The Missing One (12 page)

I feel sweat prickle my scalp. Finn kicks his legs, urging me forwards, like a cavalryman.

Jenny puts a hand on my arm. ‘He may not understand why you've come,' she smiles. ‘But try not to let that spoil the visit.'

*

The room has peach walls and a thick-pile carpet, and there is a walnut dresser by the door. By the French windows there's a rug and two wingchairs, one turned with its back to us, looking out at a balcony. The air is moist with smells of medicine, disinfectant, butterscotch, urine and that other familiar yet disturbing smell that I know too well from my mother's deathbed. Harry Halmstrom isn't here.

‘Mr Halmstrom? I have a very special visitor for you today. This is Carly. She's come to see you all the way from Great Britain with her little boy.' Jenny comes round behind me and walks towards one of the chairs. I realize that some hair, like a little puff of white smoke, is just visible above the chair back.

‘Mr Halmstrom? Helloooo?' Jenny calls out. Presumably she is used to walking into rooms to find the occupant dead.

I unhook the belt of the baby backpack and lower it to the ground. Finn looks up at me and holds up his hands to be carried. I glance at Jenny and the chair. Jenny is looking
at me, expectantly. I pull Finn out and kiss him quickly on the cheek as I put him on my hip.

‘OK, so Carly, I'll leave you and Mr Halmstrom to catch up. Let me know if you need anything. There's a phone right there, on the bureau – just press zero for reception. There's coffee, tea in the kitchenette.' She points behind me then exits, swiftly, like someone who has just pulled the pin out of a hand grenade. Finn is lodged on my hip. Unusually, he doesn't kick and wriggle to get down.

The head doesn't move so I step closer. The knee poking out of the chair is covered in a blanket; a slipper protrudes. A veiny hand rests on the knee, plant-like and still. My heart is bouncing off my ribcage.

‘Hello?'

Sensing my nervousness, Finn clings tighter.

The sunken figurine is purple-nosed, his spine a question mark, chin almost to navel. Brows hang over his eye sockets like dripping wax. He doesn't move, but the hairs on his eyebrows twitch. Perhaps he is trying to look up.

‘Hello?' I bend so I'm more on his level, Finn grips my ribs with his knees. ‘Up,' he says. ‘Up, up.'

The brows suddenly shoot up and a pair of surprisingly dark-blue eyes, set in curdled egg whites, fix on me. White hearing aids comma his skull. He stares and then, slowly, his lips droop and the tip of his tongue protrudes. It is grey.

‘I hope you don't mind me coming,' I say, perkily, ‘but I think there's a possibility that we might just be related. At least, you have the same surname as my grandfather and my mother – Halmstrom. I think we have some Swedish blood
too, so … I really hope you don't mind me coming like this? Jenny said not to call. But I just … I wondered, did you know my mother, Elena Halmstrom?' I realize, as I talk, that this is preposterous. What am I doing? ‘I'm sorry,' I mutter. ‘We're probably not related at all, but I—'

‘You! YOU?' His voice is reedy, and spiteful. He is staring at me. ‘YOU? Here?'

‘Me? Yes. I'm Kal. And this is Finn, my son. My mother's name was—'

‘What in God's name are
you
doing here?' he interrupts.

‘Well. OK. I came to meet you because of your name. I found you on … ' He has to be too old for Google. ‘My mother's name was Halmstrom so … I wondered … are we maybe related … ?'

‘You think I don't know who you
are
?' he spits. ‘I haven't lost my mind, you know, just because I'm old. I know you,
goddammit
! I know you all right. Changed your hair, though, huh? What is that – some kind of disguise? I always said you'd show up again one day, but you took your time about it, didn't you? Took your damned time to come face me.'

I move backwards, gripping Finn. I realize what's happening here. Time is bent out of shape for him. But surely this is recognition.

‘Mr Halmstrom. I think you might be confusing me with my mother – Elena?'

‘What?' he quavers. ‘Speak up, dammit.'

I search his face for any familiar feature but he is so folded and warped by time that it is impossible to glimpse the young man he once was.

‘I came from England to see you.'

‘England? Why? What?' He looks lost. ‘
That's
where you went?'

‘I live in England … '

‘England, huh?' He nods to himself, as if confirming a long-held debate. ‘So, that's where you ran to?
Fugitive
.' Then he mutters something I don't catch, something about a baby.

