Frozen Music (45 page)

Bertil called to tell me that I could take Linus out for the afternoon. Six months! That's how long it's been. I didn't sleep at all last night, I was so terrified that he'd find some reason to call off the visit.

All morning I paced the flat, dreading the phone ringing and Bertil telling me I couldn't see my son. All the way on the tram my heart was pounding and the ride seemed to last an eternity. At last I was there. Back outside my old home. I didn't bother to wait for the lift, but ran up all five flights of stairs so that when I rang the doorbell… (how odd that still felt, ringing the bell to what had once been my home, standing there waiting to be let in).

At first I thought Linus didn't recognise me, he just stood there, his face immobile. Then he sobbed, a hoarse, choked-back sob, and ran into my arms and burrowed his face into my coat and wouldn't let me go. Finally, gently, I prised his strong little hands from around my waist. ‘Let's go to Paleys for hot chocolate,' I said. Once there, seated at our table by the window, looking out across the Avenue, I gave him his Christmas gift: a pair of skating boots, black like the big boys wear. He wanted me to take him to the skating pond and I said that I would, soon. He's grown some more, he's quite tall now for his age and Bertil had cut his hair very short, but it didn't take long before it felt as if we've never been apart. We stayed as long as I dared. When, finally, I said it was time to go, he got up, as good as gold and pushed his chair in neatly. Once out on the street he put his hand in mine and said, ‘Are we going home now?'

‘Oh, my darling,' I said, kneeling in front of him, doing up his little camel-hair coat. ‘Mummy can't live with you at the moment, but soon we'll be back together again, properly, and then I'll never ever leave you again. I promise.'

He was so quiet on our walk back. As we stood by the front door he started to cry, clinging to me and refusing to let go. Bertil came out and pulled him away. I screamed at him to let me in, but he closed the door in my face. I could hear Linus crying for me. It went on for ever. I couldn't bring myself to leave, so I stayed, pressed against the door, listening to him cry and crying with him, soundlessly, until my face ached. Eventually Linus stopped crying. It was late when I finally got
to my feet and walked home. Jonas had left a note on the table saying that as I hadn't been there when he got back he'd gone out for the evening with some friends. ‘Don't wait up,' the note said.

Ulla closed the diary. ‘That was the last entry,' she said.

I lay in my bed, eyes closed, awake. Newspaper headlines floated past my eyes like so many sheep being counted on the way to sleep.
The Decline of Morality! Back to Basics! A Return to Old-fashioned Values! Is there no Shame Any More?
Black on white, the messages that spelt our desire for order and security and rules. And then there was Astrid's story.

‘Imagine the sea under ice.' Ulla pointed across the water. We were standing together on the island's highest point.

‘The whole world seems frozen, the sea, the branches of the trees, the grass. Astrid came out here alone on Christmas Eve that year. They found her body under the ice two weeks later.'

She turned round, her mouth twisted in pain. ‘The moment she left me on her last visit I wanted to run after her and tell her I would do everything I could to help. I phoned Bertil and begged him to let her see more of the boy.' Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘She never realised.'

‘But why did it take you so long? You loved her. Surely if you love someone you'll forgive them anything.' And I thought of Linus. Was there anything he could do that I wouldn't be able to forgive if he asked me to?

‘You don't understand,' Ulla said. She wasn't looking at me any more, but staring out across the sea again. ‘It was because I loved her that it took me so long to forgive her. And then there was Bertil. He had been
my
friend long before he knew Astrid. I introduced them. You could say I gave him to her. She took him and then, when she got bored, she threw him away. At least…' she turned that pained face towards me again ‘… that's how it seemed to me then, all those years ago. I didn't understand what her marriage was like. Maybe I hadn't wanted to understand. I had been so proud of my gift to her of a husband, a wealthy, steady, suitable husband who I thought would give her everything she'd ever need. I just didn't want to know that he couldn't give her the one thing she needed most.'

I stared at her. Ulla and Bertil. Had Ulla loved him? Then again, why should that seem so impossible? They were the same age. Judging
by a couple of blurred family snapshots she had been quite attractive in a perky Scandinavian-troll kind of way. I wondered if Olivia knew? Then again, why should she? It was all a very long time ago.

