‘Thank you for all your efforts too.’
‘The Swedish Foreign Office and our embassies are always happy when we manage to achieve a positive outcome in any situation. Please let us know when you and Louise are safely back in Sweden. It might be as well if she avoids any further pickpocketing activities in France; she now has a criminal record, and French justice has a long memory.’
We ended the call with a few polite phrases. I put my phone away, thinking that Lisa Modin would never upset me again. Nor would I bother her with my dreams of some kind of relationship.
I ambled along in the rain, choosing my route at random. I wondered if I had ever visited as many cafes as I had during these few days in Paris.
Jansson called again. I asked if there was any new information about the fire, but there wasn’t. However, there were rumours of a connection between this latest blaze and the one that had destroyed my house.
‘Perhaps I’m no longer regarded as an arsonist?’
‘That was never the case.’
‘Don’t lie to me. There’s no point.’
‘People are afraid it will happen again.’
I could understand that. Fear spreads quickly, especially among the elderly. I sat there at my table thinking how ironic it was that out in the archipelago I was one of the younger residents. At least during the autumn, winter and early spring.
I was still thinking about Lisa. I tried to make myself feel contempt for her, but I couldn’t do it. I shouldn’t have walked out; I should have let her finish what she had to say. I’m sure I would have been able to convince her that she was wrong. I wasn’t the man she thought I was.
I stayed in the cafe until lunch was over and there were only a handful of customers left. A blind woman patted her guide dog, who was lying at her feet. Seeing her wrinkled hand stroking the dog’s fur was like witnessing a movement that had gone on for all eternity.
My grandfather had dominated my childhood out on the island, but my grandmother had been there too, providing the security I didn’t recognise or value until I was an adult. In the final years of her life she lived in a home, suffering with severe dementia. She used to go outside at night because she believed that my grandfather was at sea in a heavy storm. Even when there wasn’t a breath of wind, the storm raged within her; she was constantly worried about her husband.
They died only a few hours apart. First her, then him. There was no life for the one left behind when the other had gone. According to what I had heard, from Jansson needless to say, my grandfather had found out in the morning that she had passed away. He had folded up the newspaper he was reading, put his glasses in their case and lain down on his bed. Two hours later he was gone too.
My reminiscences were interrupted by the sound of my phone. This time it was Madame Riveri, suggesting that we should meet. She had made a note of my hotel; could I be there in an hour? She would bring Louise.
I thanked her, paid for my coffee and went back to the hotel. A brief power cut on the Metro was alarming; what if I wasn’t there to receive Louise and Madame Riveri’s bill? Fortunately the problem was short-lived and I was there in time. While I was waiting I asked Monsieur Pierre if there was a room available for tonight. There was, but I didn’t make a booking because I had no idea what Louise’s plans might be.
It had stopped raining. I went out into the street as the appointed time approached. I thought I caught a glimpse of Lisa; I never wanted to see her again. No, that wasn’t true. I didn’t want to give up my dream, however hopeless it had turned out to be.
Madame Riveri and Louise arrived by taxi. Louise was very pale. We went into the hotel; Madame Riveri went off to the ladies’ powder room and left us alone in the deserted bar.
‘I know nothing about the life you live here,’ I said, ‘but if you like you can stay in the hotel tonight. They have a room.’
She nodded without saying a word. I went back to reception and booked a single room.
‘It’s for my daughter,’ I said.
‘I assume she’s the lady sitting in the bar?’ Monsieur Pierre said. ‘May I ask if the lady who arrived with her is your wife?’
‘No. Louise’s mother is dead. I’m on my own.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Monsieur Pierre said sadly. ‘It’s not good for any human being to live alone.’
Madame Riveri returned; she was in a hurry. I thanked her for everything she had done and asked if it had been difficult to secure Louise’s release.
‘I explained that she was pregnant and pointed out that she didn’t have a criminal record. Then it was fairly straightforward, particularly as the judge and I get on very well. I also told him that Louise’s father had come to Paris to take her home.’
‘She’s staying here tonight, then we’ll see what happens.’
Madame Riveri took an envelope out of her bag.
‘There’s no rush as far as the payment is concerned, but don’t forget about it. If you do, you’ll be sorry.’
She said goodbye to Louise, then swept out of the hotel.
I went up to Louise’s room with her, which was on the same floor as mine. She didn’t have a bag with her; I asked if she had any money. She didn’t.
‘I need clothes,’ she said.
I gave her some money. I wanted to ask her where she had been living in Paris, where her belongings were, but I knew this wasn’t the right time. No doubt she was grateful for my help, but she didn’t want to be under an obligation to me.
Before I left her room I asked if she’d like to have dinner with me later.
‘I’m too tired,’ she said. ‘I want to wash off the dirt from prison, then I need to sleep.’
‘I’m in room 213,’ I said. ‘We’ll have breakfast together tomorrow when you’re feeling better.’
That evening I ate in a Chinese restaurant nearby, then watched a black and white Fernandel film on the television in my room. Louise wasn’t the only one who was tired.
I woke just after midnight; someone was knocking on my door. I stumbled across the room to find Louise standing there. She seemed to be shivering.
‘Can I sleep here?’ she said.
I didn’t ask why. I had a big double bed; she lay down on the unused side and turned away from me.
I switched off the light. After a little while she reached out with one hand. I took it and held it, then we both fell asleep.
Chapter 18
My house was on fire. The staircase leading to the ground floor seemed endless, not the twenty-three steps I had counted out loud as a child. I kept on running, but the staircase just kept on growing longer as the fire came closer and closer. I stumbled and fell, and then I woke up.
Louise was fast asleep. She hadn’t moved at all; her hand was still in mine.
I listened to her breathing. I could hear the breathing of many of the people I had listened to during my life. My father’s heavy, often irregular snores that came and went, silence giving way to something like a growl, then silence once more. My mother’s virtually inaudible breathing. My grandfather: sometimes he didn’t seem to be breathing at all, then he would loudly draw air into his lungs. My grandmother’s snores, often accompanied by whistling noises, as if the wind was blowing through the gaping cracks in the boathouse.
Strangely enough, I had no recollection of Harriet’s breathing from when she had slept beside me. She would often complain that I woke her up with my snoring. She had left no traces of her sleep; I searched my memory, but I couldn’t find her sound.
Thinking about all those sleeping people made me drop off again. When I woke a few hours later, Louise had got up. She was standing by the window peeping through a gap in the curtains, the grey light falling on her. Her belly was clearly visible now. A baby was growing in there, and I didn’t even know the name of its father. The sight evoked an intense feeling of joy. I had never experienced anything like it.