Chapter Seven
It had rained for the full ten days since the enquiry from the TV production company, and the weather seemed to have affected everybody’s mood – including the aptly named Wynter sisters, who’d accepted Mats’ apologies with fixed, but not warm, smiles.
Annoyingly, last night Mats had experienced an incredibly erotic dream about Ezzie Wynter. It had centred around her saying ‘of course’ a lot, but with a completely different intonation to her usual cool British reserve. It had left him in an unsatisfactory, semi-horny state, half feeling that he knew Ezzie more intimately than he really did and half horrified that his libido didn’t know where he wouldn’t be welcome. It brought to the surface things he hadn’t realised he’d been feeling, like how sexy a beautiful, willowy blonde was in the plainest business suit imaginable. How startling blue eyes could be hard to look away from or a politely smiling mouth difficult to ignore. And how he minded that she didn’t like him.
But at long last the weather was cold and beautiful again, and in the morning he took the children and Josefin on a trip to Broadford, where the shops were strewn with fairy lights that got Astrid and Alvin chattering excitedly aboutJultomten, or Santa Claus. They strolled the main road to the cabins that formed Skye Market, which were as many different colours as the cottages of Rothach village, then stopped at a street vendor for hot chocolate, and shortbread sprinkled with icing sugar that the server pretended was snow. Just as Mats was beginning to feel a stirring of Christmas spirit, he received a call from his father.
‘Hej, hej,Pappa,’ he answered with the hand that wasn’t holding the cup of hot chocolate, half anticipating another grumble from Erik that Mats wasn’t at work, or perhaps a business matter that he needed to discuss.
But Erik proved to have other things on his mind. ‘How is Mamma?’ he asked gruffly. ‘I’ve been talking to her, and she doesn’t sound herself. Maja and Jonas say the same.’
Mats hadn’t spoken to his sister and brother recently, but knew they’d kept in touch with their mother. He hesitated. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said eventually. ‘She’s spending a lot of time alone, reading or watching TV. I keep trying to involve her with the family, but she seems to have things on her mind.’ He didn’t want to say in so many words that she was quiet and grumpy, and Erik seemed to be at the heart of the problem. His loyalties lay equally with each parent.
‘Oh.’ Erik sounded dismayed.
The call left Mats feeling out of sorts. This extended winter holiday wasn’t going entirely as he’d hoped. He gazed up at the splendour of Beinn na Caillich looming over the town, the mountain’s top third white with snow,and decided that by leaving his mother to her own devices he was letting her miss out on the beauties of Skye. The feeling persisted as they drove home for lunch and the winter sunlight hung hazily over the frozen moor, making the ochres and golds of the rocks and bracken beneath the lilac sky look like a pastel drawing.
After lunch, he caught Grete before she retired to the lounge to curl up once again with a book. In Swedish, he said, ‘It’s a lovely day to be outdoors, Mamma. Come with us on a walk. The children aren’t seeing much of you.’
He saw refusal flicker in her eyes before the mention of her grandchildren made her smile, though her acquiescence was lukewarm. ‘I suppose we should make the most of the weather.’
Josefin joined them, wrapped up in her green coat with a toffee-coloured hat, and the children raced around excitedly, their voices ringing on the clear, frosty air, calling on the adults to admire the sea, the boats, the gardens and anything else that caught their eyes. The frost hadn’t thawed and flattened the grass with its twinkling coat.
Then, ‘Look, Farmor, the café’s open,’ Astrid yelled, though it was open every day apart from Sunday, dressed for Christmas in a cloak of twinkling white lights, a row of icicles hanging from the roof. A Christmas tree glittered a welcome from the window, as if luring them inside for gingerbread and cinnamon buns.
‘OK, we can go in,’ Mats said, not feeling equal to theyou can’t have cake every day and you had shortbread this morningargument. But he regretted it when the five of them entered the warmth of the brightly lit café and found a circle of parents with children joining in songs and poems.
