She certainly did.
Elisabet and Göran sat in the back of the car, their arms wrapped around each other. Their older children were fifteen and twelve, and were fine on their own. Göran explained that they had had the foresight to buy a new video game a month ago, ready to hand over when the time came.
Tina murmured something appropriate and concentrated on her driving. The windscreen wipers were working at full speed, swishing spasmodically back and forth without managing to clear the water completely. Her tyres were worn down to the point of illegality, and she didn’t dare go over fifty in case of aquaplaning. There might have been an evil Tina inside her wishing miscarriage and misery on her passengers, but the Tina behind the wheel had no intention of crashing the car with a pregnant woman in the back seat.
Just as long as we don’t have a thunderstorm.
Thunder and lightning could still knock her completely off course. Admittedly the car, with its rubber insulation on the ground, was the place she preferred to be during a thunderstorm, but not while she was driving.
As they passed Spillersboda the rain eased off and visibility improved. She glanced at the back seat. Elisabet was bent over, her face contorted with pain as she leaned against her husband.
‘How’s it going?’ asked Tina.
‘Fine,’ Göran replied. ‘But I think the contractions are quite close now.’
Tina increased her speed to seventy. She was revolted by the thought that the child might be born in her car. The smell emanating from Elisabet was anything but pleasant. It would cling to the upholstery for months.
They arrived at the hospital and Göran half led, half carried Elisabet to the maternity unit. Tina stood by the car for a moment, unsure what to do, then she followed them. It had more or less stopped raining; there was just a film of drizzle hanging in the air.
As they walked into the hospital a couple of nurses immediately came over to Elisabet, and the little group set off with Göran two paces behind. He didn’t even glance in Tina’s direction. Her job was done, and she no longer had anything to do with the proceedings. She stood in the corridor and watched them disappear round a corner.
How were they intending to get home?
Did they expect her to sit here and wait?
If so, they were going to be disappointed. Tina opened and closed her hands, gazing at the spot where they had vanished.
A nurse came over and asked, ‘Has someone been to help you?’
‘No,’ replied Tina. ‘But I don’t need any help, thank you.’
The nurse smelled more strongly of hospital than the building itself, and Tina quickly made for the exit. Only when she was outside in the carpark did she dare to breathe again. That smell of disinfected clothes and antiseptic soap almost brought on a panic attack. It went back a long way. She remembered being terrified all the time when she had been in hospital after being struck by lightning. Just wanting to go home.
It was quarter to seven, and the storm had blown over as quickly as it had come. There wasn’t a cloud in the deep blue evening sky, and the half-moon was as sharp as a blade. She pushed her hands deep in her pockets and strolled over towards the residential home for the elderly.
Her father was watching Jeopardy. ‘Viktor Sjöström, you idiot!’ he muttered at a contestant who thought The Phantom Carriage had been directed by Ingmar Bergman. The next question was about the director of Sir Arne’s Treasure, and when the same contestant went for Bergman again, her father said, ‘Turn it off, for God’s sake. It’s driving me mad.’
Tina leaned forward and switched the television off.
‘A trained gibbon could do better,’ her father said. ‘I don’t know why I watch it, I always end up getting really annoyed. Could you be an angel and give me some of that orange drink?’
Tina held the plastic cup with the straw up to his mouth, and her father drank for a while as he gazed into her eyes. When she took the straw away, he asked, ‘How are you? Is something wrong?’
‘No, why?’
‘You just look as if there might be. Is it the Small Businessman?’
‘No,’ said Tina. ‘It’s just that…I was at the hospital. I gave my neighbours a lift—she was having a baby. I don’t know why, but being in a hospital always shakes me up.’
‘I see. Right. But otherwise everything’s OK?’
Tina looked around the room. It was sparsely furnished so that it would be easier to clean. No rugs on the lino. Only a couple of pictures from home and a few framed photographs above the bed indicated that the occupant was someone who had lived a life of their own.
One of the photographs was of Tina herself, aged perhaps seven. She was sitting in a garden chair gazing into the camera with a serious expression, her small, deep-set eyes buried in her skull. She was wearing a floral-patterned dress that looked all wrong on her angular body. As if someone had put trousers on a pig to make it look presentable.
Ugly little bugger.
‘Dad? I was wondering about something.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’ve got a scar here.’ She pointed. ‘When did I get that?’
There was a brief silence. Then her father answered, ‘But I’ve already told you. You fell on a rock when you were little.’
‘How little?’
‘I don’t know…four, maybe? A sharp rock. Can you give me another drink? The stuff they give you in here is horrible. Could you bring me some proper juice next time you come? Without all these preservatives?’
‘Of course.’ She held up the beaker again, and her father drank without looking her in the eye. ‘But I was wondering…was I in hospital then? I think I ought to remember it, because…’
Her father spat out the straw. ‘You were four years old, maybe even three. How would you remember that?’
‘Did I need stitches?’
‘Yes, you needed stitches. Why are you thinking about this now?’
‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’
‘Well, that’s what happened. That’s probably why you’re frightened of hospitals, for all I know. Have you got anyone staying in the cottage at the moment?’
‘No, not just now.’
They carried on talking about summer visitors, tourism in general and the cheap vodka from Russia that was flooding in across borders where Tina wasn’t around to stop it. At half past seven she got up to leave. As she stood in the doorway, she said, ‘It was Mauritz Stiller, wasn’t it?’
Her father, who seemed lost in thought, said, ‘What was?’
‘Sir Arne’s Treasure. Mauritz Stiller.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Take care of yourself, sweetheart.’ He looked at her and added, ‘And don’t spend too much time thinking about… what’s in the past.’
She said she wouldn’t.
When she got home she stood outside for a long time checking things out before she went in. Even if there hadn’t been a real storm, the wind was still quite strong and she could see the silhouettes of the pine trees swaying against the night sky. The air was chilly and she breathed in deeply through her nose, picking out rotting apples, damp earth, rosehips and a host of other smells she couldn’t place or identify. There was an animal close by, probably a badger. The smell of its wet fur was coming from the forest behind the house.
A blue glow flickered in one of the windows at the neighbours’ house. The children were busy with their video game. There was a blue glow from their own living-room window. Roland was watching some sports program.
As so many times before when she stopped and thought about it—rather than automatically getting out of the car and going inside—she had no desire to walk into her own house. Into any house. She just wanted to keep on walking past the lights and the warmth, out into the forest. To push her way through its dark wall and allow herself to be surrounded by the smell of badger, pine needles, moss. Allow the trees to protect her.
She looked over at the house next door. Should she knock on the door, check that the k
ids were OK? Nobody had mentioned it, and she didn’t like the idea. The children shunned her because of the way she looked. As if they thought she might do them some harm. No, she would leave it. If they wanted anything they could come to her.
Roland was indeed watching sport. Ice hockey, even though it was only September. There were no seasons these days. A chemical smell hovered in the air, presumably the ointment Roland had used on the dog. She could also smell the dog from behind the closed door of Roland’s bedroom.
As she walked through the living room, Roland said, ‘Oh, by the way—someone called round.’
She stopped. ‘Oh yes?’
Without taking his eyes off the screen, he went on, ‘Some guy wanting to rent the cottage. Shady-looking character. Said he’d spoken to you.’
‘Yes.’ Tina clasped her hands together, tightly. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘I told him straight. That we don’t usually rent the cottage out in the autumn. But it was mainly because…’ He glanced up at her. ‘Well, he didn’t exactly look…nice. And you said you didn’t want to carry on renting the cottage out anyway, so…’ Roland shrugged his shoulders, looking pleased with himself. ‘He looked like some kind of arsonist or something.’
Tina stood there for a while just looking at him. The glow of the television gave his skin a greyish tone, bringing the incipient rolls of fat around his neck into sharp relief and flickering in his eyes, making him look like a monster.
She shut herself in her room, read The Old Man and the Sea and got through the hours until it was time to sleep.
She started work at ten o’clock the following day, but left home at quarter past nine and drove to the ramblers’ hostel. There was only one car in the carpark: a small white Renault which proudly proclaimed in blue letters that it had been hired from OKQS at a cost of only 199 kronor per day.
She knocked on the main door of the hostel.
When nothing happened she opened it and stepped into a small hallway. There was a stand displaying tourist leaflets, and a sign on the reception desk explained that the hostel was open only on request. The building exuded desolation and soap.
She foolishly pinged the bell on the desk, as if it might magically produce someone who could help her; perhaps the autumn staff, a little old man who slept in a cupboard and woke up only when guests arrived.
When the bell had no effect, she shouted, ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’
She knew his name, of course, but she had no intention of shouting it out. The situation was already sufficiently absurd. A police officer shouting for a thief so that she could ask if he’d like to come and live with her.
She had just thought Right, I’m going, when a door opened along the corridor in front of her.
Vore emerged from the room and she gasped.
In the spacious expanse of the ferry terminal he had looked big, but here between the narrow walls of the hostel he was enormous. In spite of the fact that he was wearing only a singlet and pants, he seemed to fill the entire corridor. Tina could understand why Roland had felt a little nervous. Vore looked as if he could crush Roland between his thumb and forefinger.
When he spotted Tina his beard shot up on both sides of his face in a great big smile. He covered the corridor in a few thundering steps and extended a hairy arm.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I do apologise. I was fast asleep.’
She shook his hand. ‘No, I apologise. I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘No problem. It’s time I got up anyway.’
Tina nodded and looked around. ‘I’ve never actually been here before.’
‘But you still recommended it?’
‘Well, it was actually the surroundings I recommended, if I remember rightly.’
‘I’ve no complaints on that score. I went for a long walk yesterday afternoon. I love forests like these, where man hasn’t had the chance to destroy everything.’
‘Yes. It’s a nature reserve.’
‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’
Tina herself was very fond of the forests around Riddersholm. Since the area was protected, no one was even allowed to chop up a fallen tree unless it was lying right across the track, and in that case permission was needed.
Just for something to say, she came out with, ‘It’s just a pity they hunt elks.’
Vore frowned. ‘Yes, it’s a terrible thing. You don’t go in for hunting with dogs around here, I hope?’
‘Not as far as I know. Why?’
‘Because you end up with dogs running around all over the place with that kind of hunting.’ He looked at her. ‘But you have dogs, I noticed.’
‘They’re Roland’s. He’s my…’ She waved her hand vaguely. ‘He lives there too.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Which actually brings me to my reason for coming here. If you’re interested in renting the cottage, then of course you’re welcome to do so.’
‘He…That’s not what Roland said.’
‘No. But it’s not his decision. It belongs to me.’
‘I see.’
‘So…if you’re interested, just turn up.’
‘I’ll give it some thought. How are you?’
‘Fine. Why do you ask?’
‘He said you were at the hospital.’
Tina laughed with relief. ‘Oh, I see. I’d just given my neighbours a lift—they were having a baby.’
Now he’s going to ask if I have children, she thought, and decided to bring the conversation to an end. Admittedly Vore was a woman, and it shouldn’t be difficult to discuss this kind of thing with a woman. But as he stood there in front of her…she would have had to pinch her arm until it was black and blue to remind herself of that fact.
‘Did it all go well?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I have to go to work.’
‘In that case I’ll see you this afternoon. What time do you finish?’
‘Five.’
‘Good. Then I’ll call round in the early evening.’
They said goodbye, and Tina walked back to her car. As she drove out of the carpark she glanced in the mirror to see if he was waving to her. He wasn’t. She shook her head.
How did we get to be so familiar with one another?
It was impossible to say. If she was threatened with torture, she might perhaps admit that she had felt some kind of…affinity. Once the torture was well under way, she would add that the feeling had been there the very first time she saw him.
But red-hot pincers wouldn’t get any more than that out of her. Because there wasn’t any more. But there was an affinity. Just as difficult to grasp as a perch with your bare hands, but it was there nonetheless. Beneath the jetty on a sunny day. The warmth of the planks against her stomach, the sun glittering on the water. A shimmering movement.
Work was dull, to put it mildly.
A lorry driver she had been on nodding terms with for years had suddenly decided to bring in ten cases of cheap Russian vodka. He was furious with her when she explained that she had to report the matter and confiscate the liquor, as if she had broken some kind of trust.
A hundred bottles, what would he make on those? Five or six thousand, max. His son needed a new violin if he was going to be able to continue playing—did she have any idea what a violin cost? And now he would be facing fines and all hell would break loose. He would probably lose his job, and how would they manage to pay the mortgage then? Couldn’t she just let it go, just this once, for fuck’s sake, Tina. Won’t happen again, promise.
No, she couldn’t let it go. Dearly bought experience had taught her that the situation became impossible in the long run if she started ignoring this kind of thing. Secret smiles, unspoken complicity. When he had been going on for a while, still talking about the violin and the fact that she had no heart, she suddenly snapped.
‘Heikko, for fuck’s sake! Give it a rest! How many times have you brought in more than you should?’
He said it was the first time. She
shook her head.
‘I’d say it was eight or ten times. Smaller amounts, admittedly. Perhaps a case or two above the limit. And I’ve let it go every single time, without saying a word. Thought it was for personal use, as they say, but now you’ve gone too far, you understand?’
The rough lorry driver shrank before her; he looked terrified. She waved in the direction of the lorry, which was parked down below the window.
‘If you bring in one extra bottle, or two or three, I can’t be bothered doing anything about it, but this can’t happen again, is that clear?’
Heikko nodded. Tina took out her notebook.
‘Right. This is what I’m going to do. I’m going to report you as a private individual. You’ll be fined and all hell will break loose as you so rightly pointed out, but you can keep the firm out of it. Next time you won’t be so lucky, OK?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
She pointed to her chest. ‘And I do have a heart. It’s here, in exactly the same place as yours.’
‘Yes, yes. Thank you.’
‘And if you say thank you one more time I’ll change my mind. There might have been amphetamines hidden in those cases, now I come to think of it.’
Heikko grinned, held up his hands in defence. ‘You know I never—’
‘Yes, I know. Now get out of here.’
When Heikko had gone and Tina had watched him climb into the cab of his lorry and drive away, she was seized by a sudden melancholy.
The tough approach was necessary and it was like a second skin as far as she was concerned, but it wasn’t really her, just an essential façade that enabled her to do a job she was increasingly beginning to feel was pointless. What did she care about those cases of vodka? Who would suffer, apart from the state-owned liquor monopoly?
Heikko would have sold a couple of bottles to one neighbour, three to another. Everyone would have been happy, the boy would have got his new violin. Sweetness and light all around, if it hadn’t been for that witch on customs. Perhaps she should pack it in, just do consultancy work. Drugs were another matter. She had no pangs of conscience there.