Frozen Music (31 page)

‘Villa Rosengård rules, OK.' Olivia smiled at me. By ten thirty we gave up trying to distinguish red from green in the fading light and packed up. Before going off to my own room I phoned the hospital. My mother was comfortable and fast asleep, they assured me.

I was about to go to bed when there was a knock on the door and it was flung open. It was Ulla, garbed in a long white nightdress and
with her pudding-basin hair clipped back from her face with Kirby grips. ‘I always hang the lavatory paper loose end out,' she said and was gone.

I opened the window and rolled down the blind. I felt lonely. The dark of the night seemed to have driven all the lightness from my mind and turned me morbid and homesick, filled with vague unease. So what? I thought. The lightness had been false anyway, it was borrowed, belonging to people like Posy and, by the sound of things, to the ever-laughing Pernilla. I was better off keeping it at arm's length, treating it with the utmost suspicion, in case I should get used to it and mourn its inevitable passing. To make myself feel better I mumbled all Ulla's rules: ‘loo paper loose end out, Woodland Breeze, not Meadow Fresh. Blue for Ulla. Right-hand side of tap…' I drifted off to sleep.

I woke the next morning to the sound of gulls screeching and with the sun shining through the white blind. I rolled over and reached for my watch that lay on the bedside table. It was half past five. With a groan I turned on to my stomach and tried to go back to sleep, but the sun and the soft breeze reaching me through the open window beckoned me outside. I slipped into the bathroom and washed in the basin, turning the taps on to just a dribble so as not to wake Ulla. I dressed in a long flowery cotton dress, a Posy dress. She had nagged me to buy it just before I left and it was surprisingly comfortable. I slipped a brown cotton cardigan on top against the wind and against the prettiness of the frock.

As I wandered down the street towards the harbour a hedgehog rattled past, busy, purposeful, blissfully unaware that such bold behaviour would lead to instant squelching anywhere else than on this small island. I reached the harbour as the ferry was about to depart with a handful of commuters. At least I assumed they were commuters, with their formal attire and pale faces. Everyone else on the island was tanned and dressed in those same colourful cotton clothes the Swedes in summer seemed so fond of. I looked at my watch, six o'clock. I turned right, continuing my walk along the harbour towards
the eastern point of the island. The sea was calm, and the sun, high in the sky, had turned it into a sheet of glittering foil. It was quite warm and quieter than anywhere I had been for a long time. Pastel-coloured wooden houses lined the quayside, the small gardens sporting nothing much more than a lawn and some shrubs. But almost every house had a glass-enclosed veranda, its windows pointing towards the sea like a large Cyclops eye. A young couple came towards me, hand in hand: lovers, they looked to me as if they had spent the night on the rocks. I smiled in a passing greeting, but they had obviously spotted me as the Antichrist of romance that I was and turned away. Either that or my smile wasn't as pleasant as I thought it was.

I rounded the corner by the old fort which, according to Olivia, guarded the harbour inlet from marauding Norwegians. ‘Still?' I had asked.

Olivia had looked gravely at me. ‘You never know with Norwegians,' she said. I assumed she was joking.

Here the harbour ended and the granite cliffs took over. I felt as if I was alone at the edge of the world as I faced the open sea and watched the waves crash and break against the rocks. But I was not alone. In the distance I spotted the figure of a man walking down towards the sea from the path ahead, pulling off his shirt as he went. As he reached the cliff's edge he stripped completely until he stood naked in the morning sun. I thought of turning the other way, but he looked so good where he stood, back arched, arms raised high above his head, that I stopped and stared instead. He kicked up his heels and dived, hitting the water almost soundlessly, slicing through the sea leaving only a scattering of droplets to rise in the air.

The hospital informed me, over the phone, that my mother had passed a comfortable night. That's how the ward sister put it in her careful English. ‘She's passed a comfortable night.'

I had this image of Audrey in the lavatory, passing a night, like a long black fluttering wimple. But I said, ‘Could you tell her I'll be in to see her this afternoon.'

I went to sit under the apple tree, a cup of coffee at my side and my laptop on my knee, and tried to write a story for
Modern Romance
.

