The Circle (32 page)

She looks at Wille nervously as he forks some lasagne into his mouth. To her horror, she thinks she hears a crunch as he chews. He makes a strange face and Vanessa can’t work out whether it’s because the food is too hot or disgusting. ‘I thought we could drink a toast to Wille’s and my engagement,’ she says. ‘I know everyone here isn’t as happy about it as Wille and I are, but I hope you’ll come round.’

Her mother raises her glass. She smiles quickly, as if she wants to get it over and done with. ‘Cheers,’ she says.

Nicke gives his beer a quick wave in the air, takes a big gulp and suppresses a burp, which he instead releases silently through his pursed lips.

Wille is drinking cola, like Vanessa, everything to emphasise that he’s a well-behaved young man. She takes a sip and meets his gaze across the table. He chews carefully and smiles at her. The atmosphere is more tense than ever. Even Melvin seems to notice. He’s poking at his food with his little fork.

Nicke and Vanessa’s mother are eating, staring at their plates as if there was something incrredibly interesting on them, like a spyhole leading all the way to China. The clinking of the cutlery seems unnaturally loud.
Clink. Scrape. Squeak. Clink. Scrape. Squeak. Scrape. Clink
.

Vanessa doesn’t have much appetite, but cuts a little piece of lasagne and puts it into her mouth. It’s hard and tough and has absolutely no taste. It’s the gustatory equivalent of grey. Or beige. ‘This is inedible,’ she says and pushes away her plate.

‘What are you talking about? It’s great,’ Wille says.

‘M-hm,’ her mother says, with her mouth full.

‘I’ll want seconds,’ Wille says.

Nicke walks over to the refrigerator and returns with a bottle of ketchup, which he almost empties on to his plate.

‘So,’ he says, ‘where are you working, these days, Wille?’

Wille glances at Vanessa. Nicke knows he doesn’t have a job. ‘It’s difficult to find anything in this town.’

‘Yeah, I can imagine. You left school without any qualifications, didn’t you?’ Nicke says.

‘I passed my exams,’ Wille says. He sounds embarrassed because he did it by the skin of his teeth. Vanessa wishes he was sitting next to her so she could squeeze his hand under the table.

Her mother clears her throat. ‘How’s Sirpa?’

‘She’s fine. She’s had some trouble with her neck.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ her mother says.

Vanessa wonders if her mother is thinking the same thing. That she’d said she’d rather have Sirpa as a mother.

‘She’s got a tough job,’ Vanessa’s mother says now. ‘Sometimes I think she lives at that supermarket. No matter what time I go there, she always seems to be sitting at the checkout.’

‘It’s harder than many people realise,’ Wille says.

The whole time Nicke has been gazing at Wille with open contempt. Now he turns to Vanessa’s mother and says, in a completely normal tone: ‘Of course she’s working all the time. She’s got a grown-up son to support. A strong, healthy young man she’s breaking her back for.’

The silence that settles around the table is so tense that even Melvin looks up from playing with his food. His eyes are wide and take in everything.

‘That was uncalled for,’ Vanessa’s mother says to Nicke. But she doesn’t sound upset. She doesn’t say it as though she means ‘That was unfair and I don’t agree with you,’ but more ‘That’s not the sort of thing you say when the subject can hear you.’

‘As I said,’ Wille mutters, ‘jobs are difficult to come by in this town.’

‘There’s nothing stopping you moving somewhere else,’ says Nicke. ‘Is there?’

He glances at Vanessa, but she refuses to meet his eye. She looks at Wille. They belong together. She’s never truly felt that until now. It’s the two of them against the world. And why, she asks herself, should she sit here quietly, all polite and grown-up, when the so-called adults at the table are behaving like a couple of playground bullies?

The flowers that Wille brought suddenly look pathetic in the middle of the table.

Vanessa turns to Nicke. ‘Can’t you behave like a normal human being for once?’

‘Please don’t start arguing now,’ her mother says, as if Vanessa were the one causing the trouble.

