Encircling (3 page)

“No, you’re right,” she says hastily, anxiously, as though trying to retrieve the situation, trying to smile. “I suppose I should talk to the doctor.”

“Of course you should, you can’t go on like this.” I swallow my irritation and meet her halfway, try to give her a little of the sympathy she’s angling for, cheer her up by playing along with her a bit, discussing her illness with her.

“Yes, well, we’ll see,” she says, looking down at the table.

“Surely you’ve got enough problems already without having to cope with this as well,” I say, knowing this is the sort of thing she likes to hear. I look at her, see how her face lights up a little, she waggles her head, smiles her plucky smile again.

“Well, I’m still here,” she says.

“Yep – fortunately,” I say and give a little laugh.

She looks at me and smiles quickly, a little more sincerely this time; she liked hearing me say that. So now I just have to carry on in the same vein, have to say something I know she likes to hear, doesn’t matter what, just say something to cheer her up, I won’t let her drag me down into the dumps, I can’t, not right now at any rate. I am just about to ask her if she’s been in a lot of pain lately when the phone rings. She looks at me and smiles, places her hands on the arms of the chair and gets slowly to her feet. A little wince passes across her face when she is half out of the chair and her hand flies to her back, she stands with her eyes shut for a second, then she starts to walk, stiffly and
slowly to begin with, then more easily, more loosely, you might say. I watch her go, regard the narrow shoulders and the twisted, slightly stooped back. I feel the guilt welling up: here she is, living all alone in this big house, racked with pain, day in, day out, no wonder she feels the need to moan a little, no wonder she feels the need to unburden herself when somebody finally shows up, I can live with that, surely. She’s sacrificed more for me over the years than anyone could ask for, the least I can do is to lend an ear to a little self-pity without getting fed up or annoyed. I pick up my coffee cup, take a little sip, put it down again. Look out at the garden, it’s totally overgrown, must be ages since the flowerbed was weeded and the hedge is running rampant, it’s huge and straggly, it’s even made inroads into the lawn, nasty little shoots sticking up here and there. After a few minutes Mum comes back, with her tobacco pouch in one hand and her lighter in the other, she looks at me and smiles. And I smile back.

“That was Eskil,” she says, sitting down. “He’s coming over!”

I don’t say anything for a moment. She sticks her hand into the tobacco pouch, takes out a pinch of tobacco and spreads it along the cigarette paper.

“Okay,” I say, picking up my coffee cup and lifting it to my lips. I’ve no wish to see Eskil, but I try not to let on, sip some coffee, clear my throat. “When?” I ask, trying to smile.

“He’s on his way, but he has a few errands to run first, so he’ll be here sometime in the afternoon, I suppose,” Mum says, smiling as she licks the paper, seals her cigarette and pops it in her mouth.

I look at her and nod, feel my heart sink.

“Just Eskil?” I ask.

“Hmm?”

“Is he coming on his own or is Hilde coming with him?”

Mum looks at me in surprise.

“I don’t know,” she says, crossing one leg over the other as she lights her cigarette and draws on it. “I didn’t ask, but … oh, if she comes she comes.” she says, pauses, then looks at me and grins. “Well, she’s so busy, you see. I don’t how long it’s been since I saw her, but it’s a good while, anyway.”

“And how long’s it been since you last saw Eskil?” I ask, knowing full well I shouldn’t. It’s a sore point with her that Eskil hardly ever comes to see her, but I can’t help it. She looks straight at me, just for a fraction of a second, then gives me a quick, wan smile.

“I know, I know,” she says. “But Eskil has his political commitments, as well as his job. And that does make a difference.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t see that much more of him before he was elected to the district council, did you?” I say. I can’t help it, it just comes out.

Mum keeps that faint smile on her face, takes another drag on her cigarette.

“Well, well, let’s not say any more about it.” She blows smoke through her nose and I hear the faint hiss as she does so.

“No, let’s not,” I say with the ghost of a grin. All the good humour has drained out of me and suddenly I feel pissed off.

We both pick up our coffee cups at the same time, each take a sip and set them down again with a little chink and then there’s silence.

“Oh, by the way,” Mum says, “I ran into Wenche the other day.”

I look at her, don’t say anything for a moment. Christ, now she’s going to start harping on about Wenche again, will she never quit? I’m so sick of this.

