Frozen Music (42 page)

‘You look funny, and… I'm just happy,' I said.

‘Why?'

‘I'm glad Ivar is all right. I'm glad you think I was of help after all and…' I shrugged.

‘And?'

‘Being with you right now makes me happy, all right?'

‘Very all right.'

In the silence that followed I thought the beating of my heart could be heard right across the room to where Linus was sitting. He stood up. ‘I suppose I should be off back to my own bed.' But he lingered for a moment and looked down at me, and now the tenderness was mixed with something else, was it amusement? What was so funny? I smiled back at him and put out my hand. He stepped forward and took it, turning it over in his larger ones. Then he bent down and kissed it lightly. ‘Goodnight.'

He was gone so quickly, but I stayed sitting up in bed, resting my hand, the right one, the hand that he had kissed, reverently in my left one. If I closed my eyes I could still feel the warmth of his lips against my skin.

‘Aren't they beautiful?' I pointed at Astrid's roses. Audrey, squinting against the morning sun, bent down awkwardly over her crutches, muttered agreement, but there was no doubt she would have preferred to have seen them on telly or read about them in some beautifully illustrated book.

‘You must be up and about at least for some part of the day,' I said, touching her elbow to make her move on. ‘You know what the doctors said. Stay in bed and you'll most probably develop a blood clot.'

I walked a reluctant, hobbling Audrey along the gravel path and on to the lawn, an older, thinner Audrey in spite of all the Swedish syrup bread and custard buns and platefuls of fish and smoked sausage. I helped her to sit down on the small wooden bench beneath the apple tree, which was covered now with tiny leaf-green fruit, little sour promises of things to come. I sat myself down next to her on the grass, leaning my back against the seat. Soon Audrey was asleep, the trouble-free sleep of the just, or in the case of Audrey, the just-not-troubled-by-much-thought. I listened to her soft snoring and leant back on my elbows, my face lifted to the sun.

I must have gone over the events of the night before so many times I had worn a groove in the memory: the look of tenderness in his eyes, his lips pressed against my hand. He had gone into town this morning, Olivia had told me over breakfast. I was quite content not to see him because daylight might have changed the look in his eyes and for now I was happy with my dreams. Closing my eyes, I lifted my hand to my lips in a tender second-hand kiss.

I must have dozed off like Audrey, because I looked up with a start as Ulla, black in thought and tooth (yes really, she had slipped in the
shower that morning and blackened her front tooth) stood over me. ‘How are you today?' she asked.

‘Fine,' I said. I noticed a small book in her hand and it reminded me of the diary I'd found the day before on the sitting-room shelves. ‘Do you keep a diary?' I asked her.

‘Yes, yes I do.' She didn't actually say what has it got to do with you, but I could see that was what she was thinking.

‘I think it might have been an old one of yours that I found when I dusted the bookcase.'

‘I shouldn't think so. I keep only my current one with me, the others are in my little flat in Gothenburg.' She stomped off towards the cottage.

A few minutes later I got to my feet; Audrey was still snoring softly in her chair. I wiped off a silvery thread of saliva from the corner of her mouth – I knew she liked to look good at all times – and went over to the house. I could hear Gerald's voice from the veranda, but no one else was about as I wandered into the sitting-room, scrabbling around behind the
Reader's Digests
until I found the diary.

Later that morning, once I'd settled Audrey back in her bed, I went into my room and had a good look at it. Once I saw the name Jonas coupled with Bertil and Linus, I was convinced it was Astrid's diary. Snooping in other people's diaries was not nice, but I understood very little. I could either put the little book back where I'd found it or I could show it to one of the family: to Linus or Olivia? It worried me that its existence might in fact be unknown to them as neither of them seemed very clear about what drove Astrid to take her own life. Checking the dates of the last entry I saw that it was made the year Linus would have been seven, so just before she died. But even as I went in search of Olivia, I changed my mind. I had no idea what was hidden among those pages, but it was bound to concern Bertil. The picture painted of a man by his first wife might well be one best not shown to his second, especially given what happened. So should I hand the diary to Linus, Astrid's son? But what reasons might she give for abandoning her son and were they reasons he could live with? He would know the truth and so would Olivia, but truth left corpses
in its wake and I was frightened of what might be set in motion. And what about Astrid? Would she have wanted her son, let alone her husband's new wife, to read her heart and soul? What to do? Oh, what to do for the best?

