A Question Mark is Half a Heart Read online

  Tilting her head back, she studies the stars in the coal-black sky, a muddle of silver specks above her. It’s so dark that she can see them, in spite of the low street lighting. She whispers the names of the constellations, spinning round to see the whole of the heavens, discovering more and more. Like long-lost friends.

  ‘Mom, what are you doing? Why are you out here on your own?’

  It’s Alice. She’s out too, even though it’s getting late. Her woolly hat is pulled right down over her ears and the tip of her nose is red and moist. She has stopped a little further up the road. Elin walks towards her.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I didn’t. I went out to find a cafe for a cup of hot chocolate. Then I went for a walk. It’s so beautiful here. It’s like walking around in a fairy tale.’

  Elin burrows her arm in under Alice’s.

  ‘Isn’t it just. Like wandering around in another dimension, in another time. Do you want to carry on walking a little while? I think I can still find my way. I can show you the church, it’s a big one, really beautiful.’

  They walk off slowly, huddled close together. It’s cold, and the breath that leaves their mouths turns into clouds of steam.

  THEN

  PARIS, 1999

  The boxes were piled up on the pavement. Hundreds of them, full of books. A truck drove up and stopped in front of her, the engine spluttering as the driver turned off the ignition. He greeted her curtly, then went round and lowered the loading platform. Elin had her camera on a strap round her neck, and carefully documented everything as the boxes disappeared one by one into the truck. The shelves of the bookshop were empty now, as she walked slowly through it. It looked so small now that it was just a room. She remembered how big she thought it was the first time she stepped in through the door, like it contained the whole world and more.

  The counter had been cleared of pens and notepads. She lifted the plaque from its hook. A home without books … Now it was a bookshop without books. Its soul would soon be gone.

  She could clearly see Anne before her, just as she’d looked the first time they saw each other. When her hair was still red, her bust large and soft, and her dresses long and flowing. At the end she was thin and grey-haired, but her eyes never lost their lustre and her heart was just as warm and open. She never stopped going to work, never retired. She just went to sleep one night and never woke up.

  Now she was dead and the bookshop needed to be closed and emptied. There were several of them helping out: in her will there had been three names. None of them had been related to Anne, none of them knew each other all that well, but they were all her angels. That was what she used to call them. The lost souls who’d made her little bookshop their safe place.

  The photography section was the last to be packed up. Elin kept one copy of each book, putting them carefully into a box with other mementos. Her own book was also there on the shelf, and Elin remembered how proud Anne had been when she saw the first edition. How she’d demanded that her dedication should be well thought-out and personal, that Elin must take her time signing it.

  Soon the pavement was empty again and the truck drove off. Elin’s box, full of memories, was left on the floor for another day. She taped up a note to let people know the shop was closed and carefully locked the door. But she still couldn’t make herself leave. She sat on the bench opposite, her gaze turned to the river and the boats going by. It was the same bench she’d been sitting on when Anne came and fetched her the first time they met. Now she was sitting there again, alone and full of sorrow.

  Along the wall, the hawkers stood with their paintings and postcards. Loved-up couples walked hand in hand and parents ran after their children. She followed them with her eyes.

  Her thoughts just kept coming. She gripped her camera on her lap. Then she stood up and started taking photographs, capturing the beauty of the light, freeing herself from her memories.

  He was leaning against the wall a little further along the river, with his chin propped in his hand and his eyes trained on the water. Elin sneaked discreetly closer, hidden behind her camera. His brown hair was thick and shiny and the light fell beautifully over his cheek, making the red-brown stubble shimmer like gold. He looked like a film star, and his slender shadow stretched across the pavement, a black silhouette against the grey. When a gap came in the stream of flâneurs and she managed to catch him alone, she let the shutter click. He was standing quite still. Perfect. Only the light changed as she carefully moved the camera, just a few centimetres at a time.

