CH 9
Mads and his wife Ingrid wanted to celebrate with the Sabroes and Saga in the best restaurant in town.
Saga tried to oppose, her attitude on eating out never positive, nor lessened by her recent trip, but Ingrid couldn't be denied. She was the opposite of her husband, short and thin, a little ball of energy in constant motion, caring for her family, a married daughter living in Stockholm, a son and another daughter with a little boy.
She sat immediately near Saga and showed her family photos, especially of the grandkids and of her youngest daughter, the girl they received from Ucraina when she was nine.
"They do become like yours. Believe me, there is no difference for me."
"She's of Mongolian ancestry, dark haired, not red like the other two."
"Yes and I don't care. She's my little girl. You'll see by yourself."
Ingrid pointed at Astrid and Anna.
"I'm not married to Henrik to be their legal stepmother."
"You'll become, don't be afraid. I see how you look at him and he at you. Love runs deep here. You have an already made family, how convenient."
"How do you know I'm afraid?"
"You barely touch them. They need to feel loved and protected, your man hugs them constantly."
Saga turned her head toward Henrik and got alerted, seeing he refused wine from Mads, covering his glass with a hand.
Mads had already drank two glasses and seemed unaffected by the alcohol. Saga decided to keep an eye on Henrik, he had relapsed into drugs - he had confessed her, a painful moment due to what lead to the relapse - she wanted to keep him off every risk.
After the main courses, a cake was presented with a bottle of champagne.,
Henrik's hand touched Saga's under the table, searching her help, fearing again to be offered alcohol.
She tried to think fast but Mads was faster, pouring Henrik a glass and asking him to toast.
"I'm off drinking since I stopped pills."
"Bullshit, a glass will not harm you. Men drink and aren't spineless."
His wife punched him in the ribs, uses to his jokes.
"Come on. Drink this one."
Mads placed the glass in front of Henrik who took it with trembling hand. His daughters were talking, looking at Astrid's phone, Saga had no ideas how to help him.
Henrik looked at the pale golden liquid. An exquisite, well known French brand. The kind he and Alice used to buy for birthdays and special occasions.
Poison. Danger. Risk.
A distant memory, a short flash, a night the loneliness of the house was too hard to face and he drank a bottle of white wine, stored in the fridge, throwing up later and waking up with a painful headache.
Since then he stopped heavy drinking and reverted to drugs and sleeping pills.
He didn't want to become addicted again on something.
Too high the stakes, this time; in a month his life has turned 180° degrees.
He looked at Mads straight into the eyes.
"Call me a wimp if you want, but I've stopped forever."
He pushed away the glass and kept the stare.
Mads laughed, a large smile that spread in his whole face.
"Few have the guts to oppose me. You're good, little boy."
Later in the car Saga noticed how nervous Henrik was.
"What's wrong?" she murmured, not to disturb the girls, dozing on the back seat.
"I was close to give in."
"Once doesn't count."
She still wasn't good at lies, how easy for him to uncover Saga.
"It isn't true."
"I know. I was…trying to support you."
"Thanks for understanding."
If she dared such a lie, she was taking in an extremely serious way his abstinence wanting him to resist for his family.
Henrik tucked the girls into bed, kissed them good night and returned to the living area, gulping a glass of water with an antiacid. Too much good food, three slices of the cake, he couldn't resist the temptation.
Saga left the bathroom clad in a pink towel, dying her hair with a white one.
She walked along the corridor, the fabric barely covered her hips, her long legs bare.
She stopped in front of the closet with mirrors doors from top to bottom, raising her arms to wrap her hair in the soft cotton; the pink towel slide from her body.
Unaware Henrik was watching, she remained naked, putting some rebel curls under the towel.
Henrik was mesmerized by the sight, he moved toward her, slowly, the thick carpet silencing his steps.
His reflection entered in the huge mirror, Saga saw him standing behind her, looking at her body.
Exposed.
In plain sight, without protection.
His eyes roamed over her, his face showed appreciation. He remained still, Saga tried to kneel to grab the towel.
"No. Not now."
His tone had something different, tender and strong at the same time.
"I want to see you."
"You already know me."
"This is different, we are different."
He was right, Saga never had a real "we". Anton was sex, Jakob was convention. This man was much more, she couldn't loose him, never.
He traced a finger over her spine, a butterfly touch, enough to make her shiver. His hand reached her tail bone and moved lightly on her right hip; his other hand mirrored the gesture.