I should give the diary to Bertil. He probably knew of its existence anyway. But if he didn't? Bertil had not been well. Reading his dead wife's thoughts on him and their life together, and of the man she left him for, could hardly be conducive to peace of mind.

There was a tentative little knock on my door and Ivar appeared with a message that my mother wanted me. I got up, complimenting him on his pale-green-and-turquoise chiffon scarf, and put the diary away at the bottom of my underwear drawer.

‘Why did you hide that book?' Ivar wanted to know.

‘What book?'

‘The book you hided.'

‘Hid,' I corrected to gain time as we wandered across the grass.

‘Hid,' Ivar repeated, and then his attention was caught by Linus and Pernilla struggling through the gate with a cartload of bags and boxes. I stared at them too and the little bubble of delight in which I had resided since Linus left my room the night before burst and I was left shrouded in a sticky film of disappointment. How good they looked together, how at ease with one another. To anyone but me they would be ‘that lovely couple'. And the lovely couple waved at me, each with their free hand, and Ivar rushed off to greet them. I went on my dark and jealous way, wanting badly, in the midst of all that bruising of the heart, to know what was in that diary.

The next two hours were taken up with trying to coax Audrey into doing her exercises. ‘Why?' asked my mother.

‘Because if you don't move you'll die,' I said.

‘It was because I moved that I almost did die. None of this would have happened if I had stayed at home in my own bed.'

‘But you didn't and…'

‘… and whose fault is that?'

‘Don't blame me. Roll the ankle, roll it. Just
roll
it for heaven's sake.'

I needed to take a long walk after that. The sun was out, turning
the sea into that bright blue temptress once more. ‘Come into my arms,' she called to me as I walked alongside her, turning the western corner of the island and continuing towards the woods. But I knew better than to trust that sincere blue, that free-of-jellyfish, clear and sparkling sea. ‘I know you,' I muttered. ‘You're cold.'

The boat bringing passengers from Gothenburg out on to the islands of the archipelago turned the southern point and steamed towards the harbour. The deck was crowded with holidaymakers and the vast sky-blue-and-yellow flag at the bow of the boat moved in the soft breeze. It was a day for optimists, so what was I doing out? I made my way back towards Villa Rosengård, the harbour way this time, weaving between the trippers and the helmeted children on bicycles and the shoppers with their baskets. The shoppers on this island were not like ordinary ones, I had noticed. These were
Brigadoon
shoppers, smiling, chatting, unhurried and unfrazzled, but set to disappear, to sink without trace once the month of July came to an end.

At the newsagent I stopped and bought the American edition of
Vogue
for Audrey. As I stepped outside, I bumped into Linus. He was alone, Pernilla-less, but, I thought bitterly, he probably carried her in his heart, like a little picture… or a malign growth…

‘Hi there, Esther.'

‘Hi there, Linus.' We started walking back together. I asked him what was in all those boxes he and Pernilla had carted up to the house.

‘My office,' he said. ‘I don't know how you'll take this, but I've just had a fax from Stuart Lloyd. He wants to resurrect the plans for the People's Glyndebourne. I should really have stayed in town, but I don't want to leave Ivar. He's due to go back to his mother next week anyway. So the work had to come to me.'

I said nothing so he asked me again if I minded. I thought about it and the more I thought the more confused I got; this was often the way. But I did know that I loved Linus and I also knew that two old people should not be evicted from the only home they'd known because they were in someone's way. So I answered truthfully, ‘I'm not sure.'

‘People fighting causes are the most dangerous ones,' Audrey had said to me the other day. She had looked stern. ‘They feel they answer to a higher authority than the rest of us. You caused havoc with your articles about Linus's building, havoc, that's what you caused.' She had sighed and leant back against her pillows, closing her eyes. Opening them again she looked at me and said, ‘Then you always did.' Out of the mouths of babes and demented old bats, I had thought at the time, but then I had been stung.