‘Hello,’ a cheery bespectacled woman called frombehind the counter. ‘Lovely to have a dad joining us for Friday Rhyme Time. As it’s nearly the end of November, we’re singing winter and Christmas songs.’
‘Hello,’ chorused at least eight welcoming voices.
Mats vaguely remembered that the café provided a meeting place for groups. Though he didn’t term November 22nd ‘nearly the end’ of the month, when he saw Josefin, the children and even his mother happily finding chairs in the circle he gave in gracefully, especially as he could smell coffee. Soon he was adding his baritone to songs called ‘10 Warm Mittens’ and ‘Do You Hear the Christmas Bells?’ which he didn’t know but were easy to pick up. He felt an idiot, but the children loved it. Alvin, unable to keep up in English, just made a singing kind of noise. Astrid was the only child of her age, as British five-year-olds – unlike their Swedish counterparts – were at school.
When they paused between songs to give people an opportunity to top up their drinks, a young woman with a mop of ginger curls smiled at Josefin. ‘And are you Mum?’
Josefin roared with laughter. ‘No! Mats is Dad, and I am Nanny.’
‘Oh, the grandmother?’ another lady asked, looking embarrassed. She cuddled two children on her lap, who were peppering her with crumbs.
Mats could think of no elegant way of explaining that whilst Josefin could be his children’s grandmother age-wise, she was in fact the hired help. And if the Brits didn’t have so many names for grandmothers, such as granny, nanny, grandma, nanna or nan the confusion wouldn’t have arisen to make him and Josefin feel awkward.
Stiffly, Josefin explained. ‘No. I help Mr Larsson look after Astrid and Alvin.Thenanny.’
Astrid, who was evidently able to follow the exchange, put in helpfully, ‘This is Farmor,’ as she tugged Grete’s sleeve, which meant Mats embarking on the explanation of Swedish grandparents being designated father’s mother, mother’s mother and so on. He was glad when the scones came round, and even gladder when his phone rang. He checked the screen and saw his sister Maja’s name.
Quickly, he asked Josefin and Grete, ‘Can you stay with the children?’ Then he went outside. ‘Hej,’ he said into the phone, switching to their native tongue and smiling to think of the youngest of his siblings, her brown hair flipping over at the ends. At thirty-five, Maja would end her most recent maternity leave in January. Little Ronja would be one year old in February. In Sweden, mother and father shared just over a year and a quarter’s parental leave, and Maja had been back to her PR job for three months while Nils took some leave, and then they’d swapped again. Their eldest child Walter had begun school this year and three-year-old Liam was in daycare. Rather than a full-time live-in nanny like Josefin, they also had daily help from Nils’ aunt, who covered what other childcare the parents couldn’t.
Maja returned his greeting. ‘Jonas is here, too, and we’re on speaker. Is Mamma OK?’ she went on. ‘Whenever we talk to her, she seems glum.’
‘Glum. The perfect word, though I’ve persuaded her out with us this afternoon.’ Mats explained the activity taking place in the café. ‘Pappa sounded glum, too, when I spoke to him earlier.’
‘He’s as growly as a bear,’ Jonas’ deep voice confirmed. ‘Is Mamma really just taking time out?’
But then parents and children began to file out of the café and Mats stood back nodding goodbyes. When Josefinand Grete emerged holding Astrid and Alvin’s hands he said, ‘I’ll come along later,’ so Maja and Jonas would be alerted that he was no longer alone.
Astrid and Alvin craned up to be kissed goodbye, as if they wouldn’t see him again for days, then, when the little party had moved far enough away, he resumed the conversation with his siblings. ‘Mamma told me she wants to travel, and Pappa wants to stay at work, so she’s gone off without him. Maybe it’s to see how he likes it.’
Maja snorted. ‘He doesn’t like it. I met him for lunch yesterday and even cuddles and smiles from Ronja and Liam didn’t cheer him up for long.’
