I start peeling carrots and parsnips.Morötterandpalsternacka. I’ve been using a language app in preparation for this possible placement in Stockholm and it’s all coming back nicely. The medical terminology has been quite straightforward, too, but it all comes with the unwanted side effect of bringing Johan to mind.
Is he at his in-laws’ today? Or his parents, Kerstin and Fredrik’s, in that lovely spacious apartment full of soft lamps and books that I never managed to visit? What presents did he buy his little boy? What’s his name? And who is his mother?
And then the inevitable:What happened?
Stop it, I tell myself, but within seconds I’m back on my phone, scouring those old newspaper reports for details I’d missed before. But even allowing for my patchy Swedish, I can’t find anything new. It remains a mystery that I have no hope of solving. Unless I contact him, which is out of the question.
Can’t stop looking him up,I message my sister. Then I send the same to Dell. I’m wreathed in shame. It is Christmas Day and my children and husband are playing five meters from where I’m standing. What is wrong with me?
Just meet up with him in Stockholm,Dell replies.Find out what the craic is, get it all out of your system and then you can move on. Robin would be thinking ALL the same things if this was happening to him.
“Just meet up with him” is exactly the kind of simplistic advice I can expect from Dell, who has never really committed to anyone. Yet, in many ways, she’s right. Who wouldn’t want answers in my situation? Who would be handling this calmly?
—
We FaceTime with Mum in the afternoon, after a sandwich lunch. The goose looks to be on course for about 2 a.m.
Mum is a better grandmother than she ever was a parent, but she’s still a far cry from the grannies around here. They’re like second parents to my friends’ kids: they pick them up from school, come to piano concerts, host sleepovers—they’re heavily involved. My own mother, on the other hand, is like a rare bird to the children; she appears only occasionally and always brings outstanding presents. Then months pass and they don’t hear a peep.
Robin finds it hard, at times, to keep a lid on his displeasure at herfailure to show up for me or my children. He tells me I forgive her far too easily and he’s right. But what he doesn’t understand, in his protective outbursts, is that if I took her to task it could cause a fatal rupture that I am not willing for my children to suffer. Besides, they don’t care. She brings a lot of chocolate when she does come and they think she’s amazing.
Mum teaches the kids a rude Malaysian song, which delights them. Then she asks to speak to me privately.
“How’s your father doing?” she asks.
“Not good. It’s definitely time for him to move, but…oh, it’s just so…” My voice trails off.
“I’m so sorry, Carrie,” she says politely, as if talking about a friend of mine she’s never met, rather than her ex-husband and the father I’ve spent every Christmas of my entire life with. “It must be devastating. Now, look. I won’t beat around the bush. I’m calling to say I don’t think it’s sensible for you to go to Stockholm.”
“Oh.” I take a breath and try to pivot.
“It would bring up a lot of difficult feelings. Intolerable feelings, I’d expect. And what if you walked into Johan? Or his parents?”
I remain silent. Mum only gets involved with my affairs when she believes I’m making a grave mistake.
“I’m glad you’re ready to travel again, but do you not think there’d be a better city to visit?”
“Johan’s always going to be on the edge of my thoughts,” I say, after a pause. “Of course it’ll trigger me, being there. But, Mum, I’m going to be triggered by memories for the rest of my life. I don’t think avoiding Scandinavia is going to stop that.”
“I was talking specifically about Stockholm. Not the gigantic landmass that is Scandinavia.” Mum has never been one to resist an opportunity for pedantry.
I sigh. “You’re probably right. But there’s a surgeon there I really want to talk to. And the Roof conference felt like the perfect vehicle. It all just feels right.”
She pushes her point a while longer, because she still thinks she knows better than I do about what’s good for me, but eventually says she has to go; she and Gail are going for a bracing sea swim. Cold-water swimming is one of many things Mum uses competitively in conversation with me. She makes a point of swimming in the sea or the river Dart whenever she comes down, and the kids hero-worship her for it.
Robin doesn’t ask what Mum said, but he sees my face when I come downstairs and he gives me a hug. “You have always deserved better,” is all he says—which makes me feel mildly guilty because for once, Mum’s actually trying to protect me.
Later, while we’re trying to explain the King’s Christmas Broadcast to the children, Maya arrives with gifts for them and a strange look in her eye.
“Auntie Maya!” the kids yell, hurling themselves at her. Maya, who flew over to support me when they were born, has made a point of video calling them every week of their lives.
“Did you bring presents?” Maeve asks, before Maya’s even had time to wish them a merry Christmas.
“Yes, you horrible child,” Maya laughs, and Maeve jumps up and down, delighted with both the news and the insult.
“I’d really like a quiet Christmas walk with my sister,” she tells Robin, twenty minutes later. The kids are building the giant marble run she’s bought them. “Just a quick one. Is that OK?”
“Is Dad OK?” I ask, quickly.