  She moved a few steps closer and zoomed in on his face. Then he suddenly turned around, looked at her and smiled broadly. She was still holding the camera to her eye, but her finger had slid from the shutter and she was standing absolutely still, caught in the act. He took a few steps towards her, his eyes glittering.

  ‘Do you speak English?’ he asked in faltering French.

  She nodded and lowered the camera, embarrassed.

  ‘Do you think it’ll come out well?’ he went on, nodding at the camera.

  Elin’s face grew hot and she couldn’t meet his gaze, opting instead to stare at his shoes. They were shiny brown leather, worn with dark grey suit trousers.

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help it. It looked so nice with you standing there, it probably turned out perfectly,’ she said.

  She glanced up and locked eyes with him. He smiled.

  ‘Can I have a go?’ he said, reaching for the camera. She reluctantly surrendered it and he held it up to his eye, but Elin turned away. He walked around her; she went on turning; he followed. In the end he gave up and lowered the camera.

  ‘OK, you win. But you’d be better off in the picture than behind the camera. I know who you are. You’re the daughter of that wonderful woman in the bookshop. I’ve seen you there, I recognise you.’

  Elin didn’t reply; she’d never noticed him before. She would have remembered.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to talk to you. You seemed to get on so well, you and your mom,’ he went on.

  She nodded, sorrow suddenly washing over her again. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that Anne wasn’t her real mother.

  He reached out a hand, as though sensing she was sad. She held out hers and he took it.

  ‘I know she’s gone now. I’m sorry. My company has bought the property. Elin, isn’t that your name?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I saw it on the contract. Come on, let’s walk a little,’ he said, holding her hand tenderly.

  He took a few steps away from her and their arms stretched apart. She followed him, cautiously.

  ‘I’ll get to see that picture some time, right, when you’ve developed it?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘Perhaps you can give me some reading recommendations too – I love books. What a dream to go for a walk with a bookseller’s daughter. My name is Sam. Sam Boals.’

  Elin stopped, pulled her hand out of his.

  ‘But the bookshop doesn’t exist any more. The truck just drove all the books away. Anne donated them to a school. The shelves are empty now. Everything’s over.’

  Elin evidently sounded so sad that he stopped and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘But you have everything inside you, all the words you’ve read. No one can take them away from you. Your mom gave you the best thing you can give to a child.’

  Elin nodded. He patted her shoulder and his eyes were full of sympathy, but he didn’t say anything. They stood in silence, side by side, leaning against the wall.

  ‘What’s going to happen to the shop?’ she whispered at last.

  He shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know. I work with property, buying and selling. Feelings don’t really come into it. But this time it was harder. I’ve been to the bookshop so many times, I really like it.’

  He bent down, feeling for something on the ground. When he stood up again he had a little stone in his hand. He pressed it into her palm, closing her fi
ngers around it.

  ‘Put this in your pocket, and don’t look until you get home. If you agree, let’s meet again. Promise,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Elin furrowed her eyebrows.

  ‘You will. Trust me. So, put it in your pocket now,’ he said, beaming broadly.

  She did as he said and felt the weight of the stone settle in her coat pocket. Once again he took her hand and they walked along slowly, side by side. He asked about her favourite books, told her about his. They talked eagerly, the words just flowing.

  It started raining, heavily, as though the heavens had opened, and he took off his jacket and held it over their heads. Elin drew closer, into his comforting scent. The street emptied of people but the two of them kept walking.

  NOW

  HEIVIDE, GOTLAND, 2017

  The table is laid with chipped crockery, the plates crowded together. Five along the long side by the kitchen bench, where the children are already sitting waiting. They are blonde, long-haired, dishevelled and happy. They sit crammed together in size order, from little ones to teenagers. They’re all boys, and they all have pale freckles across the bridges of their noses. They are sitting still but now and then someone gets an elbow in the side or a pinch on the thigh and then the whole mass of bodies moves as one. Three plates are spaced along the other long side and one at each end.

