Chapter 28
Liisa
I try not to stare at Johanna’s crooked brown teeth as she stands over me, clothing hanging limply over her arm.
Each night she spends an hour on her sewing machine.
She dresses me up like a doll. But the material is always rough on my skin, the dresses ugly and ill-fitting.
The welcoming smell of freshly cooked pastries and coffee wafts in from the kitchen.
“Get up. Breakfast is ready.”
She hands me the thick, flowery material.
It’s a dressing gown, with a frayed blue waistband.
The floor chills the soles of my feet as I quickly step out of bed.
She waits as I go to the toilet in the corner of my room.
I wash my hands with a sliver of soap and water from the pail before shrugging the dressing gown on.
Today is different. She usually makes me get dressed first thing.
There are no days off in this horrible place.
Each morning she puts me to work—scrubbing, cleaning, cooking, washing, which has given me callouses on my palms. She’s said she’ll teach me sewing and knitting, too.
If only that’s all I was here for. The thought of what could be waiting for me keeps me awake at night.
My fingers peep out from the end of the wide sleeves.
Johanna’s smile turns small and pinched as she tugs on the ends, folding them over until she can see my hands.
“That’s better.” Then there’s the horrible sudden thump of her fist on my back that I’ve come to hate.
I’m pushed forward a couple of steps, my eyes still sticky with sleep.
“Move it. I haven’t got all day.” She goes to push me again, but I’m ready this time and briskly make it to the door.
You don’t question Johanna. You do as you are told.
Mikael is waiting at the table, which holds quite the feast: boiled eggs, rye bread, cheese, and Karelian pastries that Johanna seems to have made herself.
The imprint of her thick fingers is pressed into the pastry, which holds a generous portion of rice porridge, served with egg-butter mix.
But I don’t want any of it, because my stomach is rolling over.
This is the moment when Johanna and Mikael tell me why I’m here.
She pushes a cup of coffee in my direction and watches as I sip. I try not to grimace as the bitter liquid scalds the back of my throat. “Thank you,” I say, because in Johanna’s home, manners are everything.
Johanna nods, seeming pleased that my house-training is going well. “Today is a special occasion.” She looks to her son. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mama,” he nods obediently, but his eyes are dark as they creep in my direction.
Johanna rests a pastry on my plate. “I’ll show you how to make them,” she says proudly. “You’ll need to know, now that you’re . . .”
I wait for her to finish, but she reaches for a boiled egg and slices through the shell with her knife.
Turns out that the eggs are soft-boiled, as orange liquid oozes from the oversized blade.
She carries it in a sheath that is buckled around her waist. It’s the same knife she uses to gut fish, or whatever creature Mikael hunts down in the woods.
Goosebumps prickle my skin as Mikael and I exchange a glance.
The air thickens between us as I study his face.
The scar on his cheek. Those wide, haunted eyes.
He is so quiet these days. Who should I be most scared of here?
The pastry turns to sand in my mouth. I sip the strong coffee, forcing it down.
At home, I used to drink milk. How I miss it now.
We work our way through the rest of the food.
I don’t know when I’ll eat again. That usually depends on Johanna’s mood.
She brushes the crumbs from her woollen jumper and sits back, satisfied.
It will be my job to clean up the mess, but I can’t move, not yet.
I count each second of silence. Eleven .
. . twelve . . . thirteen. The cup of coffee shakes as I bring it to my mouth.
I hold it firmly with both hands. I don’t want to hear this.
I want to run. Tick, tick, tick—the clock on the wall counts the time with me.
“We brought you here for a reason.” Johanna’s voice breaks the quietness of the room.
My cup clinks as I rest it on its saucer. I can’t swallow any more. The air feels so thin, I can barely catch my breath.
“We know who you are . . . were.” Johanna rests her eyes on me. “You come from good stock. Your grandmother was a university lecturer in Helsinki. Your mother a police detective. You are a clever girl. Good blood.” She nods to herself.
What does she mean by “were”? I stare, unblinking as I wait for answers.
“But you’re not that girl anymore. You live with us now. We will call you Lia.”
I squirm in my chair as every cell in my body screams at me to run. She clamps a firm hand down onto my forearm, pushing it hard into the table. I press my lips together as her dirty nails dig into my arm.
“Tell her, Mikael. Tell her why she’s here.”
Mikael’s Adam’s apple bobs as he clears his throat.
His mouth spreads in a slow smile. The sound of his fingers drumming on the table gets under my skin.
I can’t read him, and that’s what scares me the most. Mother is good at figuring people out.
She’s taught me little bits. Like how to take in what she calls “non-verbals”: how to study traits like blink rates (a normal blink rate is eight times a minute) and how people appear when they’re angry or uncomfortable.
Someone’s appearance—such as bloodshot eyes or unwashed hair—can tell you a lot.
But I think a place can tell you a lot too, and this creepy old cabin has spoken to me many times.
