way out. Gerd held out a biscuit to her.

  ‘Take this with you.’

  Elin turned and took it. She put it straight in her mouth, still hungry.

  ‘I hear that Lasse’s come out now, have you heard from him at all? Is he coming back?’

  Elin shook her head.

  ‘I’ll be fourteen soon. I don’t need a dad any more. Not Lasse and not Micke.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Yeah, I get by just fine.’

  ‘He’ll turn up soon, your papa, don’t you think? You must miss him?’

  ‘I don’t know. I have to go. By the way … do you have any lighter fluid?’

  ‘What do you want that for?’

  ‘Micke asked me to ask you, I don’t know what he wants it for,’ she lied, averting her eyes.

  ‘I’ve got half a bottle, if that. But it’s his if he wants it.’

  Gerd disappeared again and Elin bent quickly over the sweet racks. Two packs of toffees joined the matchboxes under the blanket, mint and chocolate. She jumped when she heard Gerd’s voice from the basement stairs and pulled the blanket around her body to hide the stolen goods. The packets rustled and bulged out. She gathered the blanket and pressed her arm tightly across her stomach.

  ‘It’s pretty old, I don’t recognise the brand. But it says methylated spirits here,’ Gerd said, peering at the label over the top of her glasses.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ Elin grabbed the bottle from her hand and quickly made for the glass door.

  ‘I’m shutting up now, I can drive you home.’

  Gerd walked after her with the key in her hand, but Elin pretended not to hear and let the door slam shut behind her.

  Through the trees she could make out a faint light in the dusk, coming from Aina’s house. Someone was there. Stopping on the gravel track, Elin stiffened, unable to move her legs or arms. The blanket was trailing on the floor. Who would break into a dead person’s house? She dropped everything in a heap, the blanket, the matchboxes, the sweets, and the lighter fluid, and crept up to the fence. The light was coming from the living room window. One of the lace curtains was hanging askew, and thick layers of cobwebs shone like silver in the white glare from the strip-lights on the ceiling. Shadows flickered back and forth across the pale walls. There was someone inside. She stared at the window, listening to the noises coming from inside. Someone was going through the things left in the abandoned house.

  A car stopped in the drive and Elin ran round the corner of the house and hid. She climbed up on the garden furniture that was stacked along the side of the house and peered in. She could make out a face behind the thin curtains: Marianne. She was moving uncertainly around the room with a cigarette in one hand, a cloud of smoke around her. With the other hand she was rummaging through drawers and cupboards.

  She jumped when she heard a voice. Elin did too, almost losing her balance, and she had to grab onto the windowsill to avoid falling on the ground. It was Gerd, who’d also seen the lights. She stormed into the living room. Her voice sounded tinny and weak through the filter of the window pane.

  ‘Marianne, what are you up to? I thought there was a burglar.’

  Marianne and Gerd were eye-to-eye in the bright room. Objects lay spread across the floor: silver cutlery, vases, china. Marianne looked like a twisted abstract painting. Sweat on her forehead and upper lip, tears in her eyes, hair ratty, lipstick outside the natural contours of her lips, creased unbuttoned shirt hanging to one side, exposing one of her shoulders and her camisole. She dropped what she had in her hand, a vase and a silver spoon, and the vase smashed to pieces. Elin reached her hand out reflexively. It was the vase Aina had always put blue anemones in, the one that stood on the kitchen table in spring. As she saw Gerd bend down and pick up the shards, Elin felt the stack of furniture sway beneath her feet.

  ‘We have to clear this place up some time. It can’t stand here abandoned, someone has to move in. The place is too empty. We have to sell it now.’

  ‘What were you planning to do with all this?’

  Gerd went round looking at the objects that had been spread around the place.

  ‘Sell it. The silver’s real, that’ll be worth a bit. And the crystal glasses. There should be some jewellery too, but I haven’t found any.’

  ‘Jewellery? Aina only had costume stuff.’

  ‘How do you know? She was rolling in it. Those big stones she used to dangle around her neck might have been real.’

  ‘Have you looked in the cellar?’

  Marianne nodded. Gerd sat on the old blue velvet sofa, the one Aina never sat on because she thought it was too fancy. Bits
of the stuffing fell out onto the floor, small grey clumps of dried foam. Marianne sat down beside her. Elin saw their heads poking up over the sofa-back. They leaned against one another. She could no longer hear what they were saying, as they were talking too low. Suddenly Marianne stood up, seeming angry. She walked to the stairs, dragging on the cigarette between her fingers.

