‘I’ve done it already,’ Joel said. ‘Besides, soon there won’t be any more homework.’
Joel waited. But in vain. Samuel said nothing else.
Joel took his jacket and went downstairs.
No answer this time either.
Joel thought about this the following day as well, when he was mending the chain on his bicycle. He hadn’t put his question to Samuel again, but had the impression that his dad was thinking it over. Why that should be the case, Joel had no idea. But that’s what he suspected, and the feeling was very strong.
It also worried him. When Samuel said hardly anything and seemed to be lost in thought, he could sometimes lapse into one of his phases. When he would just disappear, and then come home drunk late at night. It was a long time since that had happened last, but Joel knew it would happen again. Sooner or later. And that was something he always dreaded. Being forced to go out looking for Samuel, and then dragging him home when he was too drunk to walk without help.
Joel tried to wipe the oil off his bicycle chain using a sheet of newspaper that happened to be blowing past.
Let’s hope it doesn’t happen at the end of term ceremony, he thought. That Samuel turns up at church drunk.
Anything but that.
He turned round and gazed up at the church tower. The clock told him it was high time for him to go home and put the potatoes on to boil. He mounted his bike and started pedalling. On the gravelled area behind the petrol station, some boys were dividing into two teams. Several of them were Joel’s classmates. He pedalled even harder. He always needed to make the dinner: he’d always been his own mum. And Samuel’s as well, sometimes.
When he left school he’d stop doing the cooking. If Samuel wanted to eat when he came home, he’d have to prepare the food himself.
Joel kicked open the gate and freewheeled to the side of the door where he could park his bike. Then he raced up the stairs and wrenched open the kitchen door.
And was stopped in his tracks.
Samuel was sitting on a chair at the kitchen table. Alarm bells started ringing. Samuel wasn’t supposed to come home as soon as this. On the few occasions he had done so in the past, he’d either been ill or started drinking. But he didn’t seem to be drunk. His eyes weren’t red and his hair wasn’t standing on end. He didn’t seem to be especially ill either.
He looked up at Joel and seemed to be surprised.
‘What’s the matter?’ Joel asked. ‘Why are you at home already?’
Samuel pointed to a letter lying on the table.
‘Who’s it from?’
‘Take your jacket off and sit down, and I’ll tell you.’
Joel kicked off his wellingtons and hung his jacket over the back of his chair. Then he sat down. He was very much on edge. What could there be in a letter that was so important that it made Samuel come home earlier than usual from his work in the forest?
He noticed that Samuel was very tense. His lower lip was trembling.
‘I’ve had a letter from Elinor,’ he said. ‘I haven’t heard from her for ten years.’
Joel waited for what was coming next, but nothing did.
‘Who’s Elinor?’ he asked, when the silence had been going on for long enough.
‘Elinor used to run a bar in Gothenburg,’ said Samuel. ‘In the days when I was a sailor.’
Joel sighed silently. A few years ago Samuel had met Sara, who worked in a bar in town. Samuel had sometimes spent the night at her place. But then the relationship had come to an end. Sara had broken it off. And Samuel had started drinking. Now he had evidently received a letter from another woman who worked in a bar. Maybe Samuel had spent the night with her occasionally, as well? But why was it so important?
Samuel can be odd sometimes, Joel thought. Just as odd as all the other grown-ups. They think backwards when they ought to be thinking forwards. He gets a letter from somebody he hasn’t heard from for ten years. And his lower lip starts trembling. But when I ask him how soon we can get out of this dump of a town and go to sea, I don’t even get an answer.
Joel looked at Samuel, and thought that perhaps he ought to ask him something. Give the appearance of being interested.
‘What does she want?’ he asked.
‘She’s told me that she knows where Jenny lives.’
It was some time before that sunk in.
Then it seemed as if Joel had been caught up in an earthquake. He was shaking, and it seemed the house was about to collapse and fall down to the shuddering ground.
Somebody called Elinor had written a letter about Mummy Jenny. The one who had vanished ages ago and not been heard of since.
Samuel had put his glasses on.
‘It says here,’ he said, ‘that Jenny lives in Stockholm. In a street called Östgötagatan. In a district known as Söder. Andthatshe works as a shop assistant in a grocery store in a square called Medborgarplatsen.’
Joel stared at Samuel.
‘Does it say anything else?’
Samuel took off his glasses.
‘It says that she’s remarried.’
‘But she’s married to you?’
‘We never got round to getting married. So we didn’t need to get divorced either.’
Joel was confused. Had Samuel and Jenny never been married?
He was interested now. He wanted to know about everything in the letter. He held out his hand. But Samuel placed his own large hand over the white paper.
‘The letter’s addressed to me,’ he said.
‘Jenny’s my mum,’ said Joel.
‘It’s written by Elinor. Elinor was a friend of Jenny’s. That’s why she’s written to me.’
Joel tried to think straight.
‘How can it say that she’s remarried if she was never married to you in the first place?’
Samuel nodded slowly.
‘A good question,’ he said. ‘But I suppose that’s just what people say.’
‘Does it say anything else?’
‘Elinor’s suffering from back pains.’
‘Does it say anything more about Mum? I couldn’t give a shit about Elinor.’
Joel was surprised by what he’d just said. Samuel looked at him in astonishment. Joel felt scared. Samuel could sometimes fly into a rage. Even if he used to swear himself, he didn’t like it if Joel swore.
‘Elinor’s a nice lady,’ said Samuel. ‘She’s worked hard all her life. It’s hard going, serving in a bar. Just think about how difficult it was for Sara, the trouble she had with her legs.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Joel mumbled. ‘But does it say anything else about Mum?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Who’s she married to?’
‘It doesn’t say.’
The conversation petered out. Samuel put his glasses back on and read the letter one more time. Joel could see how his father’s lips were forming word after word. All Joel could do was try to understand what had happened.
For the first time, somebody had been able to tell them where Mummy Jenny was living. Whenever Joel had asked about that before, Samuel had merely shaken his head and said that he didn’t know.
But now, all of a sudden, everything had changed. Mummy Jenny had an address and a job. And unfortunately, a new husband into the bargain.
Joel started to scrub the potatoes. Samuel had started reading the letter yet again.
‘Can’t you read it out loud?’ Joel asked.
‘The letter’s to me,’ said Samuel.
They ate their dinner in silence. Boiled potato and black pudding. They had no lingon jam left.
Joel had burnt the black pudding.
After dinner, Samuel went to his room. He switched on the radio and lay down on top of his bed. As he had closed the door of his room, Joel was forced to peep in through the keyhole. He could see that Samuel was gazing at the only photo of Jenny he still possessed.
Joel went to his room and also lay down on his bed. Grown-up people who had important things to think about often seemed to lie down on their beds to do so. As Joel was almost grown-up himself, he thought he’d better join them. But he was too restless. He got up again and went to look out of the window. It was still light out there. He tried to imagine the house where Mummy Jenny lived. Then it dawned on him that he actually possessed a map of Stockholm. He’d found it in a rubbish bin at the railway station a few years ago. The only question was: where had he put it? He started searching. And finally found it right at the back of his wardrobe. He took it to the kitchen and spread it out on the table. Samuel’s door was still closed. Joel could hear music playing on the radio. He bent down and took another look through the keyhole. Samuel was still holding the photograph of Jenny. But now he was staring up at the ceiling. Joel went back to the kitchen and pored over the map of Stockholm, trying to remember what Samuel had said. Mummy Jenny lived in a street called Östgötagatan. And worked in a grocer’s shop in Medborgarplatsen.