A Week in Winter(63)

‘I’m going to study accountancy, isn’t that what it’s about?’

‘It’s what some of it is about. But it’s also about respecting the family traditions, about fitting in.’ There was something different, something odd in her tone this time.

He looked up. ‘None of that’s important, surely? It’s not what life is about.’

‘If you remember nothing else I’ve ever told you, just remember this. I agree that in the great scheme of things it is not important, but it is one small thing you can do to make life easier. That’s all. Just remember I told you that.’

Why was she sounding so strange?

‘You’re always going on about clothes and style. I don’t have to remember it, you keep telling me.’ He smiled at her, willing everything to be normal.

Everything was not normal.

‘I won’t be here to tell you,’ she said, her voice sounding as though her throat was constricted. ‘That’s why it’s important you listen now. I am going away. I am leaving your father. You will be going to university this autumn. This is the time for change.’

‘Does he know you are going?’ Anders’ voice was a whisper.

‘Yes. He knew that I would wait until you had finished school. I am going to London. I have a job there, and that’s where I will set up home.’

‘But won’t you be lonely there?’

‘No, Anders. I have been very lonely here. Your father and I have grown apart over a long time. He is married to the company. He will hardly miss me.’

‘But . . . I will miss you! This can’t be true! How did I not see anything or know about all this?’

‘Because we were all discreet. There was no need for you to know anything until now.’

‘And do you have somebody else in London?’ He knew he sounded like a seven-year-old.

‘Yes, I have a warm, kind, funny man called William. We laugh a lot together. I hope as the years go on you will get to know him and to like him. But for your father’s sake, just remember what I said about smartening yourself up. It will make your whole life much simpler.’

He turned his head away so that she would not see his distress. His mother was going off to London with a man called William who made her laugh. And what was she talking about as she left? Clothes. Bloody clothes. He felt his world had turned sideways and everything had slipped out of focus.

His mother and father hadn’t grown apart. They had had a dinner party last Friday. Papa had raised a glass to her across the table. ‘To my beautiful wife,’ he had said. And all the time he knew she was going to leave with this William.

It couldn’t be true, could it?

His mother stood there, afraid to touch him in case he shrugged her off, shook her away. ‘I love you, Anders. You may find that hard to believe, but I do. And your father does too. Very much. He doesn’t show it but it’s there; great pride and great love.’

‘They are different things, pride and love,’ Anders said. ‘Was he proud of you too, or did he love you?’ Anders looked at her properly for the first time.

‘He was proud that I kept my side of the bargain. I ran the house well; I was a satisfactory escort to him at all those interminable dinners; I was a good hostess. I gave him a son. I think he was pleased with me, yes.’

‘But love?’

‘I don’t know, Anders. I don’t think he ever loved anything except his firm and you.’

‘He never sounds as if he loves me. He is always so distant.’

‘That’s his way. He will always be like that. But I have been there for all of your life and he does love you. He just can’t express it.’

‘If he had expressed it for you, would you have stayed?’

‘That’s not a real question. It’s like wishing that a square was a circle,’ she said. And because he believed her, Anders held his hands out to her and she sobbed in his arms for a long time.

It all moved very swiftly after that.

Gunilla Almkvist packed her clothes, as Fru Karlsson sniffed in disapproval, but left all her jewellery behind. A cover story was devised. She had been offered this post in London working for a satellite broadcasting station. It would be criminal to let the opportunity pass. Anders was going off to university; her husband was fully supportive of the move. That way there would be no accusations about a runaway wife, a failed marriage. None of the oxygen of gossip, which would be so relished and yet so out of place at Almkvist’s.

Patrik Almkvist seemed courteous and grateful. He never discussed the matter with his only child. He looked pleased that Anders had had his hair properly cut and that he’d been measured for a good suit.

He spent more and more time at the office.

The night before Anders’ mother left, the three of them went out to dinner together. Patrik raised his glass to his wife. ‘May you find all you are looking for in London,’ he said.

Anders stared at them in disbelief. Twenty years of life together, two decades of hope and dreams ending, and his parents were still acting out a role. Was this what everyone did? He had a feeling at that moment that he would never fall in love. It was all for the poets and the love songs and the dreamers. It wasn’t what people did in real life.

Next day, he set off for Gothenburg and university. His new life had begun.