Chapter 12

A letter home.
Dear Mum and Dad,
How are you? Glad to hear everything turned out alright. I only hope they don’t start all over again. Always did think old Mrs. Skurhink was a bit odd!
Guess what? I’ve found a new job! Do you remember Lena from orienteering? Well, her sister Lisa’s here and we met up and she’s got a friend who’s working on a yacht in Cannes and she says they’re always looking for people (Lisa did it for two months herself). So, I gave him a ring and he asked his boss and if all goes well I can start in August. Still, nothing’s settled definitely yet, but he says there’ll be no problem at all.
Thanks for the photo too, but it wasn’t the one I meant. The one I wanted was the picture of him when we went to Kalmar and he got caught by the tide and started picking up all that seaweed. It’s the one when he was holding it up like a prize fish. Still, it doesn’t matter.
Paris is really lovely! I must have walked miles visiting things! Notre Dame was beau-ti-ful! I climbed all the way up to the top (402 steps!) and the view is lovely, you can see for miles. Next weekend, a friend and me are going to visit Chartres. Went to see the Rodin museum and Versailles. They’re both really nice, wouldn’t mind swapping my room for one of theirs! I’ve bought loads of postcards to show you when I get back.
That reminds me, I sent one to Uncle Ragnar but think I forgot to put a stamp on it. Do you know whether he got it? It was a picture of the Luxembourg gardens.
I’ve made lots of friends here so don’t go worrying about me being lonely.
Got to go, have to pick up the brats from their music lessons.
Will write again soon,
Love, Inga
P.S. There’s a letter for Sven too, give him a big kiss and a hug for me.

Lies, all lies. Inga was feeling miserable as hell, and very lonely. She felt so totally out of place. Nobody knew her. To her ‘family’, she was just a bimbo, a foreigner to look after the children. She was nothing more than a badly-paid maid, a skivvy. Outside, it was even worse. She was so strikingly blond, so obviously Scandinavian, she was stared, whistled and leered at all the time.
At home, she was Inga, it meant something, being known, existing as her, fitting in. She had her own known personality. Here, all she had were external appearances. She grimaced to herself in distaste. Then smiled as she looked at the photo. At home she had Sven. He was so real.

Dearest Cuddlebugs,
How are you, my favourite brother of all? Thanks for the lovely drawing! I’ve put it up on the wall next to your photograph. It looks really nice there. Now I can see it next to your big smile every time I come back.
Those naughty pigeons are getting worse and worse! Since I started giving them bread they come round every morning cooing and begging and not once have any of them knocked on the window to say thank you! I think pigeons are so rude, don’t you?
I miss you very much and think about you every day. Can you do me another picture? I’ll write to you every week.
All my love, your favourite sister, Inglums!

That was the worst, she just couldn’t tell him how much she loved him, how much she missed him. He was... Sven. Heavy, clumsy, delicate, affectionate, maddening, and smiles, Sven lived completely. He was perhaps the only person she knew she believed she really knew. Her heart felt heavy thinking about him. He must miss her. So she added a postscript: “And since I can’t do it myself, give yourself a big kiss on the nose!” That would have him stretching his lips in front of the mirror for ages! Lovely Sven. Why couldn’t everyone be like him?

Friends she said. What friends? Xavier? At least he wasn’t the wolf-whistling type. Far too timid. He did have nice eyes, a bit too obvious what you could read in them sometimes, but he could be quite attractive if he stopped being so shy and nervous.
They had coffee together at the café across the road.
“So what do you do in life?”
“Nothing much, this and that...”
“Mm...”
The conversation was not going well. Xavier tried to get back to their trip to the country, but Inga was non-committal. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
“Have you found your passageway yet?”
Xavier’s eyes lit up. “No, not yet. Won’t be long though. I think I’ve found something, bit of a roundabout way, going to check it out this weekend.”
A little impatiently, Inga could see him struggling with the obvious question. She put him out of his misery.
“I’m going to Chartres this weekend.”
Again, the conversation fizzled down to silence.