  Fredrik stands with his arm around his wife. They seem to fit together, as though they were one person. She’s beautiful, with plump, rosy cheeks. She’s wearing jeans and a simple striped cotton top, her stomach swelling gently over her waistband. Her hair is like Elin’s when she’s fresh from the shower and hasn’t done anything with it: shiny and kinked, parted in the centre. She’s the one cooking, stirring the pot with a large wooden spoon.

  The whole room falls silent when they enter and Elin suddenly feels alone, even though Alice is at her side. The children look at them wide-eyed, and Fredrik lets go of Miriam and locks eyes with Elin. She smiles and holds up a hand in a tentative greeting.

  Marianne is standing behind them, shifting her weight impatiently from one foot to the other, as though she’s trying to push Elin and Alice into the kitchen. Elin surveys the table, counts the plates and turns to Marianne.

  ‘Isn’t Edvin going to join us for dinner?’ she asks.

  ‘He makes such a mess,’ Marianne replies.

  ‘And he gets stressed out if there are too many people,’ Fredrik adds.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, I really want to see him.’

  Elin goes back out into the hallway.

  ‘Where is he? Is he still in his old room?’

  Marianne shakes her head and walks ahead of her.

  ‘He can’t manage the stairs. He has my old one.’

  It’s only then that Elin notices that all the door-sills are gone. She feels her pulse rise as they approach the door.

  Spotting a cabinet full of old photographs in the hallway, Elin dawdles awhile to look at them.

  ‘Do you recognise yourself?’ Marianne asks, picking up one of the frames.

  It’s a school portrait with a blotchy grey backdrop, in a little gold-coloured oval frame. Elin had a fringe back then, bluntly cut with Marianne’s kitchen scissors. The tips of her front teeth are wavy and the few freckles on her nose are sharply defined, like dots of ink. Marianne strokes the photograph with her fingertip, running it down Elin’s cheek.

  ‘I’ve looked at you every day.’

  Elin takes the frame from her and places it face down on the cabinet.

  ‘Look here instead, look at me now.’ She takes Marianne’s hand and brings it to her cheek. It feels cold and bony, the knuckles swollen. ‘I’m here now, Mama, I’m here for real.’

  Marianne pulls her hand back again. Elin sees tears well up in her eyes as she turns and heads for Edvin’s room. Elin follows her.

  He sits with his back to them, in a high-backed wheelchair. One of his hands is twisted in towards his body and his elbow hangs out of the arm support. His head twitches slightly. When he hears them he starts making a noise, a monotonous lament. The room is cold. There is an adjustable bed with high railings and a red woollen blanket across it. Marianne puts her hands on his shoulders and speaks loudly and clearly.

  ‘Edvin, she’s here now, your sister has come home at last.’

  He shrieks, high notes in and out with every breath. One foot stamps against the floor.

  ‘Look how happy you are, yes, just think how long we’ve been waiting for her,’ Marianne goes on. She straightens his wine-red cardigan and wipes his mouth with a piece of kitchen towel from the pocket of her dress. Then she nods to Elin who takes a step forward, hesitantly.

  ‘Hey you, here you are,’ she whispers and puts her hand on his. He looks at her with his hazel eyes, which light up with joy as he smiles lopsidedly. A string of dribble runs out of one corner of his mouth and Marianne wipes him again.

  ‘Does he understand that it’s me?’

  Edvin stamps hard with his foot when he hears Elin, the smile disappearing from his lips.

  ‘I think so. You can see it, he understands what you’re saying.’

  ‘But it was such a long time ago, how can he remember?’

  The monotonous noise comes back and Edvin looks down at the floor, the glint in his eyes gone out.

  ‘Do you remember me?’ Elin whispers, crouching down at his side. She leans in over the wheelchair and puts her head to his chest. ‘Do you remember how you used to creep up close to me, like this, when you were scared?’

  He stamps his foot, puts his hand on her back and pats hard. She hugs his hand and kisses him on the cheek.