  ‘Don’t tell me how to live my life,’ she shouted at Gerd. Then she dropped the cigarette butt nonchalantly on the stairs and disappeared upstairs.

  As Elin jumped down, a chair slipped to the ground. She grabbed her things and ran fast towards the beach, the sea, and the bonfire that wouldn’t burn without Fredrik. The clouds piled up on the horizon, pinkish in the setting sun. The waves had subsided in the light evening breeze. Elin shivered and rubbed her legs to stay warm.

  She squirted lighter fluid over the branches, using every drop in the bottle until the dry wood was stained dark. Then she took out the matchboxes and lit the matches one by one, dropping them carefully deep into the pile. It crackled, and the flames climbed high, up towards the trees. Warmth enclosed her body, flushing her cheeks. She lay down, wrapped in the blanket, hugged her knees to her chest and rested her eyes on the red flames until she fell asleep.

  NOW

  NEW YORK, 2017

  Ten minutes late, but there she comes. Elin sees her darting between puddles down on the street, a newspaper over her head to protect her from the downpour. The water splashes up her legs, her pale jeans striped with damp. She sees her wave cheerfully at the concierge before she disappears from view. The studio is full of people. She needs Alice for a picture, and Alice has promised to help out. Joe laughs when she comes running in through the door.

  ‘Voilà! Your mini-me is here at last,’ he calls to Elin. Both Elin and Alice look offended.

  ‘I don’t look like …’

  ‘She doesn’t look like …’

  They protest simultaneously, then both laugh.

  ‘You do, apart from your clothes, I guess,’ he says.

  Alice sighs.

  ‘Don’t you start, Joe, Mom already hassles me enough. Cool clothes aren’t important to me.’

  ‘I didn’t say you weren’t cool. What I meant was that you’re the cool one.’ Joe runs his hand through his blond hair and glances at Elin. Alice smiles delightedly.

  ‘Thanks, at least someone’s on my side.’

  When Elin turns her back, Alice leans towards him.

  ‘Mom’s going crazy, I swear. Have you noticed anything weird?’

  Joe nods.

  ‘I can hear you.’ Elin whirls around.

  ‘She lost it when Dad moved out,’ Alice continues.

  ‘Shh,’ hisses Elin.

  Joe looks from one to the other.

  ‘Sam? Has he moved out? How come?’

  ‘Alice, you were late and we’ve got work to do. Let’s get going now. Joe doesn’t need to hear about that.’

  Alice mouths to him: Hasn’t she told you? He shakes his head.

  ‘Joe works with you every day,’ says Alice to Elin. ‘How could you not tell him you’ve separated?’

  Ignoring her, Elin walks away, and Alice follows her through the studio. Men in suits are standing around waiting. An enormous bunch of coloured balloons has floated up to the ceiling. Joe jumps up and pulls it down. He walks over to the white backdrop and waves at the models to follow him. They stand next to each other, stiffly. One of the ones at the edge holds the balloons. Alice takes off the clothes she’s wearing, revealing a pale pink ballet costume underneath. She stretches carefully, warming up her stiff legs and arms. Elin walks across the backdrop and gestures.

  ‘I want you to jump in front of them, high in a grand jeté, your arms stretched out gracefully and your head tilted back.’

  She turns to the men.

  ‘And you stand stock still. Try not to move at all, you almost need to hold your breath just as she jumps. Look serious. You and you look sideways,’ she points at two of them. ‘The others look straight ahead. OK?’

  The models nod. Alice tries a jump. She lands softly and Elin nods approvingly.

  ‘My princess, this is going to be perfect.’

  Alice and Joe are each lying on a sofa. The photo is done, and the models have left. Elin sits with the computer on her lap and tags the best images. Now and then she turns the computer around to show them. She’s happy.

  ‘Alice, can you run up and fetch my sketch book. I want to show you. It turned out just like my sketch, almost better.’

  Alice walks over to the stairs. She’s still wearing her ballet shoes and she trips along, sway-backed. The tulle tutu flips in the draught. She dances a few steps to the peaceful music streaming from the speakers, does a solitary pirouette, spinning turn after turn.

  Elin takes her place on the sofa. She stretches, her back aching after many hours with the weight of the camera. Just as she closes her eyes she feels a piece of paper land on her face. Her eyes snap open and meet Alice’s.

  ‘Is this yours?’ she asks.

  Elin takes it and looks. It’s a page torn out of a notebook. She quickly folds it twice and places it on the keys of the computer. Then she closes the lid.

  ‘What language were you writing in?’

