A Question Mark is Half a Heart Page 19

  They walk arm-in-arm to the restaurant. Elin is tense, her eyes searching for Sam. She spots him a long way off, hurrying along in a black suit, as though he were late for an important meeting. He cruises along through the people on the sidewalk. When he sees them he stops and walks the last few steps, his eyes fixed on Alice. His brow is coated with droplets of sweat and his hair is slicked against his head.

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’ He kisses Alice on the cheek and nods curtly to Elin. She feels a sharp pang of longing in her stomach.

  ‘If I’m even late,’ he goes on, twisting his arm to see the face of his wristwatch. ‘Ha, no, I’m not, why am I apologising?’

  Sam puts his arm around Alice’s shoulders and pulls her along with him. Elin is left behind. She sees them lean towards each other familiarly. He says something, Alice laughs. They’ve always been close, always talked in a way she can’t really understand.

  They are seated in a corner, around a circular table. However they sit, Sam and Elin will end up next to each other. Elin pulls her chair closer to Alice. They sit in silence.

  ‘It’s my birthday …’ Alice entreats them.

  ‘Perhaps we can talk about the weather,’ Sam says in an attempt at humour.

  Elin closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

  ‘Can we just order. And eat. And get this over with,’ she says in the end, sorrowfully.

  ‘Get it over with? Mom!’ Alice glares at her.

  ‘Elin, it’s Alice’s birthday,’ Sam scolds, shaking his head.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Elin whispers. ‘Please don’t fight.’

  Alice tries to change the subject.

  ‘Can’t you tell us about your new project, Mom? About the notebook and all the pictures?’

  Sam leans across the table.

  ‘Oh, so you’ve started? Tell us!’ he says.

  Elin sighs.

  ‘It’s nothing, just a few images and a bit of text.’

  Alice looks from one to the other.

  ‘Started? Do you know what she’s up to Dad? It’s not just pictures, it’s like a totally different world, a farm, wilderness.’

  Sam shakes his head and looks at Elin. She squirms.

  ‘Stop it now, Alice, you weren’t supposed to see it. It’s private. Stop it, both of you.’

  Elin stands up quickly, so quickly her chair falls backwards. She just catches it with her hand. The other guests at the little Italian restaurant fall silent and several pairs of eyes turn in their direction.

  ‘Excuse me.’ She rights the chair, embarrassed, tears burning in her eyes. ‘I just need to go to the ladies’ room.’

  She hears Alice whisper to Sam, loud and clear as if she’d screamed the words right into her ear.

  ‘She’s completely lost it, you really need to come back home.’

  The rain is hammering down when they finally leave the restaurant after a quiet, tense dinner. Sam leaves after giving them both a quick hug. Taxi after taxi passes, but none of them stop for Elin’s outstretched arm. In the end she takes a step back.

  ‘I guess we could also walk. Together. Via your place and then I can walk home.’

  ‘Mom, it’s the wrong side of town and more than seventy blocks from your place. It’s raining.’

  ‘I’d like to walk you home in any case. I’ll get a taxi later,’ Elin insists.

  ‘I’m not twelve.’

  ‘No, geez. You’re seventeen. Do you know what I was doing when I was seventeen?’

  ‘Let me guess. You were already a star, earning more than the GDP of Gambia,’ Alice says.

  ‘Lord above, do you have to turn everything into politics?’ Elin stops still. ‘I was planning to tell you about my first great love, but if you’d rather talk politics, go ahead.’

  ‘Love. How can you even think about that after this evening? Thanks for destroying my birthday, next year I think I’ll celebrate on my own.’

  Alice’s eyes start to shine, tears welling up and spilling over the rim of one eye. She turns on her heel and starts walking in the wrong direction, fast, as though she’s trying to escape from something. Elin is left standing, watching her disappear past all the other people hunched over against the rain. Her blue dress glows beautifully. She sees her tug her hair out of the bun as she goes, the curly hair standing up again like a halo around her head, extra frizzy from the moisture in the air. Elin smiles when she sees the soles of the white gym shoes she’s been hiding under the beautiful long dress all evening.

