The Fire Dance (19 page)

“This is a police officer who’s just leaving,” Angelika said, staring hard at Irene.

Irene smiled at the tall man and held out her hand in greeting. The man had a firm handshake and introduced himself as Staffan Östberg. Without a doubt, he fit the stereotype of the head of Volvo. She could glimpse his suit beneath his dark blue ulster. It was a sober medium brown with a matching nougat shirt and a wine red tie. His hair was steel grey and thin at the top. All in all, he was a proper man who had passed his use-by date and, as far as Irene could tell, would be nearing retirement shortly. Angelika still preferred older men.

“We’re going to spend the entire weekend figuring out what the workmen are going to do here—or at least where they’ll begin,” Angelika twittered as she gazed, starstruck, at her new live-in companion.

He smiled tenderly and looked at her the way one looks at an overenthusiastic child. “Of course, my dear. We already know what needs to be done here, but Kenneth will stop by and give us some advice.”

“Kenneth?” Angelika asked.

“My brother. His men will take care of everything. Disposal, plumbing, woodwork, painting … everything.”

Staffan Östberg said this so evenly and calmly that Irene almost wanted to jump in and ask if Kenneth could stop by her house as well. She had a few rotting roof boards where the attic met the gutters … But she stopped herself in time, when it dawned on her that this wonderful man certainly didn’t work for free, and handymen charge an arm and a leg. Obviously, Staffan Östberg could afford it. Angelika did like her guys to come with money.

Perhaps she always searched for economic security in her choice of men. Now she was coming into a great deal of money from her daughter, who certainly hadn’t been a spendthrift.

“Are you going to start your renovations on the ground floor?” Irene asked.

“No. First we’re going to look into the drainage around the building as well as replacing the water main. Then we’ll make sure the roof is sound. Once that’s done, we can move on to the house itself.”

Irene could tell Angelika wanted to protest, but held her tongue. It was obvious who was going to be paying for the party.

“So we will still have a few months if we need another look at Sophie’s things,” Irene said.

“Of course,” Staffan said. “We won’t be getting started inside until after Christmas.”

Angelika looked disappointed, but again she said nothing. Irene knew it wasn’t easy for her to refrain from speaking.
She said goodbye to the lovebirds and began her treacherous journey across the paving stones, which were still as slippery as soap.

She hadn’t seen Frej on her way out, and once she reached the street, she knew why.

His red Mégan was gone.

“I’
M GOING TO
dance this evening, too!” Katarina happily told Irene.

Irene was not taken by surprise. When she’d heard her daughter singing as she walked down the stairs, she’d suspected the worst. It was Saturday morning, and the only reason that Irene was up this early was that she needed to drive downtown to run some errands.

“Going to the House of Dance?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“What’s the dance class this evening?”

“South American. It’s going to be great!”

“A beginner class?”

“No, it’s a student party. And each student can bring a guest. And I was, like, invited!”

Katarina smiled and her eyes lit up. Irene felt her mood sink into the joints of her toes. She recognized these symptoms. Her daughter was falling in love.

Things had been calm on the guy front since August, when Katarina and Johan broke up. Katarina had said then that she planned to stay single for the rest of her secondary education, and even, perhaps, for the rest of her life.

But now it was happening again. Gisela Bagge was right. Marcelo Alves was a danger for the hearts of every woman out there. He’d take whomever he pleased. Marcelo with his glittering eyes and sensual mouth. His hair, which
begged for fingers to run through it. A perfect body over which he had complete control. But poor as a church mouse and just about to be thrown out of his filthy apartment. Marcelo was not a mother-in-law’s dream. His love lasted as long as the carbonation from champagne. Should she warn Katarina? After quick deliberation, Irene decided not to say a word. Anything she said would have the opposite effect. At any rate, the best thing to do for now was to wait and see how things developed. This great love was hardly more than twenty-four hours old.

“Just think! I never knew how fantastic it was to dance,” Katarina said, as she poured milk and cornflakes into a bowl.

“Better late than never,” Irene said. She tried to smile as encouragingly as she could.

She could feel the strain in her facial muscles, but it seemed Katarina was not aware of it. Katarina eagerly whirled her spoon around for emphasis.

