Let The Old Dreams Die Part 3

Although this was real, of course. People can be this happy.

Tina made a conscious effort not to hate her neighbours because they were happy. For a moment she sat there at the desk staring out of the window and wis.h.i.+ng that Elisabet's child would be stillborn, just so that she could have a taste of the other things life serves up.

Then Tina excised the thought because she wasn't that kind of person.

But Tina is exactly that kind of person.

No I'm not. Haven't I promised to drive them to the hospital when the time comes, if I'm home?

You're hoping you won't be home. You don't want to do it.

Because I don't like hospitals, that's all.

You saw it so clearly: Elisabet bent double by the was.h.i.+ng line, clutching her belly. The sheet torn free, entangled in her flailing arms. Her screams, her- Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Tina got up and pressed her hands to her temples. The wind, gaining strength, tore a flurry of leaves from the trees, set them whirling in the air outside the window. The small television aerial on the roof shook and swung like a tuning fork, sending a single long, mournful note through the house as if it were a sound box.

With her hands still pressed to her temples Tina fell to her knees and sank down until her forehead was resting on the floor.

Help me, G.o.d. I'm so unhappy.

No reply. Prayer requires humility, self abas.e.m.e.nt. That was what her mother had told her in front of a picture in the church.

The picture showed Jesus and three fishermen. They were out at sea in a small boat. There was a storm. The three fishermen, portrayed in the time-honoured way, with seamen's caps and beards, had fallen to their knees in the boat and were gazing at the bright figure in the stern.

Her mother explained what the picture meant: the fishermen had placed their fate in the hands of the Lord. They had let go the oars and the rudder, abandoned all attempts to save themselves from mortal danger. Now only Jesus could save them. And that is exactly what man must do if his prayers are to have any power: let go of everything, hand it over to the Lord.

Tina had disliked the idea even at that early age, and as an adult she had decided that holding onto the rudder and the oars was her preferred option, not falling to her knees.

But help me anyway.

It took another ten minutes before there was a knock at the door. Roland was standing outside with an umbrella.

'Are you there?' he asked.

'Yes,' Tina replied. 'Where else would I be?'

Roland had no answer to that. He held out the umbrella towards her, exposing himself to the rain.

'Come on,' he said. 'I've locked her in my bedroom.'

'You take the umbrella,' said Tina, holding up the towel she had used to dry her hair. 'I've got this.'

'Don't be silly. Here.' He shook the umbrella, wanting her to take it. The rain had already soaked his hair, plastering it to his scalp.

'Roland, you're getting wet. Take the umbrella and get inside.'

'I'm already wet. Here.'

'I've got the towel.'

Roland stared at her for a few seconds. Then he closed the umbrella, placed it at her feet and walked back to the house. Tina waited thirty seconds then followed him, using the towel to protect her. When she was a few metres away from the cottage, she stopped.

Silly. Now who's being silly?

But she still didn't take the umbrella. The rain was so heavy that it had soaked through the towel before she got back inside the house. Roland was standing in the hallway pulling off his wet clothes so that he could drape them over the stove. He pulled a face when he saw her arrive without the umbrella, but said nothing.

She put her blouse on a hanger in the bathroom and thought it was going to be one of those evenings. Just as they hadn't huddled together to share the umbrella, so they had no way of dealing with conflict.

They didn't want to solve their problems, so disagreements always ended up in a mutual silence that went on until it ebbed away. On the rare occasions when they really did quarrel, there was a huge store of a.s.sorted unresolved issues to be tipped out and hurled at one another.

Tara was whining in Roland's room, and Tina had just started wondering how she was going to get through the evening when the problem solved itself: Goran rang to say the baby had started. Did she have time to drive them to the hospital?

She certainly did.

Elisabet and Goran sat in the back of the car, their arms wrapped around each other. Their older children were fifteen and twelve, and were fine on their own. Goran explained that they had had the foresight to buy a new video game a month ago, ready to hand over when the time came.

Tina murmured something appropriate and concentrated on her driving. The windscreen wipers were working at full speed, swis.h.i.+ng spasmodically back and forth without managing to clear the water completely. Her tyres were worn down to the point of illegality, and she didn't dare go over fifty in case of aquaplaning. There might have been an evil Tina inside her wis.h.i.+ng miscarriage and misery on her pa.s.sengers, but the Tina behind the wheel had no intention of cras.h.i.+ng the car with a pregnant woman in the back seat.