  ‘Wait!’ Elin walks after her but she’s already far too far away. She starts running. The black pumps she’s wearing make the balls of her feet hurt with every step. She limps the last few yards and manages at last to get hold of Alice’s shoulder.

  ‘Hey, sorry! It’s your birthday. Can we start over, please?’

  Alice turns to her, arms by her sides.

  ‘Now? It’s the middle of the night. It’s too late. This birthday is already over and it’s ruined as well. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have any family at all. It’s better to celebrate with friends.’

  Elin shakes her head. Now they both have tears in their eyes, one from sorrow and one from anguish.

  ‘Don’t say that. Never say that. We’ll always be your family, you’ll never lose us,’ Elin says.

  Alice is crying. She looks at Elin with a resigned expression.

  ‘I’m actually glad I’ve moved to school,’ she says, with a voice that gets thicker and thicker.

  ‘Please, my love, come home with me. You can sleep at home tonight. I’ll make you some hot chocolate, mom-chocolate. Please.’

  Alice doesn’t answer for a while.

  ‘If you promise me one thing,’ she says at last.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That you’ll tell me what you’re up to. About that notebook. There’s something weird about it and I want to know what’s happening. And I want an honest answer.’

  Elin takes a deep breath and blows the air out again. She closes her eyes. The ground sways beneath her feet.

  ‘Mom, promise,’ Alice goes on.

  Elin nods, almost imperceptibly.

  ‘I promise,’ she says, under her breath.

  They shake themselves like dogs in the lift up to the apartment. Alice’s dress is so wet her nipples are visible through the thin fabric. She puts her hands over them in horror when she catches sight of her reflection. They fall laughing into the hallway when the lift doors open. They’re wet and hopelessly dishevelled after a long walk and then a taxi journey for the last few blocks. Alice points at the mirror in the hall.

  ‘Look, aren’t we gorgeous. Totally natural.’

  ‘Some more than others,’ Elin giggles, at which Alice wriggles out of the wet dress and lets it fall to the floor.

  ‘Totally natural,’ she laughs.

  ‘I thought it was only back in my day we would burn our bras.’

  ‘You try fitting a bra under that dress, I haven’t been able to breathe all evening. I don’t understand how you manage wearing fancy clothes all day, every day. When you’re working. You really should try jeans and a t-shirt. There’s nothing better.’

  Elin fetches a dressing gown and hands it to her.

  ‘I was young once, too. I promise. I’ve even run home at night, barefoot after swimming in the sea.’

  Alice sinks down onto the grey-blue sofa. She pulls her legs up under her and wraps herself in a blanket.

  ‘You, barefoot, night-swimming … I’ll believe that when I see it.’ She pats the spot beside her. ‘Come sit down now. And tell me. Why are you so obsessed with farms and tractors?’

  Elin hesitates. She stands quietly, thinking.

  ‘You’re the most stubborn person I know,’ she says at last. Alice nods expectantly.

  Elin has a lump in her throat. She swallows hard, walks over to the desk and picks up the black notebook. Stroking the cover with her index finger, she carefully opens the first page. She sits down beside Alice, the book in her lap, an
d starts talking. The words that leave her mouth come out as whispers. Alice turns to face her and listens.

  ‘This door, the blue one …’ She stops and looks at the image for a long time.

  ‘Yes, what about that door? It looks shabby, like it’s attached to a shack.’

  ‘It was, this one. But not the real one, the one I remember. I grew up a long way from New York.’

  ‘Yes, in Paris. You told me about it. About your modelling career and the fancy apartment with the view of the Eiffel Tower. And your rich, flighty mom Anne’s bookshop. What a shame she died. I think I would have liked her.’

  Elin shakes her head. She clears her throat, her throat catches, her heart beats rapidly. When she starts speaking, her voice breaks.

  ‘Behind this door lived my real mother.’

  ‘What do you mean, real?’

  ‘I grew up in Sweden. On an island, in the country. On a farm, to tell the truth.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘These images are my memories. The language you saw on the drawing is Swedish. I was writing to a friend. I drew the flowers for him, flowers that grow where we used to live.’