  Elin shrugs.

  ‘It must be something someone left here.’

  ‘Stop it. I’d recognise your flowers anywhere. What does it say?’ Alice reaches for the computer, but Elin twists it out of her reach.

  ‘I don’t know. Stop asking.’

  ‘You don’t know? You’re so ridiculous.’ Alice raises her eyebrows and sighs.

  ‘No, I don’t know.’

  ‘You’ve written it, it’s your handwriting. But you don’t know what it says?’

  Joe clears his throat awkwardly and sits up. Alice sits down beside him. She slaps her hand on his leg.

  ‘See? Crazy. Now she’s started speaking a language she can’t even understand. Weird, huh?’

  Joe shrugs and wanders off to start dismantling the equipment. Alice moves closer to Elin.

  ‘Just let it go.’ Elin’s voice is sharp.

  ‘Come on, tell me. Fredrik? That’s a name, I get that much.’

  Elin tears the paper into pieces. Turns it into tiny flakes and releases them. They float slowly through the air and land like confetti on the floor.

  ‘Why did you do that? Who’s Fredrik? If you’ve met someone new, you can tell me. I want you to be happy,’ Alice says, tilting her head to one side.

  ‘Another day perhaps. Not now. I want to go home, I need to sleep.’ Elin stands up, hugging the computer tight to her stomach.

  ‘Does this have something to do with your project? What is it you’re doing?’ Alice won’t give up.

  ‘I’m just longing for nature, it reminds me of something I miss.’

  ‘You’ve always detested nature.’

  Elin shakes her head.

  ‘I take a lot of walks in Central Park. And I like being at the beach.’

  ‘The Park is hardly the country, there’s asphalt, you can hear the cars. And when we’re at the beach you just lie by the pool while Dad and I swim in the sea.’

  ‘Let it go now, I’m telling you. Please.’

  Elin walks away, beckoning to Joe, who follows her up to the office, leaving Alice on her own on the sofa. She stands and picks up her rucksack.

  ‘You haven’t forgotten our dinner tomorrow, right? The usual place. Eight o’clock,’ she calls.

  Elin stops on the stairs, her face blank.

  ‘Mom!’

  ‘Oh yeah, right. The twentieth. Your birthday.’

  ‘Yeah. Dad’s going to be there. Are you coming?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’d never miss your birthday.’

  ‘You have before. When you had a really important job. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘But I won’t miss this. I promise.’

  Elin blows Alice a kiss. She catches it.

  ‘I love you,’ Alice says w
ith the kiss caught in her fist.

  Elin smiles at her and waves.

  ‘Ditto,’ she whispers.

  Elin waits a while at the entrance to Alice’s student dorm. Young people come and go. Alice is right, everyone looks like her, dressed in jeans and worn-out trainers. With curiosity she walks towards the door, but gets stopped by the doorman.

  ‘Residents only here.’

  ‘I’m visiting my daughter.’

  He looks her over.

  ‘Are you really old enough to have a daughter living here?’ he grins.

  She nods and pulls out her driving licence. He signs her in and she takes the lift up. She’s only been there once before, when they brought all of Alice’s bags and boxes into the little bare room.

  The door is ajar. Outside, young women run from room to room. The corridor is full of music and chatter and laughter. Elin pauses in the doorway. The walls are covered with pages torn from magazines, mostly pictures of dancers. A red helium balloon in the shape of a heart is tied to the end of the bed, and she wonders who gave it to Alice. The bedclothes are crumpled, a pile of dresses on top. Alice is staring at her own reflection. She’s so young. Elin looks at her watch and starts. Only five minutes now. Five minutes to seventeen years. She puts a hand on her stomach, remembering.

  Alice’s curly hair is carefully brushed and gathered in a bun at the base of her neck. Around her neck hangs the gold heart she got when she was born, the one she’s worn every birthday since then. Her face is lightly made-up with mascara and red lipstick. She’s wearing a duck-egg-blue dress. The draped neckline clings across her bust, and underneath the diaphanous fabric floats out into an ankle-length skirt.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ Elin whispers just as the minute-hand moves. Alice turns around.

  ‘Are you here already? We were going to meet …’

  ‘I thought we could walk there together, you and I. You look like a dream.’

  She kisses her cheek, careful not to ruin her hair and make-up. Alice takes a step backward.

  ‘And you look … totally normal,’ she laughs and flies at her in a tight, hard hug. Her bun loosens a little, a tendril of hair escaping. Elin catches it and carefully tucks it back in.

  ‘I’m trying,’ she whispers.