Just as long as we don't have a thunderstorm.

Thunder and lightning could still knock her completely off course. Admittedly the car, with its rubber insulation on the ground, was the place she preferred to be during a thunderstorm, but not while she was driving.

As they pa.s.sed Spillersboda the rain eased off and visibility improved. She glanced at the back seat. Elisabet was bent over, her face contorted with pain as she leaned against her husband.

'How's it going?' asked Tina.

'Fine,' Goran replied. 'But I think the contractions are quite close now.'

Tina increased her speed to seventy. She was revolted by the thought that the child might be born in her car. The smell emanating from Elisabet was anything but pleasant. It would cling to the upholstery for months.

They arrived at the hospital and Goran half led, half carried Elisabet to the maternity unit. Tina stood by the car for a moment, unsure what to do, then she followed them. It had more or less stopped raining; there was just a film of drizzle hanging in the air.

As they walked into the hospital a couple of nurses immediately came over to Elisabet, and the little group set off with Goran two paces behind. He didn't even glance in Tina's direction. Her job was done, and she no longer had anything to do with the proceedings. She stood in the corridor and watched them disappear round a corner.

How were they intending to get home?

Did they expect her to sit here and wait?

If so, they were going to be disappointed. Tina opened and closed her hands, gazing at the spot where they had vanished.

A nurse came over and asked, 'Has someone been to help you?'

'No,' replied Tina. 'But I don't need any help, thank you.'

The nurse smelled more strongly of hospital than the building itself, and Tina quickly made for the exit. Only when she was outside in the carpark did she dare to breathe again. That smell of disinfected clothes and antiseptic soap almost brought on a panic attack. It went back a long way. She remembered being terrified all the time when she had been in hospital after being struck by lightning. Just wanting to go home.

It was quarter to seven, and the storm had blown over as quickly as it had come. There wasn't a cloud in the deep blue evening sky, and the half-moon was as sharp as a blade. She pushed her hands deep in her pockets and strolled over towards the residential home for the elderly.

Her father was watching Jeopardy. 'Viktor Sjostrom, you idiot!' he muttered at a contestant who thought The Phantom Carriage had been directed by Ingmar Bergman. The next question was about the director of Sir Arne's Treasure, and when the same contestant went for Bergman again, her father said, 'Turn it off, for G.o.d's sake. It's driving me mad.'

Tina leaned forward and switched the television off.

'A trained gibbon could do better,' her father said. 'I don't know why I watch it, I always end up getting really annoyed. Could you be an angel and give me some of that orange drink?'

Tina held the plastic cup with the straw up to his mouth, and her father drank for a while as he gazed into her eyes. When she took the straw away, he asked, 'How are you? Is something wrong?'

'No, why?'

'You just look as if there might be. Is it the Small Businessman?'

'No,' said Tina. 'It's just that...I was at the hospital. I gave my neighbours a lift-she was having a baby. I don't know why, but being in a hospital always shakes me up.'

'I see. Right. But otherwise everything's OK?'

Tina looked around the room. It was spa.r.s.ely furnished so that it would be easier to clean. No rugs on the lino. Only a couple of pictures from home and a few framed photographs above the bed indicated that the occupant was someone who had lived a life of their own.

One of the photographs was of Tina herself, aged perhaps seven. She was sitting in a garden chair gazing into the camera with a serious expression, her small, deep-set eyes buried in her skull. She was wearing a floral-patterned dress that looked all wrong on her angular body. As if someone had put trousers on a pig to make it look presentable.

Ugly little b.u.g.g.e.r.

'Dad? I was wondering about something.'

'What's that?'

'I've got a scar here.' She pointed. 'When did I get that?'

There was a brief silence. Then her father answered, 'But I've already told you. You fell on a rock when you were little.'

'How little?'

'I don't know...four, maybe? A sharp rock. Can you give me another drink? The stuff they give you in here is horrible. Could you bring me some proper juice next time you come? Without all these preservatives?'

'Of course.' She held up the beaker again, and her father drank without looking her in the eye. 'But I was wondering...was I in hospital then? I think I ought to remember it, because...'

Her father spat out the straw. 'You were four years old, maybe even three. How would you remember that?'

'Did I need st.i.tches?'

'Yes, you needed st.i.tches. Why are you thinking about this now?'