“I want to sign up for capoeira after New Year’s, but I have the chance for some private lessons right now. So from this day forward, I am only going to go to jiujitsu one day a week. And after New Year’s, I’m going to quit.”

“But, sweetie, please reconsider … why quit after putting in all those years of effort?” Irene realized she was stammering.

“That’s right. After all those years. It’s boring! I’m never going to get any better than I am now. I’d like to try something different. I want to dance!”

Her last sentence was so determined that Irene realized argument was useless. She remembered Katarina’s earlier words:
you were the best in the world, not me
. Deep down, she knew Katarina was right. Jiujitsu had been
her
thing, not Katarina’s. Her daughters needed the freedom to develop their own interests.

When she heard Jenny thumping down the stairs, Irene
really became nervous. It was just nine o’clock and her girls hadn’t come to breakfast so early in almost ten years.

“Hello, sweetie. You’re already up!” she said to her other daughter.

“Yep.”

Jenny walked over to the counter and sliced a French roll in half. She’d gotten dressed in black baggy jeans and a tight turquoise sweater with a boat collar. She wore a black camisole beneath it. Between her shoulder blades was a small tattoo. She wore no makeup, and her dyed black hair made her face seem pale and washed out. She headed over to the fridge to get a jar of olive paste. Jenny was a faithful vegan, and she never ate cheese or any other animal product. The French rolls had been baked with olive oil and water instead of milk. Jenny always knew what was in her rolls because she baked them herself.

Irene realized it was too late. The girls were already grown. She couldn’t really influence them any longer. There’s so much that could go wrong in a young person’s life, but they have to go out into the world and make their own way.

Irene wanted to plead:
Please, Katarina, don’t mess with Marcelo! He’ll leave you brokenhearted. And, Jenny, please just try to be a young girl and don’t waste your energy on aping pop stars!
She knew she wouldn’t say anything. If the girls made a bad decision, they would learn from it because people only learn from the mistakes they make themselves.

“Are you girls going to come downtown with me? I need to do some shopping,” Irene said.

Jenny just shook her head.

Katarina said, “I’ll come. I need to buy a pair of dance shoes.”

“I see you’re hot for that Latino guy.” Jenny gave her sister a teasing look.

“
Sí, sí
!” Katarina said, laughing as she danced out of the kitchen—a salsa step judging from the swing of her hips.

Jenny rolled her eyes and sighed. “She’s such a nerd.” She plopped down on her chair and poured herself a cup of tea.

“Why are you up so early?” asked Irene.

“I have to study. Got a test on Tuesday. And I have to write a plan for my senior project.”

“What’s it on?”

“We’re going to make a recording.”

“A recording?” Irene echoed.

“Yep. Polo is going to record a demo, and I plan to document it on video and with photographs. I’m going to write about it as well. It’ll be, like, a documentary of the entire process from when we start writing the songs until we have a finished CD for sale. Though I have to say, we’ve already written most of the songs.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Irene exclaimed with honest admiration.

“Well … we do want to do a good job,” Jenny said with a smile and a wink.

For a second, Irene was reminded of the scatterbrained fifteen-year-old Jenny had once been. Irene felt the warmth in her heart spread to her entire body. Her wonderful, stubborn, risk-taking, beautiful—not to mention good-hearted—daughter! She got up and gave Jenny a big hug and a kiss on the forehead.

“You get that from me,” she said.

T
HEY HAD A
hectic morning downtown. Irene and Katarina ran in and out of the stores, taking a coffee break standing at a coffee bar before rushing on. Irene felt stressed because she didn’t want to miss her jiujitsu training that afternoon. Just to be on the safe side, she’d packed her bag with her uniform in the trunk of her car. She’d been wise. One glance at her watch after they’d finished and she realized she had no time to go home.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the express bus from Drottningtorget. You’ll take all the shopping bags in the car, so it’ll be easy enough for me.”

“Are you sure you’ll be fine? I mean …”

“Of course, I’ll be fine.”

