The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend (29 page)

She was sure he had actually said that he thought there was a risk he would fall for her – had implied that in some kind of alternative, parallel universe (one clearly governed by completely different laws of nature than this one) they might have had a chance. Plus, he had kissed her.

She realised that she didn't want to cry; she wanted to laugh and sing and tell the whole world about it. He had been attracted to her. She smiled. All her anxiety about eventually – in a few weeks, almost a month, plenty of time! – having to go home to Sweden vanished at the thought that she, here and now, was walking around analysing a man's feelings and actions, as though she were Bridget Jones for a day. As though she were the main character in a run-of-the-mill chick-lit novel.

She would see him again soon, at the dance. So long as she made it through the market first.

Tom watched as she left and told himself that he was a damned idiot.

Suddenly he hadn't been able to bear the thought of her going home to Sweden, leaving as though she had never even been in Broken Wheel. It somehow felt as though he might then cease to exist, as though he and the rest of the town were nothing but a parenthesis in her life. A memory, an anecdote perhaps, told to people so far away that he couldn't even imagine them.
Sweden.
The timing and the holiday romance had been nothing more than excuses. Not exactly brilliant ones at that, but the only ones he could come up with at such short notice.

Pull yourself together, Tom
, he thought, resting his forehead against the window in the living room, as though he could make the calmness and darkness outside sink into him by sheer willpower. As long as you just stay away from her for these last few weeks, he said to himself, then she'll forget all about you just as easily as she seems to have forgotten all of her Swedish friends. And boyfriends.

She hadn't said a single word about them. She might have left dozens of abandoned boyfriends in different corners of Sweden.

Not that it had anything to do with him. It was just that she would be going back to them, which, he quickly thought, couldn't happen soon enough.

He had absolutely no need for a woman whom he had nothing in common with, and who would rather spend more of her time with a book than with him. He had absolutely no intention of living up to any of her crazy romantic ideas of heroes losing arms, hands, their vision and their minds so that Sara could have her happy ending.

If he had learned anything in life, it was that there were no happy endings. Life simply went on.

So why had he kissed her? Or rather: why had he thrown himself onto her and practically molested her on the sofa?

He should have known better. He did know better. It was just the shock of coming home and finding her asleep on his sofa, how right it had all felt. As though all obligations and all responsibilities … they hadn't disappeared, exactly, but they felt so far away that, for a short time, he could imagine a life in which he might have a break from them. And then she had been there when he woke, near to him, and then he hadn't
thought
at all.

Because he was a damned idiot, plain and simple. That much was perfectly clear.

But it wasn't the end of the world, he reminded himself. The only thing he needed to do was demonstrate that he hadn't fallen for her, and that he had absolutely no intention of doing so.

He sighed. If only he could convince himself.

A little willpower and self-discipline, that was all he needed.

‘
BUT YOU MUST
understand,' the lawyer said, desperately gesturing to the group in his office. He had already explained it three times, but no one from the eccentric delegation seemed to be listening. They were polite and well behaved, and they didn't interrupt him, but it was clear that they just hadn't accepted what he was telling them. He could feel a headache coming on, and massaged his temples discreetly.

It had all seemed so simple when Caroline Rohde phoned. A question about visa regulations for a woman she had staying with her. He had assumed it would be a straightforward matter of extending a tourist visa, something he should have been able to get over and done with before lunch. He hadn't been at all prepared for five people turning up, each of them seemingly expecting him to conjure up a permanent residency visa just like that.

He should have known. Nothing was ever simple with Caroline damn Rohde. If it hadn't been for all the kindnesses she had shown his wife, he would have thrown her out by now. Of course, among those kindnesses was the small detail of Caroline talking his wife into taking him back after a certain indiscretion on his part.

The rest of the group was no better. A manic housewife, a nervous man in a jacket which didn't suit him, and two men he was starting to suspect were a couple. One of them was far too handsome. He had no time for handsome men. It wasn't natural, he thought grumpily.

‘There must be something we can do so she can stay,' said Jen. ‘What happened to all that talk about everyone being born free and having the right to find happiness?'

‘It was more a … figure of speech,' he said wearily. ‘That part of the constitution is slightly unfortunate. You must understand that it's always been more of a vision or a challenge than a description of reality. And besides, it doesn't apply at all to people who aren't American citizens.'

He rubbed his eyes. He didn't care whether Sara stayed or not. She was probably perfectly nice in her own way.

‘The US has become something of a symbol, a dream – a country people have come to in order to, like the lady pointed out, create a better life and find happiness for themselves and those dear to them. But our immigration laws are tough. Sure, some things changed during the nineties, primarily to allow the immigration of people with certain specialist skills – scientists, engineers, doctors. Or people who were prepared to invest large amounts of money in American businesses.
Large
amounts,' he emphasised. ‘But since then, the mood has hardened again, not least because of the anti-terrorism laws and the jobs situation. No one is really interested in letting foreigners take those few jobs we've got left.'

He shrugged in what might have been an apologetic gesture, but might well have been just a reminder that he wasn't personally responsible for the rules.

‘So what are the circumstances under which people can stay?' Caroline asked.

‘Asylum, of course, but only if you're fleeing war or persecution. And even that's not especially simple.'

‘But if you've got a job?' Jen asked.

‘It doesn't make much of a difference. It's a complicated process – plenty of paperwork and very expensive. Plus, the employer has to be able to prove she's got a specific competency that we're lacking here. Has she got any particular skills?'

‘She's worked in a bookstore,' said Caroline. ‘Very good at her job. Loves books.' There was something disapproving in her tone.

‘But hardly something in short supply here,' he said.

‘What about all those Latin Americans working in the meat-packing factories?' said the thin man in the terrible jacket. ‘That's hardly a skill.'

