Free Memory of Love (9781101603024) by Linda Olsson Page B

while?’ George turned to Ika in the back seat.
    Ika didn’t reply, but made no effort to get out. I took this as a yes, as did George.
    â€˜Thank you,’ I said to him and stepped out of the car. I really meant it. ‘It shouldn’t take very long.’
    I had no idea how long it would take of course. Or what ‘it’ really encompassed. I just felt I had to say something that sounded – well, normal.
    I watched them drive off, leaving a slowly dissolving cloud of dust behind. The woman stayed where she was just outside the front door in the shade of the jutting roof. She had crossed her arms over her chest. It was easy to see she wasn’t looking forward to this. Nor was I.
    I introduced myself but she didn’t offer her name.
    Instead she interrupted me impatiently. ‘I know who you are.’ She waved one hand dismissively.
    Again, I felt the familiar pang of alienation. They knew me; I didn’t know them. I wasn’t one of them.
    â€˜Can I come in?’ I asked.
    She cocked her head and looked at me briefly, making it clear that I mustn’t take it as a given. She waited just long enough and then looked me straight in the eye for a fleeting moment. She had strangely pale blue-green eyes, set off against her light brown skin. Then she turned and walked back inside. I hesitated for a moment before I followed.
    The house had no smell, and this somehow surprised me. It was bare and dry, void of signs of human life. The hallway was dark and completely empty – there were no pieces of furniture, no mats, not even rubbish. No shoes by the doorway. Nothing. Just a clean, worn strip of linoleum running the length of the narrow space. I could hear a TV or a radio from behind one of the closed doors but there was no sign of any other person in the house and there were no other sounds. The TV playing for nobody seemed to emphasise the feeling of forlornness that filled me the moment we drove up outside.
    I followed the woman into the kitchen. It was very basic: a bench with a sink and stove. A worn, scratched fridge. Everything looked utterly clean, but the very cleanliness of the house was disturbing. It was aggressive, and it had nothing to do with comfort or care. She nodded for me to sit down on the one chair at the table, and I did. She went and got another chair from the corner and sat down opposite me. She said nothing but took out a pouch of tobacco. She rolled herself a cigarette, which she lit.
    As she turned towards the window to exhale smoke I could see her face properly for the first time. Probably about my age. Over fifty. Too old to be Ika’s mother, most likely. She had a strong face with regular features and those striking light blue-green eyes, but whatever beauty might once have been there was long gone.
    â€˜I am here to talk about Mika,’ I said. ‘I found him in the sea yesterday.’
    She inhaled heavily and released the smoke through the corner of her mouth. She made no comment.
    â€˜I think he was trying to kill himself,’ I said, bending forwards across the table to emphasise my words. The Formica table was cool under my palms.
    She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and shook her head slowly. She still didn’t speak.
    â€˜I have got to know Mika a little since we first met last year,’ I continued. ‘He comes to my house most weeks. On Thursdays. His choice. I don’t know why Thursdays and I have never asked. But I appreciate his company very much and I am very fond of him.’
    I paused briefly and she opened her eyes. She still said nothing.
    â€˜But he has never told me anything about his home. And I have never asked. Perhaps I should have.’
    She looked at me, sucking at her upper lip. Her lower jaw was virtually toothless. Then she rose abruptly and walked up to the window. She stood with her back to me.
    â€˜I do what I can,’ she said. ‘It’s hard.’
    I waited for her to