Chapter Thirteen
Saturday evening with Josefin proved quieter than Ezz had anticipated, because Josefin drove to the pub and therefore drank pink lemonade instead of wine or whisky.
‘The children spoke to their mother today and Astrid was upset, which meant Alvin got tearful too,’ she said in explanation. ‘If I get a call saying they wake crying tonight, then I go home.’
A group of older people in a corner burst out laughing and Ezz noticed Thea’s neighbours Fraser and Masie among them and gave them a wave. ‘Wouldn’t Mats go to them?’ she asked curiously.
Josefin nodded vigorously, smiling when Brodie brought a steaming plate of golden fish and chips from behind the bar. ‘Whoever gets there first comforts the child, I suppose. But when they’ve been upset … I prefer to be near.’
Cutting into a crisp chip, Ezz conjured up an image of Mats and Josefin blundering around in their pyjamas if one of the kids cried during the night. It seemed … intimate. ‘You get on very well with Mats,’ she couldn’t help saying, before popping the chip into her mouth.
Josefin nodded. ‘He is a nice man.’ Her attention settled on her plate, and she seemed to sink into her thoughts. After a minute of working through golden batter and crispy chips she said quietly, ‘He likes you, I think.’
Shock flashed through Ezz and she flushed over her suspicions that Josefin herself had feelings for Mats. Not wanting to upset the balance of the friendly atmosphere by saying she liked him too, she answered wryly. ‘Really? If so, he hides it well sometimes.’ Then, because she assumed everyone within a mile’s radius could have heard her big boo-hooing session after Kay and Rick’s visit, she added, ‘Though he was kind after I had an emotional meeting on Monday. Did he tell you?’
Josefin’s gaze slid her way. ‘A little. He said you were adopted as a child and then these people turned up saying they are your parents.’
Ezz nodded, stopping to sip her orange juice. ‘I don’t doubt they are.’ Over the rest of the delicious meal, she shared the story Kay and Rick had told her.
Josefin shook her head sadly. ‘There is no winner, in this. Just acceptance or not.’
It was an astute point and Ezz glanced at Josefin with respect. All her life, she, Valentina and Thea had discussed what being adopted meant, and she’d thought herself realistic as to why a first family might have been unable to look after her. Unwanted pregnancy had been high on the list. She’d just never thought that the rest of her birth family would have been going on intact, leaving her behind. Four people were related to her – and she hadn’t even asked how many others, like living grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins – and she felt like the only one not invited to a party.
Rather than spend further time on uncomfortable thoughts, she turned the conversation to Josefin, laying down her cutlery on her empty plate and deciding she’d have a big cappuccino in place of dessert. ‘You’re staying here with the family for Christmas, aren’t you?’
Josefin smiled, her friendly eyes alight. ‘I agreed to stay. My son lives in America. I will see him in the summer.’ Then she looked wistful. ‘He has a new boyfriend, who looks very nice. I look forward to meeting him.’
‘That sounds great. It’s a shame when family’s far away, isn’t it? I keep in touch with my other sister and my nephew Barnaby by FaceTime. And my brother-in-law,’ Ezz added, realising she’d left Gary out.
Josefin ate a dessert and drank coffee, then took out a card to pay her share of the bill. ‘I will see you tomorrow for advent?’
Ezz was surprised by a small flutter in her stomach. Was that a butterfly because the first thing that had come into her mind about the advent gathering was that Mats would be there? She thought of Josefin’s remark that Mats liked Ezz. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I look forward to it.’
After Josefin had left, instead of going home, Ezzie bought another orange juice and joined Maisie and Fraser’s table. It was an unusual move for her, but it was an opportunity for company. And she didn’t want to give butterflies over Mats too much room to roost.
Much better to let herself be distracted by Fraser teasing Maisie, or their friends sharing their Christmas plans.
Mats stared at his phone screen, and the pretty, perfectly made-up face of Inger on the FaceTime call. Astrid had been so upset when speaking to her mum earlier that Inger had called Mats once it was late enough for the children to be in bed. ‘Where’s the boat now?’ he asked. Behind Inger he could see the kind of stateroom that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Bond movie, with a huge bed, acres of polished wood and fields of glass.