A while later, half an hour maybe, I heard my name called and looked up to find Linus coming towards me across the tall grass of the rough-cut lawn. ‘I'm sorry about your mother,' he said, sitting down on the grass next to my deck-chair. ‘But she's going to be all right, I think.'

‘You can't be very happy having me here after what happened with the opera house.'

Linus jabbed his right index finger into a bald spot on the lawn. ‘It's fine,' he said, looking down at his soiled finger. ‘You did your job.' He looked up at me, squinting against the sun. ‘And maybe you have a point. Maybe it was morally wrong. I've railed against that kind of thing myself in the past. The rights of the little man, all that.' He didn't sound as if he was really connected with his own words, I thought. More as if he had picked them up where someone else had left them, thinking they would do as well as any.

‘Thank you,' I said. He got up from the ground and brushed down the seat of his trousers, his hand following the curve of his buttocks.

‘Were you out on the rocks earlier, swimming?' I asked.

‘Yeah, I was.'

‘I saw you there. Well, actually, I wasn't sure it was you then.'

Linus looked at me and laughed, that high-pitched giggle of a laugh that bubbled from his firm lips like a tasteless joke.

‘I met Ivar,' I said.

Mercifully, he stopped laughing and smiled instead. ‘Ah yes, Ivar.'

‘He seems a great little kid.'

‘The best,' Linus said simply. ‘Work?' He nodded at the laptop. Without waiting for a reply he went on, ‘I'll leave you to it.' I watched him walk off towards the house. He walked well, with long strides and his legs close together. He didn't amble or waddle, but raised himself slightly on the balls of the feet with each step. For once, I thought, I had no quarrel with God. It had been a kind thing to give such a beautiful man such an utterly ridiculous laugh, thus rendering him safe. I shot a grateful glance up at the heavens before getting back, once more, to work.

I had all but finished the first rough draft of my story, an everyday tale of a thoroughly nice woman being utterly betrayed by a spineless, opportunistic git who wasn't called Angus, when Olivia called me from the terrace.

‘It's going to be fine all day,' she said as I approached. ‘I've just heard the forecast. It's the perfect day for an excursion.'

An excursion, I soon found out, meant leaving the island, by boat, for an even smaller island, more of a rock, in fact. You brought a picnic (Linus was sent to buy fresh bread and cinnamon buns from the bakery by the harbour) and your bathing costume and a book, and then … then, you sat there.

We had arrived, all of us, and successfully disembarked from the little boat. The others were all bustling around, unpacking bathing costumes, searching for suntan lotions, for the most sheltered spot away from the cool breeze.

‘It's a bit hard,' I said, looking around for some soft sand, a little piece of grass, a rubber mattress, anything to protect my behind from the hard, ridged granite.

‘Of course it's hard,' Olivia agreed.

‘What do you expect a rock to be?'

Bertil was in the water, swimming round the white hull of their old fisherman's boat, with a large mop to wash off the smudgy tide-mark. Linus had wandered off crabbing with Ivar. Ulla had picked what
seemed to be the only smooth flat part of the whole little island and was busy spreading out her green-and-brown striped beach towel. Next to the towel she placed a voluminous canvas bag out of which she hauled a novel by Selma Lagerlöf. Kerstin, perching on a ledge above, was already reading, something on jogging, I guessed from the title of the yellow-and-blue paperback on her knee.

‘Have a swim,' Olivia said as she herself stretched out on the rock right below me. ‘The water looks lovely.'

I know it
looked
lovely. It's what it
felt
like that worried me; this, after all, was the North Sea. A North Sea dressed up in the bright blue and turquoise of some Mediterranean temptress, maybe, but I wasn't fooled. ‘It's cold.'

‘What do you expect?' Olivia said once more.

‘It's the sea.'

‘I can't help feeling that my body is the temperature it is – about thirty-seven centigrade – for a reason. Chilling it down drastically can't be very healthy.'

‘It's very healthy,' Kerstin called from her outpost. ‘It's clinically proven that immersing your body in cold water once a day promotes health and long life.'

Clinically proven by whom? I wanted to ask. And where? A clinic for the insane? A clinic for the long-term masochistic? ‘Just for today I think I'll pass,' I said. ‘Even if it does mean drastically reducing my lifespan.' The bumble-bee drone of a small engine made me turn back towards the sea. A small outboard was speeding towards us, a blonde woman at the helm.