I see the selection of knives that Mikael keeps in the kitchen and how comfortable he is handling them.
I see the mounted deer heads on either side of the fireplace and know that they weren’t bought in a store.
I see how dirty the place is, and how fine Johanna is with that.
It tells me that she came from a home that wasn’t well cared for.
I see the bolts on the doors. Mikael’s high-powered binoculars and the sharp-edged teeth of the traps that he sets.
The gun cabinet. The home-made stun gun.
Sometimes Mikael can be cruel. Other times he looks like he wants to die.
His moods are like a rusty old see-saw. Today it feels like he wants to crawl under my skin.
My heart is rising up into my throat and a chill sweeps beneath my oversized dressing gown.
He’s enjoying making me sweat. I am a little girl playing grown-up, not ready to hear whatever he is waiting to say.
The fire in the living room delivers quiet flames.
I’m getting used to the smoke that is blown back down the chimney when it’s storming outside.
It used to sting my eyes and make them water, but now I’m grateful for the heat when I’m allowed out of my room.
I wish that I’d been able to get dressed.
I feel naked, even though Johanna’s old home-made dressing gown is covering me, right down to my ankles.
It’s giving off this sickly smell like cheap, flowery perfume, and the collar is edged with a crust of black dirt.
Who puts perfume on a dressing gown? Still, I want to shrink inside it, like a tortoise hiding in their shell.
The silence is deafening. Mikael was different when he first took me, like a toy wound up too hard.
Then I think of the sepia bottles of tablets piled up in Johanna’s bathroom and it makes me wonder.
Had he taken something that day? She won’t let me clean there alone.
I watch Mikael’s tongue dart from his mouth and slide across his lips.
It’s a weird habit that makes me feel like I’m his next meal.
The drumming stops. I clutch a handful of dressing gown as he takes a breath to speak.
From the way he is looking at me, no good will come from what he has to say.
“Mother . . .” he starts, his eyes flicking to Johanna’s. “She’s not well.” His jaw tenses, then he looks at me once more. “She doesn’t have long left, do you, Mother?”
I inhale a sudden breath. Touch my collarbone and pinch my skin to stay in this moment. I do this a lot now, because I can’t afford to react. I had not expected this.
“That is correct,” she replies, with the calmness of someone checking homework, instead of saying they’re dying. She leans forward, her eyes turning dark as she looms over me. Her voice is as low as a growl. “But do not mistake illness for weakness. I am still as strong as ever.”
Mikael laughs. A low, dry sound. It’s so out of place in this moment. The cabin creaks around us. Watching. Listening.
I nod at Johanna because I don’t know what to say. Why are you doing this? What has you dying got to do with me? I want to ask, but can’t. I force myself to look sad. She seems satisfied by my reaction.
Mikael sits back in the hard wooden chair as Johanna takes over explaining why I’m here. “This thing inside me—this cancer—it’s taking me quickly. But I can’t leave my darling alone.” She gives her son an encouraging smile.
His face turns serious as his pale, mistrustful eyes land on me. “We are to be together. You will cook and clean, and I will mend the house and get food. We will live here, as a family. Understand?”
I frown. What does he mean, “as a family”? Is he related to me after all? I realise that I am rocking slightly, back and forth on the chair, and I stop.
Mikael picks up a small, sharp knife from the table and uses the point to pick his nails. “You are to be my wife.” He stares at his nails as he speaks. “We will have children.”
And then my world begins to shift, like it does when you’re in a nightmare.
You want out, but you are trapped. Forced to watch it play out.
I look to Johanna, because surely he is wrong.
This is a joke . . . isn’t it? A silly cruel joke.
Any minute now they will both laugh. Because how can I be his wife?
I am twelve years old. Children—he wants children.
I grip my throat with my hand because I can’t swallow now.
I am a child. How can that be? I can’t do this.
Johanna is watching me, but her expression is far away.
“I . . . I don’t understand,” I finally say, because they’re waiting for a reply. Another gust of wind drives its way down the chimney with a howl, and the sudden influx of smoke makes me cough.
“You don’t need to understand.” Johanna fixes me with a stare.
“You just need to get used to the idea. You are going to own this lovely cabin with Mikael. You will live off the land, and once a month you will go shopping and buy supplies. You will be a family. You will use your new name, and you will look after my boy when I am dead.” She nods to herself, giving a crooked smile to Mikael.
There are cold sores on either side of her mouth, and her lips are so badly chapped that she makes my stomach churn.
I can’t look at Mikael. I want to plead with Johanna instead. She’s a woman. She must understand how wrong this is. “But I’m only twelve.” Fresh tears find their way into my eyes.
Johanna tuts. “You’re not getting married today, silly girl. Not until you are a woman. After your first bleed.”
Mikael’s knife glints as he scrapes the dirt from beneath his fingernails. I don’t know what to say. Time passes. Johanna stares at me so hard and I push down the scream rising up into my throat.