‘Did you ever resent Olivia? Did you mind her stepping into Astrid's shoes, coming here?'

Ulla shook her head. ‘I did at first, but she loved Bertil and Linus. I didn't know then that he had made Astrid so unhappy. Of course, at the time I thought Olivia rather a poor substitute, so large, coarse even, compared with my Astrid. But she was always careful not to tread on Astrid's memory. She didn't demand for things to change. Bertil offered to sell up, both the flat and Villa Rosengård, but Olivia said no, why should he? He and Linus loved this place and the flat was perfect for their needs and in the nicest part of town. So I told myself that she could have been a lot worse.'

‘I'm glad you told me everything. I mean, not just because I'm a nosy old thing but because, well you know because of how I feel about Linus.' I gave her a sideways look. ‘I didn't think you even particularly liked me.'

Ulla gave me a small smile. ‘I don't
not
particularly like you. And you asked me about her. You were interested. I believe you felt her presence in this place, the way I always have. I've seen you look at her roses. And you're a journalist. It's your job to spread news. I want people to know how that man, Jonas Aminoff, killed Astrid. All those people at the time, her so-called friends, who acted as judge and jury. She got all the blame, then. She was the hussy, the flighty one, the scarlet woman. The men got away scot-free. Maybe that's the way of the world, but why should we put up with it? No, I want you to put the record straight.'

‘But Ulla, a journalist deals with news. This happened a long time ago and most of the people who cared then wouldn't care now, if they're even alive.'

Ulla stamped her foot like a child. ‘Why should he get away with it? And her, Astrid, what about her reputation? All those evil things they wrote about her.'

‘Bertil is a sick old man. Jonas Aminoff does seem to have been a grade A bastard, but we only have Astrid's side of the story. Maybe it wasn't quite as black and white as she makes out?'

‘I didn't think you were much for moderation.'

‘I'm getting to be. I've learnt the hard way about the beiges and greys that make up our world. It's easier to live your life in black and white, but it's not truth. I'm finding it increasingly hard to judge.'

‘I don't,' Ulla said.

‘Thank God I didn't give the diary to Linus. He probably should see it some day, but not without some kind of careful preparation. I dread to think what it might do to his relationship with his father… Actually, how much does Linus know?'

‘Some. He seemed early on to have given up asking the questions that might provide a painful answer. I think he's frightened of what he might find out. So he asks instead about what she was like when she was a child or as a young girl. Or what she used to like to cook. If she had some pet names for him that he hadn't remembered. No, as I said, I think he's frightened to ask too much.'

I found myself staring at Ulla. Where had she hidden all this understanding and sympathy? Under her helmet of hair?

‘And now Bertil is abandoning Villa Rosengård,
her
home,' she said. ‘As if he hasn't done enough.' Her voice was quiet, her words carried out over the water by the wind. ‘She loved that place. He's prepared to hand it over to strangers. It's
her
house and we, all there together, her family, are all that's left of her. He and Olivia were prepared to break that up, scatter what was left of Astrid as if it were her ashes all over again. I've watched over that family, over that house, for all these years and now he's throwing it away. That seems to be what people do; they throw away your life's gifts as if they were nothing much more than an empty cigarette packet.' She looked straight ahead as she walked. ‘Well, I've had enough. And you, you do what you will with what I've told you.'

What could I do – other than love Linus all the more?

He was there when we returned from our walk. Sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee.

‘Linus, you're back,' I said unnecessarily. And I thought it was
unfair to blame the dumbing down of the population on television when romantic love was so obviously the greater culprit. He looked up at me and smiled, a small, tired smile. He hadn't shaved.

All at once I felt worried. ‘Bertil is all right, isn't he?'

‘He'll be OK.'

‘That's what the hospital told Ulla. But you got me worried, sitting there looking so glum.' I took a step towards him and put my hand, just lightly, on his shoulder.

‘What's wrong? Is there something else?'