“Oh yes?” is all I say, can’t be bothered asking how she was and all that, can’t be bothered discussing Wenche with her, so all I say is, “Oh yes?”

Brief pause.

“She was in great form,” she says, puffs on her cigarette.

“Oh,” I say with a little intake of breath.

Pause.

“I think we must have stood there chatting for a good half-hour at least!” Mum goes on, glancing up at me and flashing me a quick smile. “It was so nice,” she says, pauses, then: “Oh, and she was asking for you?”

I look up at her, feel annoyance growing inside me. I open my mouth, all set to snap at her, but I think better of it, look at the table, give it a moment. Look up at her again.

“You can go on all you want, Mum,” I say, trying to speak as calmly as I can, forcing a smile of sorts. “But Wenche and I are never going to get back together.”

“Oh, but … I’ve never said so much as a word about that, Jon,” she says in a surprised and rather hurt voice, playing the innocent now. I know she’s trying to make me feel guilty because I left Wenche, gave up my job and staked everything on the band, but she’s all innocence, gazing at me all sad-eyed.

“All right,” I snap. “Fine.”

She lowers her eyes, sighs and gives a faint shake of her head, sits there with one leg over the other and the smoking roll-up in one hand, looking sad.

“No matter what I say it’s always the wrong thing,” she says. “No matter what I do!”

Silence. I look at her, know she’s only saying this so I’ll say it’s not true, but I say nothing.

“I just wanted …” she says, then stops, sighs and looks at the table, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t know, I really don’t,” she mutters, taking another drag on her cigarette.

Silence.

I look at her, the narrow shoulders, the gnarled, skinny body pulled out of shape by years of hard work and illness. She’s not that old, but she looks old, worn out. Two beats, then I feel the guilt welling up again, don’t want to feel guilty, but here it comes nonetheless. I glance to the side. Take a breath and let it out again, silently, sigh inaudibly, then I turn to face Mum again. Have to try to rise above her self-pity now, swallow my irritation and give her the comfort she’s asking for, have to be big enough to do that. One beat. I open my mouth, am all set to apologize, but I don’t, can’t bring myself to do it, can’t allow her to carry on like this much longer. It’s not fucking right, I’ve told myself so many times and now I have to get a fucking grip and not give in.

Silence.

“I thought I might mow the lawn for you.” It just slips out.

She doesn’t say anything, merely nods, looking like a wounded animal.

“Do you have any petrol for the lawnmower?” I ask.

“The can’s in the shed,” she says, not even looking at me.

I look at her, feel the guilt growing. I’m filled with annoyance and guilt, don’t know what to say.

Silence.

“Right, then,” I say, planting my hands on the arms of the chair. “Might as well get on with it, I suppose,” I say, “get it out of the way.”

“Yes,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray.

My back’s running with sweat after mowing the lawn. It itches, so I wriggle around a bit, rubbing it against the blanket, then shut my eyes and lie perfectly still, feel the sun blazing down on me, smell the sweet scent of new-mown grass. One beat, then I hear the sound of car wheels crunching over the gravel. I sit up, stay perfectly still, listening. It’s Eskil, he wasn’t due to get here till later in the afternoon, but it’s him, I can tell by the rumble of the engine, it’s that big four-wheel drive of his. One beat, then a wave of resentment washes over me again. I’m overcome by a kind of panic and I get to my feet, bend down and pick up the blanket, do this quite automatically, there’s something inside me that can’t cope with seeing Eskil, so I walk over to the soft fruit bushes, quickly, before he rounds the corner and sees me. I spread the blanket out on the patch of grass behind the biggest blackcurrant bush and then I lie down behind the bushes, it’s so stupid really, lying here hiding, it’s bordering on crazy, but there’s no help for it, I just can’t take him, want to put off seeing him for as long as I can. After a moment or two I hear the little creaks and clunks made by an engine that’s just been turned off, hear the sound of a car door opening, that little click. Then the sound of another car door. “Well, at least Hilde’s with him,” I mutter to myself, “that’s always something, he tends to tone it down a bit when she’s there.”

Silence.

“Yes, well we’re here now!” I suddenly hear Eskil say in a brusque, but low voice.

No reply.

“Okay?” he says.