  ‘Sweden?’ Alice shakes her head uncomprehendingly.

  ‘There are so many memories resurfacing, I can’t run away from them any more. It’s as though Sweden has come here. I can’t stop it.’

  Alice takes a deep breath.

  ‘Have you been lying to me all my life? And to Dad, your whole relationship? What about Paris? We’ve been there and you knew your way around the whole place.’

  Elin shuts her eyes and clutches Alice’s hand. Alice stands up now and stares down at Elin.

  ‘I had to,’ Elin whispers.

  ‘No one’s ever forced to lie, Mom. You told me that yourself.’

  ‘I had to. Because I ran away from there and decided never to return.’

  ‘But didn’t anyone look for you? Your mom?’

  ‘I ran away to my dad’s place, and she found out. To Stockholm. Then I headed to Paris, not long after. I was discovered on the street in Stockholm. Swedish girls were popular in Paris, I got an agent and they arranged a place for me. I worked hard, swallowed all my tears and all my heartbreak. And then it was exactly as I’ve told you.’

  ‘Apart from your mom.’

  ‘Yes, but she did exist, she was a friend. Perhaps I dreamed of having her as a mother.’

  ‘So I’m half-Swedish. Not half-French,’ Alice says.

  ‘Yes, you’re half-Swedish. But I haven’t been there since I was sixteen.’

  ‘Like I am now.’

  ‘You’re seventeen. Or have you forgotten?’

  Alice smiles, but her expression soon turns serious again.

  ‘Why have you never said anything? What’s so terrible about being Swedish?’

  ‘There’s nothing terrible about that. It was just so long ago. France became my new home, I had a totally different life when I met your dad. I was so scared of losing him.’

  ‘But don’t you get it? You keep us, the people closest to you, so far from the truth that it’s impossible for us to love you. For you to love us.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re just one big question mark. To us and to yourself. A question mark is always just half a heart, have you ever thought about that? You can’t love someone whose heart is full of secrets. You just can’t.’

  Tears are running down Elin’s cheeks. She flicks back and forth through the pages of the notebook.

  ‘I should have told you.’

  ‘Yes, you should have told us. Why didn’t you? Why did you tell so many lies?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy, there were a lot of things that weren’t good. We were poor, I think I was embarrassed. I was afraid he’d leave me if he found out how things really were. I wanted him so badly, I fell so deeply in love with him, he made me feel safe.’

  ‘So you pretended to be perfect for his sake. All these years, your whole marriage. That’s sick, Mom, sick.’

  Elin wanders slowly back and forth across the living room floor with her fingers in her mouth. She’s chewing on her pale pink nails and listening to the rain through the open terrace door. The force of it is so strong she can hear the drops drumming on the patio furniture. Far off there’s a rumble of something that could be thunder, but in New York you can never really be sure which are nature’s sounds and which are artificial. She pulls the door closed, shutting the storm out.

  ‘Thunder,’ she says.

  ‘Hmm, the angels are having fun again,’ Alice replies.

  She’s still sitting on the sofa, the notebook on her lap. She’s flicked through it but now it’s shut. She runs her hand over it.

  ‘I really don’t understand anything. It’s just pictures. It means nothing to me.’

  ‘I understand that. But it means a lot to me.’

  Alice starts leafing through again, and Elin leaves her to it and goes to the wardrobe. She needs to get dressed, brush her hair, paint her face. Get herself back. She chooses a long grey dress she bought one time in Paris. It’s comfortable, and it flows supplely over her slender body.

  Paris. It’s such a beautiful story that she wants, more than anything, to go on clinging to it and never let go. A mother who loved her more than anything. Who, even though she wasn’t perfect, was a creative genius. Who knew everything a well-read person should know, who’d read all the classics and had daily discussions with all the artists, authors, and philosophers who visited her bookstore and attended her dinners. Elin has given Alice many books from there, books she’s saved and now forced her to read too. Books that really exist.

  But the mother doesn’t exist, she never has. It was just a woman in a shop. And Elin was just one of many customers who became close friends with her. She has told so many lies. She rubs her eyes hard, the remains of her mascara leaving black streaks across her face.