‘Over here, Pernilla.' Linus appeared around the western side of the little island, Ivar in tow. ‘Tie up alongside us.' The woman waved back with her free hand as she steered confidently towards the Stendals' boat. She manoeuvred alongside, throwing a rope to Linus who had put down the bucket with crabs and scrambled down the rock to help her. She was light on her feet, this Pernilla, I thought. It was obvious from the way she leapt ashore, steadying herself only slightly against the hand proffered by Linus as her feet in their white canvas shoes touched down square on the rock. Like a game-show contestant she looked up and grinned at us all, giving a small triumphant wave as she tossed her fair hair.

‘This is Pernilla,' Linus announced.

‘We gathered,' Ulla muttered. She wasn't all bad, Ulla. Introductions were made and the picnic was unpacked. Apart from the sandwiches – I had already gathered that they were big on sandwiches in Sweden – and the cinnamon buns, there were thermos flasks of coffee, but no milk or sugar. ‘No one in our family takes milk or sugar,' Ulla commented when I asked for some. She pronounced ‘
our
family' looking as if she were tasting chocolate ice-cream.

Pernilla flung herself down on the hard rock, she didn't even wince, and grabbed the sandwich that Linus handed her. ‘So.' She turned to me. ‘This is your first visit to Sweden?'

I had been waiting for that question. ‘No,' I said.

I felt everyone's eyes on me, surprised. ‘You've been here before?' Olivia exclaimed. ‘And you never told us.'

Bertil had emerged from the water and now he was rubbing himself down with a much too small blue towel. ‘You should have let us know you were coming. We're all very fond of your mother, you know.'

‘Obviously these things don't matter to Esther in the same way as they do to us,' Ulla said.

Linus had been busy drying off Ivar who had fallen into the water. ‘Esther did let us know she was coming.'

‘No, no,' Kerstin contradicted. ‘She didn't let us know she was coming
last
time.'

‘What last time?'

This was getting out of hand. ‘I haven't been to Sweden before,' I said rather quietly.

‘But you just said you had.' Pernilla rolled her eyes at Linus. ‘I said, “This is your first visit to Sweden?” and you said, “No.”'

I squinted up at the sky. A gull circled overhead, its eyes on the crabs in the yellow bucket, no doubt. ‘It was a joke,' I said even more quietly, as the gull suddenly swooped, settling a foot or so from the bucket and edging towards it with an awkward gait. Its round black eyes were fixed on the bucket and Ivar's big round blue ones were fixed on the gull. I lit a cigarette and passed the packet to Linus.

‘Not a very funny joke, if I may say so.' Ulla poured herself another
cup of coffee. ‘English humour,' she added. The gull flapped its wings and Ivar let out a piercing scream. ‘It bit me! It bit my toe, look!' The gull took flight as Linus rushed forward, but he was soon back again, flapping around close to the bucket. Ivar held up his foot and a few drops of blood fell to the ground, flecking the granite rust-red. Linus gave him a quick hug before turning to the gull and waving his long arms. ‘Get away with you! Shove off. Off I said.' The gull hopped back a couple of steps before resuming his bucket vigil. ‘Off.' Linus kicked out at the bird who, finally and with a contemptuous look over his right wing, took lazy flight. ‘I'm only leaving because I want to,' it seemed to say. ‘Not because
you
told me to.'

Ivar was sobbing and rubbing at his toe. ‘Dip it in the water,' Olivia said. She got up and took Ivar's hand, leading him down to the water's edge.

‘What a drama.' Pernilla gave a lazy little laugh. She turned to me. ‘Anyway, you're here and it's a lovely, perfect day, and that's all that matters.' She lay down on the bare rock and the sun turned the tiny hairs on her tanned arms gold. Linus sat down next to her, gazing admiringly at her, and even Ivar seemed to have forgotten his injury and was charmed.

‘Do you want to look at my crabs?' He stood by her side holding the yellow bucket out for her inspection. Pernilla opened her eyes and sat up, resting on her elbows. ‘Lovely,' she said. ‘Really good crabs.'

For a while all was peace. Bertil, Olivia, Ulla and Kerstin read their books. Ivar watched over his crabs, Linus watched over the sleeping Pernilla. I sat wishing she would snore.