Still no reply.

“Christ al-fucking-mighty!” he says.

I lie very still, hear shoes crunching over the gravel. And then a car door is slammed shut.

“Get a grip on yourself!” Eskil growls softly.

I feel my lips curling in a little grin, can’t help gloating a tiny bit that everything’s not as rosy and idyllic as Eskil likes to make out. I feel a ripple of malicious glee run through me. Roll carefully onto my side, reach out a hand and make a little parting in the blackcurrant bush, peer through it. They come walking round the corner of the garage, Eskil in front, Hilde right behind him, both of them tight-faced. Then Eskil whirls round and wags his finger at her. He says something to her, but I don’t catch it, hear only that he’s angry, speaking in that low growl, and Hilde simply stands there, looking him straight in the eye, saying nothing, but she looks angry, too, definitely.

Then the front door opens and Mum comes out onto the front step.

“Well, well, look who’s here,” she says, wiping her hands on her blue-and-white checked apron, then holding them out and walking down the steps, up to Eskil. And Eskil takes off his sunglasses, holds out his hands, too, stands there smiling with his hands outstretched. They put their arms around each other, sway from side to side, stay locked like this for ages. Christ, it looks so sick, anybody would think they hadn’t seen one another for a whole year, I know Eskil doesn’t come to see her very often, but there
are limits, it’s fucking ridiculous. Then Mum places her hands on his arms, pushes him away from her slightly and sort of stands there, eyeing him up and down.

“Have you lost weight?” she asks, sounding anxious, though she’s obviously pleased.

“Oh, Mum,” Eskil says and laughs.

“No, but you have, you have lost weight,” Mum says.

“Not at all,” Eskil laughs.

“You are taking the time to eat properly, aren’t you?”

“Oh, Mum!” Eskil laughs again.

“But you are, aren’t you?” Mum says.

“Yes, of course!” Eskil laughs.

I peer at them from my hiding place, try to smile at this, but can’t quite manage it, it comes out as a strained and rather bitter grin. I glance at Hilde, she’s standing back, trying to smile and look unfazed, but I can tell by her face that she thinks they’re behaving ridiculously, that she finds their little show embarrassing. After a moment or two Mum goes over to Hilde, lays a hand on her arm and gives her a hug.

“How lovely that you could come too!” she says.

“I know,” says Hilde, forcing a smile.

Mum turns round, wanders back across to Eskil all kind of casual like, slips her arm through his, smiles as she says something I can’t hear, and Eskil smiles and raises his eyebrows, pretending to be pleased and surprised. I don’t quite catch what he says, but it’s something about how he’s looking forward to something, and then they start to walk arm in arm into the house with Hilde right behind them. I roll over onto my back again, feel everything turning sour inside me, going mouldy, I should never have come here, how was I to know Eskil would be coming, but still, why
the hell didn’t I go somewhere else, no matter where, just anywhere but here. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and let it out again in a long sigh, try to calm down a bit. One way or another I’ll get through this as well, I suppose, and I don’t need to stay any longer than necessary anyway, I can just stay for dinner, have coffee and then take myself off somewhere else, make up a story about having to meet somebody and get out of here, I don’t need to stay the night. I swallow, feel myself growing calmer at the thought, becoming a little more relaxed. I put my hands behind my head and close my eyes. All’s quiet, not a sound to be heard.

Then: “So this is where you’re hiding?”

I open my eyes and find myself looking straight up at Eskil. He’s standing over me, grinning, with a pair of fake Ray-Bans pushed up onto his brow. His face is tanned and his white teeth look even whiter than usual, they gleam at me. I don’t say anything for a moment, just try to act surprised.

“You’re here already?” I say.

He doesn’t answer right away, looks me in the eye, making no secret of the fact that he knows I’ve only been trying to avoid them, that’s Eskil, tactful as always. I feel a surge of annoyance, but don’t let it show, try to smile.

“You didn’t hear the car, then?” he asks, grinning.

“I nodded off for a minute,” I say.

“Right!”

I try to keep a smile on my face, but it’s no good, the best I can manage is a sheepish grin, I know how it must look and I could kick myself, I ought to cut the crap and admit that I was trying to escape, but I don’t, I can’t. Instead I feign a big yawn, trying to make it look as though I really had nodded off.