Katarina got out of the car and waved happily. She disappeared into the crowd in front of the Nordstan shopping mall entrance. Irene felt guilty, but also relieved. Now she would have no trouble getting to the dojo on time, but she wouldn’t have an opportunity to bring up the subject of dance and the possible new boyfriend.

Irene sighed loudly and raised the volume on the radio. “Angie” by The Rolling Stones filled the car, and she felt a bit better.

W
HEN
I
RENE ARRIVED
home, a wonderful aroma met her. Her stomach leapt with joy since she’d eaten nothing all day but a cinnamon roll with her lunchtime coffee.

Sammie came rushing up to her, wanting hugs and pets. She hadn’t paid any attention to him all day, so it was right to treat him to a lot now.

“Mamma, can you take Sammie out?” Jenny called from the kitchen.

“Of course. Isn’t Pappa home yet?”

“He just called and said he was going to be late. A huge group came without a reservation. So I started dinner.”

“Vegan food, I assume?”

“Of course.”

Irene felt her mood sink. She was starving and had been expecting a good dinner made by her in-house gourmet chef. She felt grouchy as she unhooked Sammie’s leash from its hook by the hat rack and headed outside into the autumn darkness with her dog.

• • •

W
HEN THEY RETURNED
a half-hour later, Krister had just arrived home. First he greeted an overenthusiastic Sammie and then his wife. The kiss he gave her had the unmistakable scent of damp dog.

The wonderful aromas from the kitchen were even stronger, and, in spite of everything, Irene’s mouth began to water. She had to admit that Jenny was getting good at her vegan cooking.

When they walked into the kitchen, Irene noticed that the table had been set for five. It was not unusual for one of the twins’ friends to stop by and have dinner with them, but Irene hadn’t been told they were expecting someone today. Before she had time to ask who was coming, the doorbell rang.

“He was alone this evening, and he thinks it’s boring to make dinner, so I invited him over. He was going to be driving here to pick me up anyway,” Katarina said, somewhat defensively.

Her cheeks flushed. Stars danced in her eyes. Irene felt both hungry and irritated as she went to the front door. Then she realized what her daughter had just said:
he was going to be driving
. Marcelo Alves didn’t have a car. If this wasn’t Marcelo, who was standing on the other side of the door? Frej? It would have to be Frej. She’d misunderstood everything. Frej also danced capoeira. Irene was not sure that things would be much better with Frej as the presumptive boyfriend, but she had no time to think about that now. She opened the door.

“Hi, there!”

The outdoor light revealed the bright colors of a huge Rasta cap. Beneath it, Felipe Medina’s wide smile shone.

F
ELIPE PROVED HIMSELF
to be a pleasant and open young man. He happily chatted away on anything and
everything during dinner, which turned out to be surprisingly good. Jenny had roasted root vegetables, tomatoes, garlic and olives in the oven. She served herbed chickpeas in garlic as a side. When Irene pointed out that this meal contained quite a bit of garlic, she replied with a smile, “Flu season is starting! Garlic is the best thing to help your immune system. It helps cure colds and keeps potential disease carriers away.”

There was something to what she said. Irene took a large helping of the root vegetables. To be on the safe side, Krister had added a large chunk of cheddar and some smoked ham to the table to go on the freshly baked bread. Irene and Krister shared a bottle of white wine. Neither the twins nor Felipe drank anything other than water. Felipe was going to be driving, Katarina wanted to make sure she had enough fluids before dancing, and Jenny never drank alcohol. Jenny was a pure-living person all the way down to her fingertips. She never used drugs, and she didn’t smoke, either. It was reassuring for Irene. As a police officer, she knew how drugs circulated in the music scene. One thing she did worry about was that Jenny refused to take any kind of medication at all. Jenny felt that the body should handle all of its troubles on its own. Thank God she hadn’t yet gotten seriously ill. Irene knew she’d have a problem with her idealism if that day came.

“Are you planning to become a professional dancer?” asked Krister.

Felipe smiled and shrugged. “I’m already a professional. I’ve been dancing since I was, like, three. Mostly I work freelance. I also train groups in capoeira. But I don’t want to dance until my joints are trashed, like my father.”

“Is he retired? Gisela Bagge said that dancers retire early,” Irene added with hesitation.