Rage explodes inside Vanessa. She can’t hold it back any longer. It’s too unfair, beyond belief. ‘Excuse me, but haven’t you by any chance noticed how Nicke’s been behaving throughout dinner? And as soon as I say something it’s me who’s acting up?’

‘Vanessa—’

‘You always take his side! You’re such a great team, you and Nicke. You can never do anything wrong. And I’m just causing trouble all the time and being a pain in the arse.’

‘We’ve got a guest here,’ her mother says.

‘Now all of a sudden you notice we’ve got a guest! But when Nicke’s having a go at
my fiancé
, that’s okay, is it?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

It’s one of her mother’s catchphrases, normally coupled with that sad look. She thinks she’s being so fucking clever: she doesn’t say anything straight out so she can play the innocent victim when you confront her with it.

‘Fucking hell!’ Vanessa shouts. ‘I don’t know what gave me the idea I could cook a celebratory meal, invite Wille over and think it was going to make any difference. You’ve already made up your minds.’

Her mother looks at her with big, offended eyes.

‘All you do is just sit there feeling so fucking sorry for yourself,’ Vanessa continues, ‘but I’m the one who’s been forced to live with the fact that you’ve dragged home a succession of losers. Wille is better than any of the men you’ve ever been with. He’s a thousand times better than that one!’ She points at Nicke without looking at him.

‘Nessa mad,’ Melvin says.

‘Yes, I am,’ Vanessa says, looking at her little brother. ‘And you’re going to be mad, too, when you grow up and realise what sort of parents you have.’

‘Maybe I should go,’ Wille says.

‘Stay where you are,’ Vanessa says. ‘This is my house, too.’

‘I agree with Wille,’ Nicke says. ‘It would be better if he left.’

‘No, it would be better if
you
left!’

‘That’s enough, damn it!’ Nicke shouts, and pounds his fist on the table.

Melvin bursts into tears and Vanessa rushes to pick him up, but her mother beats her to it. She lifts him out of the high chair, turns his face to her chest and pats his little head. The crying gives way to bawling, drawn-out, heart-wrenching – and ear-piercing.

‘There, there,’ his mother coos, as she glares accusingly at Vanessa.

‘I’m not the one who frightened him!’

‘That’s enough, Vanessa,’ her mother says. ‘Wille, it’s probably better if you go now.’

‘See you round,’ Nicke says, with a smug smirk. ‘Down at the station, no doubt.’

‘Thanks for dinner,’ Wille says. He pushes in his chair and puts his plate on the counter.

‘I’m coming with you,’ Vanessa says.

‘You’re not going anywhere until we’ve talked this through,’ her mother says loudly, over Melvin’s howling.

Vanessa meets her gaze and feels a wave of pure hatred shoot through her. ‘Go fuck yourself,’ she says. She walks out into the hall, where Wille is already putting on his shoes, steps into her own and wriggles into her jacket. She grabs her bag.

‘If you leave now, don’t bother to come back!’ her mother shouts.

‘I’m not going to!’ Vanessa screams back.

‘Nessa not go!’ Melvin shrieks.

She wants to put her hands over her ears. She doesn’t want to hear him now. She loves him too much. Instead she makes herself cold and hard.

She runs down the steps after Wille, looking at the back of his neck. She may be leaving her home for the last time. She convinces herself that it’s worth it – that
he
’s worth it.

33

MINOO HAS OFTEN
fantasised about taking this route. But the realisation of how pathetic it would be has always prevented her. Tonight, though, it feels right – she’s already so pitiful that she may as well humiliate herself even more. She has no pride left to lose.

On either side of her there are identical single-storey buildings in which a few residents have attempted to defy the uniformity by putting up decorative fans and brightly coloured lamps. She is walking along the even-numbered side, looking at the odd numbers. She stops beneath a streetlamp, opposite Uggelbovägen number thirty-seven.

Minoo looks at the yellow house. It has a tiled roof with a tall black chimney. A pair of windows flanks the front door: to the left, a square bathroom window with frosted glass, and to the right, a bigger one with the blinds lowered. It’s dark inside.