A couple of weeks later, Inga was getting ready to go out when a letter was slipped under her door. She tore it open. Another drawing from Sven: his rabbit, she’d recognise it anywhere. Nobody else might, but she knew the artist.
She went over to her picture gallery and found a vacant space. That was the seventh she had now.
Did she really want to go down to the south of France? Still hadn’t heard anything from Lisa’s friend. Should she phone again? “Oh, dammit, why couldn’t he just give a straight answer instead of buggering around?” It infuriated her, all this hanging about. Why didn’t she just do something herself instead of relying on other people all the time? She felt like chucking the whole thing in and going home. She’d had just about enough…
She was just about to open the door when the interphone rang: “Ah, Inga, I’m so glad I’ve caught you…”
“Damn,” she thought afterwards. This was the third time she’d let herself be pressurised into extra work and was not happy at all.
As usual, Henri and Mathilde were being their objectionable selves: politely offensive. They could sense her annoyance, and the jug of fresh orange juice crashed to the floor. Henri looked at Mathilde and Mathilde looked at Henri. The restrained smirks turned into stifled giggles, then outright laughter.
“That’s not funny, why can’t you be more careful?” she snapped. The mother came in while she was on her hands and knees clearing up the mess. Only Mathilde saw her expression of long-suffering martyrdom, and discreetly pointed the accusing finger. The mother’s expression changed to one of repressed irritation. She waited till Inga had finished, then scolded her severely, informing her in no uncertain terms that oranges do not grow on trees.
Inga was about to reply when the mother cut her short.
“Mademoiselle, if you don’t want this job, that’s fine, but I will not have you talking back.”
God she hated this woman. How dare she speak to her like that!
The mother pecked her little darlings on the cheek, and left. Inga stormed into the lounge and sat down. The brats could make any damned mess they liked, she wasn’t going to clear it up.
The children were bickering with each other and she let them. What sounded like another crash on the floor was followed by a scream, then crying. Mathilde came rushing into the room and buried herself in Inga’s arms. She melted instantly. Poor bloody kids, not their fault they’re so spiteful, brought up so strictly and indifferently. All that seemed to matter was their being polite, smartly dressed and cloned into middle-class robotry. She thought of Sven again. “Sod the job, sod Cannes, I’m going home.” Suddenly, everything was clear and simple. That’s all it took: a decision. She did not like the parents, her living conditions, her loneliness, being away from Sven, so what was she doing here? She picked up the phone and dialled a happy number.
“Hello Dad, how are you?”
“Hello Pet! What are you doing phoning up at this time of the morning?”
“I’m coming home.”
“What, now?”
“No, I’m giving in my notice today and’ll come back as soon as it’s finished.”
“What about your job in Cannes?”
“Don’t want it, I want to come home.” There was a tremble in her voice. Her father noticed it immediately.
“Inga?... Are you alright?” But all he could hear were the exhausted sobs of his lonely little daughter. His face blurred. Nineteen. Fifteen? Thirteen? Five? She was still a baby. Her whole life was included in his love of her, she was ageless, a little girl and a woman. “Inga, my little love, don’t you worry, you come home, we’re all longing to see you again, and Sven will be over the moon, I promise you. D’you know, he walks around all day long holding your postcards in his grubby little mitts and if you could see the state they’re in now! Inga... Can you hear me? Are you OK?”
“It’s alright Dad, I just felt so homesick all of a sudden. I miss you all so much.”
“And so do we, Pet. Don’t you worry, you give your notice in and if there’s anything at all, just give us a ring.”
“OK Dad. Is Sven there?”
“’Fraid you’ve missed him, he’s out shopping with your Mum, they’ll be back in a while.”
“Oh. Mum OK?”
“She’s fine, we’re all fine, you just look after yourself and get back here as soon as you can.”
“Yes, I will, I’ll get it sorted out this afternoon. I’d better go, it’s not my phone.”
“OK love, bye then, see you soon.”
“Bye Dad.”
“Hey, Inga?”
“Yes?”
“How many broken hearts will you leave behind?”
She laughed, “I’ll have to get my calculator out! You know I’m no good with numbers!”
“That’s my girl. Go on, enjoy the rest of your stay!”
“Yeah, bye then.”
“Bye-bye.”

The mother was furious. “Well in that case you can leave right now.”
Inga hadn’t thought about that.
She went back upstairs to pack, cursing. It didn’t take long to pack, but thinking what to do did. Where the hell could she go? She’d have to find a hotel, dammit.
Someone walked past her room.
“Xavier?”
Inga explained her predicament. The solution was easier than she expected. He went to the next room and unlocked the door. “Would this do?” The room had been empty for years so he’d simply ‘up-graded’ the lock, and reopened the communicating door. “You can still close it,” he added, “but if anyone asks, say you’re staying with me.”

Inga moved out and in. Xavier was really helpful and friendly. Everything was sorting itself out. Her flight was on Saturday so she had one week to enjoy herself in Paris. She spent her days wandering about and shopping for presents. For Sven, she bought a big fluffy Eiffel Tower; he’d like that.
On the Wednesday morning, Xavier knocked on the door in an unusually high state of agitation: “I’ve found it!”
“What?”
“The passageway! It was so easy! It was staring me right in the face!”
“Congratulations!”
“Listen, I’ve got loads to do today so I can’t stay long, but would you do me a favour? Come with me. I’m dying to show you it.”
His patently good mood and delight were infectious, and she did owe him one. Who knows, it might even be interesting.
“Alright then! When?”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight it is.”
“That’s great! Look, gotta rush, be back about seven o’clock. OK?”
“That’s fine, yes.”
“Perhaps we could go for a meal beforehand?...”
Inga smiled, “why not?” In for a penny...
Xavier rushed off, leaving Inga rather amused by all his secret passageway nonsense. It was strange the way his mood changed so quickly, nervous one minute and perfectly natural the next. “Still, he’s harmless enough in his own way, I suppose.” ¶ 1:57 AM