There are spider veins across his cheeks and his hair is so thin that I can pick out the splotches on his head. My arms are aching from holding Finn so tightly. I look around and grab the other armchair, pulling it towards us.

‘Make yourself at home,' he hisses. ‘Then you can … ' Again, I don't catch what he mumbles.

‘Then I can what?' I have Finn on my lap now, he buries his head in my neck, peering at the old man with one eye. I shift Finn round to the side of my body furthest away from Harry Halmstrom, and lean forward. ‘Sorry, I didn't quite hear what you said.'

‘Tell me!' This explodes from his mouth with balls of spittle. ‘Then you can tell me! That's why you came, isn't it?'

Finn yelps. I wrap both arms across his back. ‘Shh, it's OK, love. It's OK,' I have to remind myself that this old man can't hurt us. The poor man can't actually do a thing. For a moment, he just pants. His brows fall. His hand twitches. I notice a panic button near his arm. I consider pressing it.

But he is staring at his knees now as if it is too much effort to raise his eyes. He seems to have retreated somewhere
inside himself. I wonder if he is actually going to die. The room is so airless. With the heat and the stink of medicine and decay I am beginning to feel queasy. The idea that this ancient man and I are going to sit and chat about my mother is nonsensical. This is a colossal mistake.

‘I'm Elena Halmstrom's daughter,' I say, again, pointlessly.

‘Stop that,' he snaps back to life. ‘Stop talking nonsense.'

‘OK. Sorry.'

I can see his sunken chest moving up and down too fast. Then he lifts his head, just a little and stares out the window, chomping on an invisible object. There's a paved area with two chairs outside, and a dead fern. Shrubs squat on a lawn behind this. A sparrow lands on the table, looks sharply at us, then flies away.

‘Mr Halmstrom?' I say. ‘Do you remember an Elena?'

‘Elena – that's right. Forgot the bitch's name!'

I recoil again, covering Finn's head with my hand.

His hand reminds me of a bird's foot, gripping the arm of the chair – just skin and gristle. I should leave.

But it is as if he has submerged again. His body is roped here by the stubborn beat of his ancient heart, but his mind is clearly moving between two worlds.

I wonder if he even knows who he is. I try a different tack. ‘Mr Halmstrom, did you have children?'

‘Me? All gone. All gone. Worked my whole life, real hard work for my boys … '

‘You had boys?'

‘Oh, they just … ' He lifts the hand then drops it back
down. ‘They go … all of them … they leave you in the end … ' He frowns and his jaw hangs. ‘Yes.'

‘So you had boys, sons?'

‘First one, just a pup – you don't get over that. You think nothing worse can happen but it does, dear God it does, and their mother too, eggs in a skillet one minute then the next – gone. But him. Him! My poor boy. Lost. Oh dear God. Everything in life. Everything. Here one minute then taken away from you. They don't tell you that, do they? No one tells you how to be alone.'

I nod at this. ‘No. No, they really don't.'

For a moment, we sit in silence, listening to his harsh breathing. Even Finn is still and silent.

‘It's all smoke and mirrors,' he snaps, and I jump. ‘Including you. You! Back here! Smoke and mirrors … ' His fingers spasm on the arm of the chair.

‘But I'm not smoke and mirrors,' I say. ‘I'm real. Finn and I are really here right now.'

‘You got that wrong, missy.'

‘Up,' says Finn. ‘Up.' He tugs my T-shirt.

‘It's OK, sweetheart. We'll go in a minute. Just a minute.'

‘Why are you even here?' It is almost a whimper, and I see that he's in pain. His mouth is contorted. I am confusing and upsetting him. This feels very wrong indeed.

‘I'm so sorry,' I say, gently. ‘I don't want to upset you. I'm sorry. It's OK.'

But it seems brutal to just leave. I pat Finn's back with one hand, and jiggle him on my knee. ‘So, what was your work, Mr Halmstrom? What line of business were you in?'

‘What?' he says. ‘Didn't even tell you that, did he?'

‘I'm sorry –
who
didn't tell me what?'

Nothing.

I keep patting Finn's back, like I did when he was a newborn, and he gradually settles down. His fist is clamped around my T-shirt and he is sucking at the fabric.

‘Construction,' Harry Halmstrom says suddenly. ‘Sold for big money in … oh … He wanted me to give him it for … I forget what. I forget! Saving the world, saving the … you know … money to save his … those … black and white … '

‘Whales?' I say. ‘Killer whales?'

