The sky has been clouding over gradually, and the afternoon sun is only intermittently visible.
‘Well, it’s probably time to head for home now,’ Martin’s mother says.
His father shakes the blanket and folds it up. In the grass the faint shadow of bent blades of grass indicates where their bodies had lain. Soon the grass would reach up towards the sky, and the next time she saw the place it would be as if the family had never existed.
‘Victoria, perhaps you’d like to come and eat with us this evening?’ the mum says. ‘We can try that new croquet game as well. You and Martin could make up one team.’
She starts. More time, she thinks. I can have more time.
She thinks that Aunt Elsa will be sad if she doesn’t spend her last evening with her, but in spite of that she can’t bring herself to say no. It’s impossible.
When the family heads off along the path she is filled with a calm sense of anticipation.
She carefully packs her beach bag, but doesn’t go straight home. Instead, she stays close to the timber shacks by the lake, enjoying the calm and solitude.
She rubs her hands over the smooth wood and thinks about all the ages the timbers have seen, all the hands that have touched them, polishing them smooth, removing any resistance. It’s as if nothing can affect them any more.
She wants to become like them, just as untouchable.
She spends several hours wandering around in the forest, observing how the trunks have curved so their leaves can reach the sun, or how they have been bent by the wind, how they have been attacked by moss or parasites. But deep inside each trunk is a perfect piece of timber. You just have to know how to find it, she thinks.
Then she steps out from the forest and into a clearing.
In the midst of the forest’s dense growth is a place where the light filters through the treetops and shines down on the slender pines and soft moss.
It’s like a dream.
Later she would spend several days trying to find that glade again, but no matter how she searched, she would never find her way back and, as time passed, she would begin to question whether it had ever existed.
But now she is there, and the place is just as tangible as she is.
When Victoria reaches the steps to Aunt Elsa’s porch she is struck with anxiety again. Disappointed people can hurt you, even though they don’t really mean to. That’s one of the things she has learned.
She opens the door and hears the shuffling sound of Aunt Elsa’s slippers approaching. When the figure appears in the hall, Victoria can see that Elsa’s back is a little more bent and her face a little paler than usual.
‘Hello, my dear,’ Elsa says, but Victoria says nothing.
‘Come in, and we’ll go and sit down and have a talk,’ Elsa goes on, heading into the kitchen.
Victoria can see the tiredness in Elsa’s eyes, her jaw is set, and the corners of her mouth are turned down.
‘My little Victoria,’ she begins, and tries to smile.
Victoria sees that her eyes are shiny, as if she’s been crying.
‘I know this is your last evening,’ she continues, ‘and I’d like to have made you a really nice meal and spend the evening playing cards … but I’m not feeling terribly well, you see.’
Victoria breathes a sigh of relief before seeing the guilt in Elsa’s eyes. She recognises it, as if it were her own. As if Elsa too had the same fear of having cold milk poured over her head, of being forced to eat lentils until she throws up, of not getting birthday presents because she’s spoken out of turn, of being punished every time she does anything wrong.
In Aunt Elsa’s eyes Victoria imagines she can see that she too has learned that it’s never enough to do your best.
‘I can make tea,’ Victoria says cheerily. ‘And tuck you in and maybe read something to you until you fall asleep.’
Elsa’s face softens, her mouth curls up into a smile, and she lets out a laugh.
‘You’re a sweet child,’ she says, stroking Victoria’s cheek. ‘But there won’t be a nice meal to send you off, and what will you do once I’ve fallen asleep? It won’t be much fun for you, sitting here all alone in the dark.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Victoria says. ‘Martin’s parents said I could help put him to bed, and that I could have some food there. So first I can put you to bed, then Martin, and I’ll end up with a full tummy as well.’
Elsa laughs and nods.
‘We’ll make a salad for you to take.’
They sit down by the kitchen worktop together and chop vegetables.
Every time Victoria gets too close to Elsa she detects an acrid smell of urine. It makes her think of Dad.
Hard Dad.
The smell makes her feel nauseous. She knows all too well what it tastes like.
Aunt Elsa has a tin of orange sweets on the kitchen table. Victoria opens the tin whenever she wants to fend off thoughts of him. She never knows in advance when the memory of him is going to creep up on her, so she never chews the sweets, not even when there’s only a sharp little sliver left.
She sucks the sweet as she slices the cucumber into good-sized pieces. Even though Elsa has rinsed them carefully there’s a little soil left on the lettuce leaves, but Victoria doesn’t say anything because she realises that Elsa’s eyes are too old to see such small details.
She tucks Elsa in, as she promised, but she’s thinking of Martin.
‘You’re a very sweet girl. Never forget that,’ Elsa says before Victoria shuts the door. She gets the salad and sets off with a feeling of tense anticipation towards Martin’s cottage with the bowl in her hands.
She thinks about how nice it would be if she could persuade Dad to let her stay another week. It would be good for everyone. And she’s got so many exciting things left to show Martin.
The only thing that spoils the fairy tale in her thoughts is Martin’s dad. She thinks the way he looks at her has become more intense, his laugh louder, and that his hands stay on her shoulders a little longer. But she’s prepared to accept that in order to escape her own father for another week. It isn’t usually so bad the first few times, she thinks. It’s only when they start taking her for granted that they dare to be less careful.
As she goes up the drive towards the cottage she can hear someone shouting inside. It sounds like Martin’s dad, and she slows down. The door is half open and she can hear splashing from inside the house.
She goes up to the door, opens it wide, and happens to hit the old doorbell that’s hanging there. It lets out a few muffled rings.
‘Is that you, Pippi?’ the father calls from the kitchen. ‘Come right on in.’
There’s a nice smell in the hall.
Victoria steps into the kitchen. Martin is in a bathtub on the floor. His mum’s sitting in a rocking chair over by the window, and is busy knitting. She’s facing away from the others, but turns her head to greet Victoria. Martin’s dad is sitting with his top off in just a pair of shorts beside the bathtub.