Henrik made a step forward, his shirt briefly brushed against Saga's back.
Their gazes locked in the mirror.
Henrik's hand left her skin and Saga missed the contact, imperceptibly she moved backwards to search for him, then he saw he was unbottoning his shirt, throwing it over her towel. Bare-chested, he closed the distance, Saga felt first his hair on her skin then their bodies collided.
They remained in silence, looking at Henrik's hands, moving forward to touch her midriff, then one going higher to caress a breast, the other lower on her abdomen.
His touch made her feel good; Saga wasn't repulsed nor disturbed, like her body knew it would be the logical development of their intimacy.
Saga tried to turn and Henrik stopped her with a low voice, barely a whisper.
"Wait, patience is a virtue tonight."
He was in charge, Saga recognized his need to assess strength and desire, to lead the game for once.
This game was sweet, Saga never experienced such closeness before the real intercourse.
Preliminaries were banned, always, her readings taught her a lot about them but she never took pleasure from them.
He kissed her shoulders, neck, ears, every spot he could reach.
After long sweet caresses Henrik pressed into her from behind, she felt him ready, she pushed back, wanting to have him, soon.
He made her turn and walk along the corridor to their bedroom, swiftly closing the door and pushing Saga against the wall.
Their faces moved closer, he wanted madly to kiss her, to taste her mouth fully; lips met and his tongue soon probed a little, to gain access.
Saga opened her mouth, slowly, it was a moment of deep connection to share and explore.
Her hands went to his belt, fumbling with it; Henrik was so lost in kissing to forget his trousers being pushed down with his boxers.
When both were naked, Saga grabbed his buttocks to pull him to her, moving her hips to show him she was eager to go on.
With little effort Henrik lifted and placed Saga on the bed, smiling in joining her.
Saga opened her legs and raised her hips, but he waited, teasing her, more fast touches, light kisses, everything to bring her close to the edge and retreating just a second before the fall.
She asked him to go all the way, he resisted, wanting to please her first.
When the need to be joined, basic and raw, urgent and strong, couldn't be denied he found his haven in her, a hand on the iron frame of the bed for leverage to go deeper, like he wanted to reach her very core.
She followed his lead, loosing herself to different sensations after how skilfully he had worked on her. In the long time he'd become her best partner for real, the others long forgotten.
Later, while Henrik was sleeping peacefully, she returned to the corridor to retrieve his shirt and the towels. The girls knew they had sex, although Henrik preferred to use the words making love, but for the first time in her life Saga decided a little privacy was necessary.
Astrid tells me Saga dresses always the same clothes.
But she changed for this trip, so I ask Saga why.
It has been dad, he bought new stuff for this climate. She was comfortable with her old things, she would change it when with holes or worn out.
Dad doesn't care what she wears, so why bother for a change? But dad was right in insisting for proper winter clothes.
Other woman uses dresses to seduce or impress people, Saga tells me she is not worried by that.
Astrid creates dresses, her book has tissue samples and drawings, she tells me she collected old clothes form the storage at the village, dating back to the 60ties, when Harriet was young.
My sister used the hidden room as her secret escape since she remained alone, hiding into it for endless afternoons after school.
I like Saga's honesty. She's got her own style, I want to see her leather trousers and the famous car dad talks a lot about. He cannot drive it, she's terribly jealous of her baby. I hope I can have my own treasures too, my books, my clothes, my computer.
Mads wants me to have a full medical examination, Astrid says she had one too.
I see dad is not so happy when Mads uses with medical terms too difficult for me, he goes outside in the garden to talk with Saga and I see he gestures a lot, while she tries to keep him quiet.
They returns and dad sits on the couch with me, saying Saga will stay with me during the examination, it is much better a woman than a father. I protest, I want dad but he insists, saying it is the only things he cannot cope well regarding me; he starts explaining me how man and woman are built different - I can well see it by myself - so it is a matter of human physiology.
Dad's cheeks get red, he is so embarrassed, Saga tells him he should prepare a better bees and birds speech; she sits in front of us and reassures me that she had first time that female examination when she was just fourteen so I have nothing to worry about and nothing to be ashamed off. She wants me and Astrid in perfect health and she'll take care of it with dad.
Saga explains the details of the operation, the Swedish police has mapped the cabins using a drone. They will surround the place with a special team and we will drive the path from the main road only when everyone will be captured and identified.