Linus stared down into his mug of coffee. ‘My father has been poisoned. They analysed some samples and they've concluded that he's been poisoned, some stuff you find in mushrooms. Every time, it's been the same. The thing is, Bertil never eats mushrooms. He says they give him wind.' Linus smiled, a joyless smile.

I sat down next to him. ‘So what are you saying?'

‘Not me, the police. They say someone has deliberately poisoned my father and that the someone is likely to be a member of his own household. They also told me that this person, whoever he or she is, is apparently either inept or not serious about killing him. I suppose that's meant to be comforting. I'm afraid I don't find it makes things that much easier.' His voice broke and he flopped down across the table, resting his head in the crook of his arm. I realised that he was crying and, before I could stop myself, I was sobbing too. A man weeping was always a pitiful sight, but when you loved the man it was almost unbearable.

‘Linus, darling Linus,' I mumbled. I slipped down on to my knees in front of him, turning him gently towards me. I put my arms round his waist and leant my face against his knees. ‘It'll be all right,' I mumbled. But how could it be?

‘Esther!' Audrey called from her bedroom. I pretended not to hear. ‘Esther!' she called again. Audrey might have had the body of a weak and feeble old woman, but her voice had all the carrying power of a middle-class matron at bay.

Linus straightened up. ‘Your mother is calling.'

I got up. ‘So she is.'

* * *

Audrey was sitting up in her narrow bed, a baby-blue shawl draped round her shoulders. She was looking displeased. ‘What's going on, Esther? Something is going on.'

I sighed.
Of course it is
, I thought.
You're wrecking my life
. I didn't say that, though. And anyway, it was unfair. ‘Of course something is going on,' I said instead. ‘Bertil is in hospital, you know that.'

‘Something else. There's something else.'

So I told her. As I spoke, I looked at her cheeks: they were growing pink; and at her eyes: they sparkled. There was nothing as certain to perk up an invalid as other people's trouble, I thought.

‘So who is it? Who's done it?' Audrey asked, practically levitating from the bed with excitement.

‘I thought Olivia was your best friend in the world,' I replied. ‘Shouldn't you at least pretend to be worried?'

‘Of course I'm worried. But you say that Bertil will be fine and it obviously isn't Olivia, so…'

‘Can I rely on you not to blab?' I asked her.

Audrey looked indignant. ‘Do you need to ask?'

‘Yes,' I said.

‘Well you can rely on me entirely.' I decided to trust her; after all, she was my mother and I needed to talk to someone. ‘Well, the thing is, had it happened only once and had that once been today, I would have said it was Ulla.'

‘Ulla?'

I told Audrey all about the diary. She looked genuinely shocked. ‘That poor woman. And little Linus.' Sometimes my mother surprised me by showing normal human emotions. I liked it every time.

‘But you see,' I continued, ‘Ulla only read the diary last night and by then Bertil was already in hospital. Anyway, they think that he was poisoned the same way on the other occasions too.'

‘So who?'

I shrugged. ‘I keep thinking it's some awful mistake. That Bertil has been secretly feasting on dodgy mushrooms, not knowing they were dodgy of course, and hang the consequences; he could always pass his wind on to Gerald, so to speak.' I looked hopefully at Audrey.

She shook her head. ‘I don't think so, darling.'

I sighed. ‘Neither do I.'

Then the police arrived. Two of them, a man and a woman. They asked to look around the house. Who was going to refuse them? They went into every room, turning out the kitchen cupboards and bathroom cabinets. They searched through the rubbish, both from the kitchen bin and the dustbin outside. They asked to see the cottage. I told them I would alert Ulla so as not to give her a fright, the police turning up on her threshold like that. But Ulla was on her way over already; I met her halfway. We left the police to their search, but it wasn't long before they were back in the house. They asked when Olivia was due back, and Gerald and Kerstin. Linus told them Kerstin and Gerald were expected later that day, but that Olivia was staying another night at the hospital. They left, saying they would return the next day to speak to everyone. They had been polite enough right through, but I had noticed that smiling at them was a waste of time, they never smiled back.