‘A dreamer!' he yells. ‘Gave it to him too. Maybe that went down with him. Or you took it. Huh? Did ya take it?'

‘Take what?'

Nothing.

‘Mr Halmstrom, are you talking about your son?'

His head swivels. ‘Yes! My
son
!' Ball-bearings of spittle pellet my face. ‘My SON … whatchamacalit … my SON, Goddammit!'

Finn yelps. I get up, whisking him onto my hip. I smell the sweet medication on the old man's breath and have to wipe his spit off my mouth with a sleeve.

The queasiness is swelling in my stomach and throat. ‘I'm really sorry.' I look down at Harry Halmstrom. ‘I'm upsetting you so I should go now. I should let you rest.'

A hand shoots out and grabs at my leg. His bony fingers pinch me just above the knee. ‘Stop messing with my mind, girl, and tell me what you did to him. What did you do to him?' I push his hand away – it feels like paper – and I step
backwards. ‘He could swim like a fish!' he shrieks. ‘What did you do to him? Did you want the money? Was that it? What did you do to my boy?'

Finn lets out a high-pitched shriek, and clutches round my neck, trying to climb up my body to get away from the old man.

‘OK,' I shout above Finn. ‘I have to go now … the baby … I'm sorry!' I lurch towards the door and grab the backpack with one hand, and then wrestle with it, the door handle and Finn's weight. Above Finn's yelps I can hear Harry Halmstrom's high, wavering voice.

‘What did you do to him, you
bitch
? He could swim like a FISH. You murderer! Murdering bitch. I KNOW IT WAS YOU!'

*

Finn and I drive around for a while, past suburban houses with shrubby gardens, and basketball hoops and double garages. Slowly, I begin to calm down. I cannot believe I put myself – not to mention the old man – through that. It serves me right for concocting absurd plans.

There are no pavements, no shops, no humans here. I am not far from the B & B but I can't take Finn there, not now: it is far too early. What would we do? I have to keep him awake for much longer than this. We both need fresh air. The lemony scent of the old people's home is somehow still in my nose. Finn has been cooped up. He needs to run and play and yell. We both need to fill our lungs with fresh air and forget what just happened. I need to call Alice. She'll be worrying. And I have to do something about Doug, though God knows what. For a moment, it occurs to me that I have
been completely mad. Of course Doug has not been sleeping with his ex-girlfriend. That's just insane. Then the clarity is gone and a sort of fog closes in on my brain, washing over everything, and I can't think straight. I am suddenly profoundly tired. It is an effort just to keep my hands on the steering wheel.

I spot a swing and a blue plastic slide – a playground – and pull over. I get out – the freezing air slaps my face – and go to the back. I unclip Finn's seat belt. ‘Look!' I point at the playground. ‘Swings!'

Delighted, he wriggles to get out then toddles across the grass with his arms sticking out slightly in his red padded suit. I run after him, across the sandpit, zipping up the parka as I go, beeping the car locks. The air is freezing and damp and I can smell the sea. He holds up his arms to the swing, looking back at me with pained tolerance, as if I'm an old lady moving interminably slowly.

‘Up! Up!' he shouts. ‘Up!'

I lift him up and slot his chubby legs into the seat, then give him a gentle push. ‘Whee.'

‘Higher!' he bellows, the upset of Harry Halmstrom forgotten already. There is salt on my lips. I'm suddenly ravenous. ‘Higher!' Finn cries. ‘Higher!'

I push him harder and he shrieks and sticks out his feet, pigeon-toed.

‘Whee! Look at you!' After a few minutes of pushing, I feel more awake. I get out my phone. There are three missed calls from Alice.

‘UP!'

‘Fly you to the moon.' It's bedtime in England. She picks up after a few rings.

‘It's me. Sorry it's so late.'

‘Where are you? Are you OK? I've been worrying all day about you.'

‘We're fine!'

‘OK. Listen. You have to call Doug. He called me earlier, and he's really worried about you. What are you
doing
? Why on earth are you in Vancouver?'

‘I'm fine. Honestly. I had this crazy idea that I'd track down a relative of Mum's. There's this old man out here called Harry Halmstrom and, actually, I just went to see him. He's in an old people's home here. I thought he might be related to us.'