A Week in Winter(70)

He decided at that moment that he would move out of his father’s apartment. Get himself a small place of his own, break this never-ending cycle of discussing work from morning to night.

He hoped he would have the energy to make the move. Everyone was going to resist it. Why leave a perfectly comfortable, elegant place which would be his one day anyway? Why disrupt Fru Karlsson and her ways? Why leave his father alone instead of being his companion in these latter years?

Anders thought of John Paul going to look after his father, setting sheep back on their four legs again and abandoning his dream of a musicians’ haven in order to do his duty. But even John Paul would have some time off to himself. Maybe he could go and play his pipes of an evening. He didn’t have to discuss farming with his father as the moon rose in the sky.

If Anders ever had a son of his own he would tell the boy from the outset that he must follow his heart, that he would not be expected to play his role in Almkvist’s. But it didn’t seem likely that he would have a son. He could never see himself settling with anyone but Erika. And he had thrown that away.

Nevertheless, he telephoned to tell her about his trip to Ireland.

Erika was interested in everything and knew a lot about Irish music already. She had bought a tin whistle and was teaching herself to play.

‘Come and stay for a weekend and I’ll take you to The Galway. You’d love it,’ she suggested.

A weekend away from Almkvist’s; away from dramas about his cousin’s rehab, the client who had absconded with funds and girlfriend, his father’s anxiety, the general downturn in business . . . it was just what he needed.

As he drove towards Gothenburg, where he had been so happy as a university student, Anders wondered if he would stay at Erika’s apartment. Nothing had been said. She might have booked him into a hotel. If he did stay at the flat, then would they share a room? It would be so artificial if she made up a mattress for him on the floor. And after all, Erika didn’t have any partner or companion these days – nor did he, so there would be no question of cheating on anyone.

But then he couldn’t expect things to return to the way they had once been. He sighed, and knew that he would have to wait and see.

Erika looked wonderful, her eyes dancing and her words tumbling over each other as she told him about how successful the conservation project was; they had got serious recognition and an important grant. She cooked supper for him, the Swedish meatballs which had always been their celebration meal. The apartment hadn’t changed much – new curtains, more bookshelves.

After supper they went to The Galway, the bar where Erika was greeted as a regular. She introduced Anders to people on both sides of the bar, and then they settled in for a music session. Suddenly he was back in the West of Ireland, with the waves beating on the shore and a new set of faces bent over fiddles, pipes and accordions every night. The music swept him away.

Later, he talked to the people who had played. Particularly to a man called Kevin, the piper.

‘Do you know the theme from The Brendan Voyage?’ he asked.

‘Indeed I do, but I don’t usually play it because whenever I played it in the London pubs it made people cry.’

‘It made me cry too,’ Anders said.

Erika looked up, surprised. ‘You never cry,’ she said.

‘I did in Ireland,’ he said wistfully.

‘We have a habit of upsetting people,’ Kevin said ruefully. ‘Come in tomorrow night and I’ll play it for you, then we can have a bawl over it together, and a pint.’

‘That’s a date,’ Anders agreed readily.

Later, back in Erika’s flat, they drank beer and picked at some of the leftover food. She lit candles on the coffee table and they sat opposite, suddenly acutely aware of each other. She gazed at him seriously.

‘You’ve changed,’ she said.

‘I haven’t changed about being very fond of you,’ he said.

‘Me neither, but you are still sleeping in the spare room,’ she laughed.

‘It seems a pity.’ He smiled.

‘Yes, but I’m not going to spend yet more weeks and months regretting what might have been.’

‘Did you spend weeks and months regretting it?’

‘You know I did, Anders.’

‘But you still wouldn’t consider coming to live with me and just putting up with Almkvist’s.’

‘And you wouldn’t consider giving up Almkvist’s and coming to live with me. Listen, we’ve been through all this before. It’s well-trodden ground.’

‘You know I had responsibilities. Still do.’

‘You don’t like it, Anders my friend. You’re not happy. You have told me not one word about your life there in the office. That’s my one complaint. If I had thought that it was what you wanted then I might have considered it.’

‘You call me your friend . . .!’ he said.

‘You are. You will always be my friend, when you and I are long married to other people.’

‘It won’t happen, Erika. I’ve looked around. There’s no one out there.’

‘Well, then we will have to look harder. Tell me more about Ireland.’

He told her about the Irish Americans on the Shannon, and about John Paul who had to go back to look after his father. And then he went to bed in the brightly painted guest room. He stayed awake for a long time.