Linus stopped walking. ‘You're not
sure
! You say that now?' His smile had vanished and his cheeks were slowly turning pink. ‘
I'm not sure
, you say. After everything you did. I believed you were passionate about what you were doing. I mean, I could understand someone acting out of passion, but to all but destroy someone's dream on an “I'm not sure”?'

Did the sun disappear behind a cloud? Like hell it did. Did the waves cease their beating of the rocks? They most certainly didn't. But I felt an icy hand grip my heart and squeeze and as it squeezed the tears rose in my eyes. They felt as if they were blood.

Doesn't that just show how fanciful love had made me?

I trundled on a couple of steps behind him, like a child in the wake of an angry adult. I loved him, but not even the most determinedly pastel-clad Swedish optimist could have found anything promising in Linus's and my relationship: my relationship with the man I loved. ‘Oh Pastel-clad Swedish Optimist,' I'd query. ‘Pray tell me what my chances are to live happily ever after with the man of my dreams?'

‘None whatsoever, oh Dark-haired, Dark-minded Stranger,' the reply would come.

I sighed. Linus, deep in dark thoughts of his own, did not seem to notice. I sighed again, louder now. I wanted so badly to reach to him, to communicate with him, if only by me sighing and him asking what the hell was the matter? Or, miraculously, to ask me tenderly if all was well? But Linus said nothing and we reached the house in silence. He opened the gate and stood back to let me pass, then he followed. I had to explain. Before the anger took root in him I had to tell him that it wasn't how he thought it was; not that crass, not that simple, but
where to begin? There were so many thoughts behind the actions that trying to pull them out was like sticking your hand inside a bag of maggots and choosing the plumpest.

I opened my mouth to speak. But it was too late. Gerald must have been looking out for us because he was already hurrying towards us on his stiff, thin legs, calling out to Linus.

‘Go and see your parents,' he shouted and his old face was sagging more than ever, as if all the cares of the household had assembled like dust in the bags under his eyes and the pouches of his cheeks. ‘Hurry, hurry.'

The colour drained from Linus's cheeks. He dropped the basket of shopping and hurried towards the house.

Gerald told me that Bertil had been taken ill again and that this time the attack had been worse, far worse, than the last. They were waiting for the ambulance and Dr Blomkvist was on his way.

A cheery hello made us turn, two actors in a drama facing a stray extra from the comedy show on the next-door set.

‘Oh hello, Pernilla,' Gerald said, his voice distracted.

Stay away you scarlet-princess-type person
, I wanted to cry.
This is family business
. But if it was, what business was it of mine? It was odd, but it was now more than ever, when things seemed to be going continuously wrong, that I wanted to belong with them all, be one of the family, not this English trouble-maker, this outsider.

Gerald was filling Pernilla in on the latest news. ‘I'd better go and see what I can do,' she said, marching off as if to war. I wished she were marching off to war, that is. A really bloody one, just for a day or so, to give me a chance. Then I thought of Bertil and I felt ashamed.

‘Don't.' Gerald's voice, surprisingly firm, called Pernilla to a halt. ‘There's enough people fussing about in there. But if you want to help you might like to go and find Ivar. He was looking for hedgehogs, but I haven't seen him for a while.'

I went with her. We found him on his hands and knees among the lilac bushes. ‘I saw one, a baby one, a tiny tiny one.'

I tickled the grubby soles of his little feet and he squirmed and giggled. It struck me how comforting the sight and sound of a child was in times of crisis.

‘You really don't think there's anything I can do?' Pernilla asked me. ‘It's just that I've got a tennis court booked.'

I forced myself to consider the question. Could she be of any help? Gerald had said not. Maybe she could be of comfort to Linus? ‘You go off to your tennis.'

‘But you'll let me know if there's anything I can do,' Pernilla said as she strode off down the gravel path. As she rounded the corner she turned and called, ‘And tell Linus I was here, will you?'