  ‘Oh, Edvin, I can’t believe you’re alive! Come and eat with us, come and be with us!’ She takes off the brake and pushes the wheelchair towards the kitchen. Marianne doesn’t protest; she lets them go past but stays awhile in the hallway, tinkering with the photographs on the cabinet.

  Elin puts Edvin at one end of the table and sits close beside him. She can’t stop looking at him, stroking his arm, his back, his head.

  Miriam sets the pan down in the middle of the table. Steam rises from it and the scent spreads across the table.

  ‘It’s steak and chanterelle stew. All from Heivide.’

  Alice opens her mouth to say something, but Elin shakes her head and mouths in English: Eat.

  ‘There’s a vegetarian option too. You’re not the only one with ideals,’ Fredrik says, nodding towards the kitchen bench. ‘I guess it’s high time we introduced the team. This is Erik, vegetarian when it suits him, Elmer, only eats ham and cheesy Wotsits, Esbjörn, refuses cucumber, Emrik … Emrik’s fine, he still eats most things. And little Elis. That was all the Es, or have I missed someone?’ Fredrik and Miriam both laugh.

  ‘Do you speak English?’ Alice asks Erik, who nods eagerly.

  ‘I’m a gamer,’ he says in fluent English. ‘So I have a lot of friends in the US who I play with.’

  A hum fills the room, which is so warm the insides of the windows grow foggy. The pot slowly empties. Edvin bangs his spoon on his plate, Elin helps him bring it to his mouth, carefully.

  ‘Give him a little milk too, he likes milk,’ Marianne says, nodding at the empty glass.

  ‘I know,’ Elin whispers.

  ‘Mom, Erik says there are cows in the barn. I’ve never stroked a cow. Can we go?’ Alice calls across the table and looks pleadingly at Elin.

  Elis jumps up and down on the bench. His thin tracksuit bottoms have worn through at the knees and are hanging halfway down his bottom. Miriam pulls them up, almost lifting the little boy off his feet.

  ‘Marianne, take the lass out, so she can meet the girls,’ she says.

  ‘I’ll come out, so I can translate,’ Elin grins. ‘Cows, huh?’ She turns to Marianne and raises her eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘Yes, not many, but they give us a little milk. We have to have something to live off, Edvin and I.’

  They walk together across the farmy
ard, towards the little barn. Elin opens the door with a practised hand, lifting it easily and turning the big chunky key. The warmth and the smell hit them as Marianne turns on the strip-light on the ceiling and the cows low welcomingly.

  ‘Now they think they’re going to get some food,’ she grumbles.

  Alice and Elin wander between the cows’ massive heads. A tongue reaches out suddenly and nudges Alice’s hand, making her scream. The E-team laugh at her, and Elis climbs up on the fence and reaches his hand out to the cow’s muzzle. The tongue comes out again and he giggles when it licks him, long and rough.

  ‘Alice has never seen a cow before,’ Elin explains.

  Elis looks puzzled, as though someone had just told him Father Christmas didn’t exist.

  ‘They live in a big city where the buildings are taller than cliffs, where everyone lives on top of each other,’ Erik explains authoritatively and mimes a tower with his hands. Elis shakes his head, baffled.

  ‘Never seen a cow. It’s a good job you came when you did,’ says Marianne, shaking her head. ‘The lass is almost grown. What’s to come of her, if she’s never been to the country and seen how things really work?’

  Elin runs out to the car and gets the camera she’d put in her handbag, the smallest one she owns. She feels oddly calm, and no longer cares about the mud splashing her legs.

  She photographs Alice alongside the cows, then Alice and Marianne close together and smiling. The boys, dangling from the rafters. She photographs details: walls, Marianne’s clogs, halters hanging from hooks. She wants to capture everything, to save a moment that will otherwise disappear. She shows the pictures to Marianne, directly on the screen. Marianne inspects them with interest and happily poses for more, though she begs her in horror not to show anyone.

  Alice and Marianne laugh intimately, as though there was a connection between them. They can’t talk to one another, and neither can fully understand the words the other uses to describe the world. But they’re still talking, with gestures, with smiles.