  ‘Can you tell me more?’

  She jumps at Alice’s voice, shudders in discomfort at the thought of the truth.

  ‘Don’t say anything to Sam. Please.’

  ‘You have to tell him too.’

  ‘I will. But I need to work out how. Please understand.’

  ‘If you tell me.’

  Elin nods and picks up the book. Alice points at a word.

  ‘Is that Swedish?’

  Elin nods. Alice pronounces the word awkwardly.

  ‘Mar-tall. What is that?’

  ‘It’s a tree. A regular pine, but stunted by the wind.’

  ‘Was it very windy on the island?’

  Elin nods and runs a hand over her hair.

  ‘The whole fall and winter. Our hair was always a mess.’

  ‘Is that why you like to have it so smooth?’

  Elin shrugs.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.’

  Alice points at a picture of a car. It’s an old blue Volvo, rusty. Brown patches run along the bottom of the chassis, as though someone has taken little bites out of the paint. One of the doors is crooked, hanging at an angle. The car almost looks like a hat from the side, the bonnet as long as the boot and a mound in the middle for the passengers.

  ‘Whose was that?’

  ‘Everyone’s. In my childhood almost all the cars were Volvos. They only differed in shape and colour.’

  ‘Did your real mom have a Volvo?’

  Elin nods.

  ‘Mmm, and my step-dad. His was the nicest, blue and shiny.’

  ‘And your real dad?’

  ‘He got to ride a Volvo to prison.’

  ‘What? He was in prison?’

  ‘It was black and white. With big letters on the sides. I’d prefer to forget that Volvo. The slam when the door shut. And the look he gave me through the window. His eyes staring into mine. The blue lights flashing.’

  ‘Why was he in prison? Where is he now?’

  ‘He’d done something, robbed someone I think. He’s dead now, he died young, just a year or so after I
went to Paris.’

  Alice goes on turning pages and stops at a picture of the inside of a barn. Through the gaps between the planks, small strips of light dance across the worn floor. A bird has found its way in, its wing movements blurred.

  ‘What was in the barn? Did you have animals?’

  ‘Sheep. And cattle. And goats. There were lots of barns, in different places. It was always so hot inside, the animals generated heat. And it stank, the smell got into your clothes and hair, reminded everyone we met that we were farmers.’

  Alice laughs.

  ‘I really can’t picture you as a farmer. It’s impossible.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t really. I was a child. A child on a farm.’

  ‘Is your mother alive?’

  Elin takes the notebook out of Alice’s hand. She puts her finger on an image and slowly follows the path shown in it.

  ‘There were paths everywhere. Deep furrows that cut across lawns after years of use. They were surrounded by thousands of daisies in the spring. White and pink dots in all the green. I used to walk barefoot.’

  Alice interrupts her angrily.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question. I want to hear about the people. I don’t understand why you were forced to deceive me into thinking my grandma was a creative, intellectual woman. When in actual fact she was a farmer. You’ve even said I reminded you of her. You’re lying. Everything is a lie.’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘But she doesn’t exist!’

  ‘No. But you’re creative and intellectual. You’ve turned out the way I described her. Just as fierce and just as inquisitive.’

  ‘Socialisation,’ Alice mutters.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘We’ve read about it at school. I’ve embodied your values, your norms, your fantasies about me with no genetic influence at all. I’ve become your lie.’

  ‘Please, don’t fight with me.’

  ‘You owe me the truth. How can you lie to your own child? Tell me about your family.’

  Elin sits in silence. Tears run down her cheeks. She wipes them away over and over again but they won’t stop falling.

  ‘I killed them,’ she whispers at last.

  THEN

  HEIVIDE, GOTLAND, 1982

  The noise woke her. She could feel it pressing against her back. The wind was blowing directly inland and the waves had grown higher in the night. But that wasn’t where the noise was coming from. A cloud of smoke made her cough, and she opened her eyes and looked over to the fire. The great bonfire was burnt to nothing, her things only charred remains, some peeling and white, others glowing faintly in the night. The booming sound came from behind her, as though the sea and the forest had swapped places in an uncanny storm.