She tries to imagine what Max looks like when he comes home in the evening, how he strides up to the door, unlocks it and goes inside … But it’s as if her imagination has stopped working. She can’t picture him living in this house. It’s too ordinary. Anyone could be living there.

Minoo remembers what Rebecka said that autumn day.
If you feel there’s something between you, you’re probably right
.

She could have done with Rebecka beside her right now. She’s never felt more alone.

Minoo gasps, and seconds later, tears are welling in her eyes. They run down her cheeks and wet her scarf. She snivels, digs out a crumpled handkerchief from her jacket pocket and blows her nose.

‘Minoo?’

She turns to see Max walking towards her.

Deep down this was what she’d been hoping for. That something would happen with Max tonight, good or bad, it doesn’t matter. So what if he laughs at her, pities her? It doesn’t matter, just so long as he sees her.

‘Hi,’ she says.

Max stops in front of her. His breath shrouds his face in clouds of steam. ‘What are you doing here?’

His eyes probe her. It’s impossible to read his expression. ‘I was out for a walk,’ Minoo answers. ‘I felt shut in.’ That isn’t a lie at least.

‘Is anything the matter?’

Minoo shrugs.

‘Is it Rebecka?’ Max asks.

‘M-hm.’

She doesn’t dare say any more.

Max nods thoughtfully. Then he casts a quick glance at the house opposite. ‘I live there.’

‘Really?’ Minoo lowers her gaze and hopes he hasn’t
realised
that she came here in a stalker mode.

‘Would you like to come in?’ he asks.

She nods.

They walk across the street together. She can hardly believe she’s on her way to Max’s house. With him.

He unlocks the door and turns on the light in the hall. ‘Shall I take your jacket?’ he asks.

She pulls down the zip and he helps her off with it. It ought perhaps to make her feel like an adult, but she feels more like a toddler at nursery. While he hangs up her jacket, she removes her shoes and hopes he doesn’t notice they’re an abnormally large forty-one.

‘Would you like some tea?’

‘Yes, please.’

Max goes to the kitchen. Minoo catches sight of the bathroom door and slips inside.

When she turns on the light she’s met by grey tiles and a blue linoleum floor. It’s just an ordinary bathroom, yet she’s in an enchanted place because it’s Max’s. It’s full of clues about who he is. He brushes his teeth with an electric toothbrush, but shaves with a manual razor. He washes his hands with unscented soap from a pump bottle. He buys toothpaste in huge economy-size tubes. Perhaps she’ll crack some important code if she stares at these things long enough. But then, of course, he’d wonder what on earth she was doing in there.

Minoo turns towards the mirror and sees her unmade-up face. It’s as red with acne as her eyes are with crying. If only she didn’t look so grotesque she’d dare to imagine that Max
wanted
her here. That he isn’t just taking pity on her for being so pathetic.

‘Stop it,’ she whispers to herself. ‘Get out of here!’

She unlocks the door and steps into the hall. Music comes on further inside the house. A moment later Max appears with two cups of tea. He looks so warm and friendly standing there like that. Not to mention hot. So hot she can feel her ears flushing. She wonders what it would be like to kiss him. To kiss anyone, for that matter. She feels a tingling in her wrists and the strength drains from her arms.

I have to go, she thinks, before I make a total fool of myself.

‘Are you coming?’ he asks.

She follows him into the living room. It’s tastefully furnished yet homely. There is a sofa against the far wall. To the right of it stand shelves filled with books, films and a few old LPs. A framed poster of a woman with dark, curly hair in three-quarter profile hangs on the opposite wall. She’s wearing a draped blue silk dress. Her head is angled slightly downward and her expression is serious and introspective – suffering. In one hand she’s holding a pomegranate, while the other grasps the wrist. There’s something angst-ridden about the pose. Minoo takes an instant liking to the painting. She feels somehow as if she knows the woman.

She glances at the books. An assortment of Swedish and English titles. She’s glad they aren’t the tired old selection of novels that you see in
everyone
’s bookshelves and will flood the flea markets ten years from now.