If they try to leave by car, there are two checkpoints.
The police has prepared everything for the day after tomorrow. We have to leave Umea and stay inside Burmol's police station for a night, Jonas had prepared an emergency accommodation for us, the special team has set up a camp.
Dad asks me again if I'm sure and I nod, I have to do this, then I'll leave this place for ever.
Saga is serious, she tells me nobody obliges me, she doesn't want to worsen my traumas, I can hold back whenever I want.
Saga talked a lot with the girls during the travel. Anna was worried about school, having missed regular classes for two years.
Saga clamed her easily, suggesting to discuss with her future director a way to test her preparation and in case start with private lessons.
Henrik agreed, glad for her ideas and cleverness regarding the topic.
He should have imagined it by himself, but he was mostly stupefied about Anna's readiness to go back to normal soon.
For Anna it meant school, like for Saga it had meant work.
This time he wanted to be sure not to let Anna hurry up things like Saga did.
Their life has been a continuous journey since leaving Denmark.
Henrik missed his house, was tired of untasty restaurants, fast food menù, heated meals prepared by caring and well meant women.
After years spent in monotonous routine Astrid appeared out of nothing and soon it was hospitals, visiting hours, running errands, buying things, signing papers to register her back in her country.
He hated bureaucracy after the endless questions he was asked.
And soon he'd start again with Anna.
Hard to admit how much he leaned on his late wife, how many things Alice did by herself, how few time he spent taking care of his daughters.
He was ashamed for thinking a mother could be better for the needs of two little girls. A pathetic excuse.
How different he felt now he had them again, he had to admit himself the pain of knowing Anna was dead, the sight of her gravestone, the telling of her appendix was ten times worse than Saga aborting.
Anna did exist, a part of his life for five years, a sequence of days and nights while he saw her grow, becoming a little girl ready for school, friends, growing goals; Anna was a human being, was his little girl and no one could ever take her place, neither a little sibling.
He'd have to be both parents, aware Saga'd never take fully Alice's role. Nor he wanted her to. He could only hope she'd support his efforts to build their own peculiar family.
In Burmol the girls left with Ulla to meet her daughter for an afternoon snack and Saga got busy with Jorgen and the special team who invaded the small station, so Henrik went for a walk: the more he walked, the better for his leg.
The village was indeed small for his city standards.
Few shops along the main road, the post office, a two floor building with medical practices, a bank.
He reached the school yard and walked to the church beside it.
He pushed the heavy door; it was small inside, smaller than his first impression form outside.
Seven row of seats each side of the aisle, crystal lamps beside the altar, window glasses open to the external darkness, impossible to define their colours.
Henrik moved toward the altar, staring at the simply wooden cross over it.
He felt he had carried the weight of a real cross on his shoulders for so long, it moulded his body and never let him breathe.
Now that he was free, it felt like floating, moving with nothing that grounded him to the earth.
He stopped when a pendulum stroked the hours.
Five.
A stroke for each of them.
Himself.
Astrid.
Anna.
Saga.
Alice.
Alice, lost forever.
This incredible joy to have his daughters back had made him forget their mother.
He remembered a modern church, his formal dark suit, a rose in his lapel, looking at the guests gathered, waiting for the bride.
Alice appeared in a cascade of white at her father's arm, she choose the tradition, everything a classic wedding implied.
Young, both too young, vibrant and happy and the world open for them.
It was July, warm and sunny, everything was perfect as Alice wanted.
But what did he want? Did he know what a marriage meant?
The implications? The duties? The difficulties?
Too young.
Now he knew, they both tried, but it wasn't enough.
He whispered the prayer for the dead for his late wife, then sat on a bench, the silence was pleasant after frantic days.
Looking at a painting of Jesus over the pulpito, with open arms to accept everybody, Henirk asked the gift of strength for himself, prayed to become a better father, a better man.
When a rush of cold air reached his shoulders he didn't turn.
Light steps approached, a familiar scent. Saga sat near him.
"How did you find me?"
"Jonas saw you leaving, walking this way. There are traces in the virgin snow."
"Do you believe in God?"
"Religion is a sovrastructure."
"Not religion, God. Pure essence."
"God cannot be proved."
"I know. I think someone is up above. Watching us."
"Can he bring justice?"
"Maybe he should. He brought me peace."
Saga looked at the cross, how heavvy hers had also been, Henrik thought.