'I was just wondering, that's all.'

'Well, that's what happened. That's probably why you're frightened of hospitals, for all I know. Have you got anyone staying in the cottage at the moment?'

'No, not just now.'

They carried on talking about summer visitors, tourism in general and the cheap vodka from Russia that was flooding in across borders where Tina wasn't around to stop it. At half past seven she got up to leave. As she stood in the doorway, she said, 'It was Mauritz Stiller, wasn't it?'

Her father, who seemed lost in thought, said, 'What was?'

'Sir Arne's Treasure. Mauritz Stiller.'

'Yes. Yes, of course. Take care of yourself, sweetheart.' He looked at her and added, 'And don't spend too much time thinking about... what's in the past.'

She said she wouldn't.

When she got home she stood outside for a long time checking things out before she went in. Even if there hadn't been a real storm, the wind was still quite strong and she could see the silhouettes of the pine trees swaying against the night sky. The air was chilly and she breathed in deeply through her nose, picking out rotting apples, damp earth, rosehips and a host of other smells she couldn't place or identify. There was an animal close by, probably a badger. The smell of its wet fur was coming from the forest behind the house.

A blue glow flickered in one of the windows at the neighbours' house. The children were busy with their video game. There was a blue glow from their own living-room window. Roland was watching some sports program.

As so many times before when she stopped and thought about it-rather than automatically getting out of the car and going inside-she had no desire to walk into her own house. Into any house. She just wanted to keep on walking past the lights and the warmth, out into the forest. To push her way through its dark wall and allow herself to be surrounded by the smell of badger, pine needles, moss. Allow the trees to protect her.

She looked over at the house next door. Should she knock on the door, check that the kids were OK? n.o.body had mentioned it, and she didn't like the idea. The children shunned her because of the way she looked. As if they thought she might do them some harm. No, she would leave it. If they wanted anything they could come to her.

Roland was indeed watching sport. Ice hockey, even though it was only September. There were no seasons these days. A chemical smell hovered in the air, presumably the ointment Roland had used on the dog. She could also smell the dog from behind the closed door of Roland's bedroom.

As she walked through the living room, Roland said, 'Oh, by the way-someone called round.'

She stopped. 'Oh yes?'

Without taking his eyes off the screen, he went on, 'Some guy wanting to rent the cottage. Shady-looking character. Said he'd spoken to you.'

'Yes.' Tina clasped her hands together, tightly. 'What did you say to him?'

'I told him straight. That we don't usually rent the cottage out in the autumn. But it was mainly because...' He glanced up at her. 'Well, he didn't exactly look...nice. And you said you didn't want to carry on renting the cottage out anyway, so...' Roland shrugged his shoulders, looking pleased with himself. 'He looked like some kind of arsonist or something.'

Tina stood there for a while just looking at him. The glow of the television gave his skin a greyish tone, bringing the incipient rolls of fat around his neck into sharp relief and flickering in his eyes, making him look like a monster.

She shut herself in her room, read The Old Man and the Sea and got through the hours until it was time to sleep.

She started work at ten o'clock the following day, but left home at quarter past nine and drove to the ramblers' hostel. There was only one car in the carpark: a small white Renault which proudly proclaimed in blue letters that it had been hired from OKQS at a cost of only 199 kronor per day.

She knocked on the main door of the hostel.

When nothing happened she opened it and stepped into a small hallway. There was a stand displaying tourist leaflets, and a sign on the reception desk explained that the hostel was open only on request. The building exuded desolation and soap.

She foolishly pinged the bell on the desk, as if it might magically produce someone who could help her; perhaps the autumn staff, a little old man who slept in a cupboard and woke up only when guests arrived.

When the bell had no effect, she shouted, 'h.e.l.lo? Is anyone there?'

She knew his name, of course, but she had no intention of shouting it out. The situation was already sufficiently absurd. A police officer shouting for a thief so that she could ask if he'd like to come and live with her.

She had just thought Right, I'm going, when a door opened along the corridor in front of her.

Vore emerged from the room and she gasped.

In the s.p.a.cious expanse of the ferry terminal he had looked big, but here between the narrow walls of the hostel he was enormous. In spite of the fact that he was wearing only a singlet and pants, he seemed to fill the entire corridor. Tina could understand why Roland had felt a little nervous. Vore looked as if he could crush Roland between his thumb and forefinger.