‘At Marina Bizerte, North Tunisia,’ Inger answered breezily. ‘Are Astrid and Alvin OK? I hated them crying for me earlier.’
So had he, but it was a bit late for Inger to start worrying about that. ‘I’m looking after them.’ Earlier, he’d found the children asleep together in a puppy-like huddle in Alvin’s bed, obviously seeking comfort, and his heart had tugged.
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to bring them south for a lovely hot Christmas?’ she asked so sheepishly that he suspected not even she thought this a reasonable request.
He snorted. ‘What would I do while you all celebrated Christmas on the yacht?’ At her suddenly woebegone expression, he softened. Although she wasn’t the most selfless of mothers, she did love her children. Next year, Astrid and Alvin might fly off somewhere for Christmas with Inger and Andreas. He’d be the one missing them and seeing them only on video calls. That’s how divorced couples managed things. My turn to have them for Christmas. My turn to take them on holiday. At least Astrid would be in compulsory education by Christmas next year, which made it unlikely that they’d ask to take the children on a three-month cruise around North Africa and the islands. He couldn’t bear to be away from them that long.
‘Inger, when a couple split up, there’s an adjustment,’ he said gently. ‘We agreed that I’d have the children this Christmas while you went off on your cruise with Andreas.’
‘Are you still returning to Sweden in January?’ she asked, inspecting her nails. They were a perfect dusky pink.
‘That’s the plan,’ he answered.
Inger heaved a huge sigh and seemed about to speak again when Andreas hove into view in linen trousers and a pale green shirt. He’d grown a beard, and the dark shape gave his face more character. ‘We’re waiting for you, darling. The tender’s here to take us ashore.’ As a clear afterthought, he nodded. ‘Mats. Good evening.’
Mats imagined himself on Inger’s laptop or tablet, a talking head propped up on her dressing table. ‘Hi,’ he said offhandedly.
Inger nodded at Andreas. To Mats, she said, ‘I’d better go. I’ll call the children again tomorrow.’
Irritated that their conversation about their children was apparently no longer important once Andreas wanted to go somewhere, Mats said shortly, ‘How about we leave it a day or two, unless the kids ask to speak to you? Let them settle down a bit.’
Inger emitted a piteous, ‘Oh!’ as if Mats was forcing her from their children’s lives. Then Andreas grumbled something too quietly for Mats to make out, and she murmured, ‘OK,’ said goodnight to Mats and ended the call.
Mats flung his phone on his bed and strode to his window. He rarely bothered shutting his curtains on these long nights and he stared over the gardens and the park towards the sea, fancying he could see it glinting in the moonlight. Inger had put on such an air of tragedy, as if she were outside, pressing her face against the gates of Rothach as he cruelly kept her kids from her.
He waited for his heartbeat to slow. Then he moved along to another window. If it wasn’t for the copse and the way the land fell steeply away, he’d be able to see Rothach village. Josefin had gone out to eat at the village pub with Ezz tonight and he’d actually felt a twinge of jealousy on hearing their plans.
Somehow, the thought lifted his spirits, because he liked Ezzie Wynter more each time he met her. Tomorrow, she’d be the family’s sole guest for fika on the first advent Sunday, in the lounge, before the big Christmas tree heavily laden with twinkle lights and shiny ornaments. It was small-scale compared to the gatherings they’d had at his mum and dad’s house in Gothenburg, when most of the family and local friends would turn up to kick off the traditional run-up to Christmas. But whatever the number of people, Lussekatter or saffron buns would be served, and pepparkakor. They’d light the first advent candle and burn a bit of it. Next week, they’d light it again, plus a second candle, and burn some of both. On the third Sunday they’d relight those two and one more. On the last Sunday before Christmas when all four were lit, this process would have created a sort of staircase of candles, bringing in light to the darkest part of the year.
But only one guest for fika was fine. If it was the right guest.