‘Some of them might have residency through their parents, or else they came here illegally and were then given amnesty. And you can't ignore the fact that many of them are simply here without visas.'

He looked them in the eye, one after the other. None hesitated in meeting his gaze. ‘I must strongly advise your friend against staying here illegally. I've often wished there was more I could do to help those who are already here, but at least I can honestly warn others against heading down that road.'

They still didn't appear to be listening to him.

‘Even just the chance of being arrested! We're talking about hefty fines, prosecution, maybe even a stretch in jail, both for her and whoever helped her. Plus, even if she could manage the fines and jail, which isn't at all certain, then she'd be deported immediately. After which it would be virtually impossible for her to come back at a later date.'

‘Tom, though …' said Caroline.

‘Tom?' he asked. The others looked just as surprised.

She smiled at them. ‘He'll be broken-hearted.'

‘Broken-hearted,' the housewife echoed.

‘Who's Tom?'

‘Her boyfriend,' the housewife said. ‘It took them forever to get together, but we knew from the very beginning that they'd like one another.'

The housewife suddenly seemed animated in a slightly worrying way. There was a manic look in her eyes, a smile which seemed to cover her entire face. ‘From the very beginning,' she repeated.

‘Young people are so slow nowadays,' Caroline added.

The housewife sat up straight. ‘Yeah,' she said. ‘They're so in love, Sara and Tom.'

That was something, at least. ‘So you're saying she met someone here? An American citizen?'

‘Tom's as American as they come,' said Caroline.

The other woman nodded enthusiastically. ‘Very American,' she said. ‘Like apple pie.'

‘Did they know one another before she came here, when she applied for her visa? It's important. If they think she came here on a tourist visa with the intention of getting married and staying longer, she could still be refused residency.'

‘No, they met here,' the housewife said, adding determinedly: ‘Through me.'

‘And she definitely has a visa? She's not here on a visa-waiver programme?'

‘She has a visa.'

‘In that case … Well. If this Tom would be broken-hearted enough to marry her, she should be allowed to stay. It's a relatively simple process. Providing, of course,' he added, ‘that she doesn't stay after her current visa expires. Not one single day.'

‘Not at all. So a marriage would help?'

‘If they love one another enough,' he clarified.

‘Of course,' said Caroline.

‘And they have to be married,' he added. ‘Being engaged or moving in together isn't enough.' He suddenly thought of something. ‘Why isn't Tom here himself, asking these questions?'

‘Young people today,' Caroline answered. ‘Not organised at all, not like in our day, when –'

He held up his hands. ‘Yes, yes, it's true.' He looked at his watch. Definitely time for lunch. ‘If anything comes of all this, I can help you through the paperwork. She'll need to have a doctor's certificate too, plus fill in some forms.'

He stood up and held out his hand to signal that the meeting was over. All members of the delegation stood up politely, and Caroline shook his hand and thanked him for his time.

‘Jane?' he said into the telephone as they squeezed out of his office. ‘Take my calls. I'm going for lunch.'

‘Tom?' George asked the moment they were clear of the lawyer's office.

Caroline shrugged. ‘I had to come up with something.' She wasn't entirely happy with her improvisation skills either. Was it ever morally defensible to get married in order to be granted residency? She doubted it. It had been a passing idea, a way of keeping all doors open, but she had a feeling that Jen would see it as something they couldn't back away from.

‘She has to get married,' said Jen. ‘You heard the guy. It's the only way if she wants to stay.'

Andy and Carl looked at one another, amazed by how simple it was for heterosexual people to say those words. ‘She has to get married,' they said to one another quietly.

‘Don't mention any of this to her yet,' Caroline said in an attempt to minimise the damage.

‘No, we'll let it be a nice surprise,' Jen agreed cheerily. ‘And the same goes for Tom. Let's not say anything to him either.'

‘Tom's the obvious choice,' said Andy. Carl seemed much more sceptical, but Andy continued nonetheless. ‘He's the right age. He's single. He's straight.'

‘Plus, she likes him,' said Jen.

‘But does he have the slightest desire to marry her?' asked Caroline. ‘And does she want to get married to him?'

‘There's want and want,' said Jen. ‘It'd just be on paper. He can surely sacrifice himself for the town. It's actually about time he did something for it.' He had never even subscribed to the newsletter, she reminded herself with indignation.

Tom it was. He wasn't there to defend himself, which everyone saw as a bonus. A surprise attack. That was the right approach.

‘We'll propose at the dance,' said Andy. ‘It'll be the party of the century.'

GEORGE COULDN'T BAKE.
He did, however, have all the time in the world, and he knew how to clean.

No one ever locked their doors in Broken Wheel. That was just how things had always been. There was very little worth stealing, and even fewer people to do the stealing. He let himself in without giving it a second thought.

Where should he start?

There was vacuuming, scrubbing, dusting and dishes to be done. He decided to tackle the dishes first, since she had specifically mentioned them. As he sorted the things waiting to be washed on the counter and fetched plates from the living room, he found himself singing.

He did his job thoroughly and properly, using plenty of dishwashing liquid, inspecting each glass and plate for stubborn pieces of food, drying them and putting them neatly back in the right place. With satisfaction, he saw the dirty pile grow smaller with each glass he washed. The kitchen seemed to grow before his very eyes: it became bigger and airier and much more pleasant, and though he hadn't cleaned the windows, even the sun seemed to be shining more brightly. Cleaning the windows was a job that always needed doing.

It was nice being able to do something where you could so clearly see your progress. Not like at the slaughterhouse, where the piles of dead animals waiting to be cut up never grew any smaller however hard the men worked, and where the slush they rinsed away always came back, often before they were even finished.