check how we were. In the circumstances he’d shown considerable patience. More to the point, it had been his idea to remain in Sweden, providing me with the space to talk to Mum. A flight to London would be a provocation. I understood that now. He’d admitted as much. He couldn’t help her. She’d run from him. If he came to my apartment, she’d try to escape.
In the end I spent so long weighing up the situation that I missed his call. My mum gestured at the phone:
Call him back. Let him prove he’s a liar. He’ll claim to be concerned with how you’re holding up under the strain of listening to my sinister allegations. He’ll offer comforting certainty, there’s been no crime and no conspiracy, there are no victims, and there will be no police investigation. All that needs to happen is for me to swallow pills until these allegations drop from my mind.
• • •
M Y DAD HAD LEFT A VOICEMAIL . Despite numerous missed calls he’d never left one before. Wary of hiding anything from my mum, I said:
‘He’s left a message.’
‘Listen to it.’
‘Daniel, it’s Dad, I don’t know what’s happening – I can’t stay here, doing nothing. I’m at Landvetter airport. My flight’s in thirty minutes but it’s not direct. I fly to Copenhagen first. I’m due to land at Heathrow at four this afternoon.
‘Don’t meet me. Don’t mention this to your mum. I’ll come to you. Just stay at home. Keep her there. Don’t let her go . . .
‘There’s so much I should’ve told you already. The stuff she’s been saying – if you listen to it long enough it starts to sound real, but it’s not.
‘Call me, but only if it doesn’t unsettle her. She can’t know that I’m on my way. Be careful. She can lose control. She can be violent.
‘We’ll make her better. I promise. We’ll find the best doctors. I was slow off the mark. I couldn’t talk properly with the Swedish doctors. It will be different in England. She’ll be okay. Don’t lose sight of that. I’ll see you soon.
‘I love you.’
• • •
I LOWERED THE PHONE . By my dad’s own assessment, if he walked into the apartment, taking my mum by surprise, there was the possibility of a violent confrontation. My mum would turn against both of us.
My mum said:
‘How long do we have?’
My dad had set in motion a ticking clock, upsetting the already fragile calm. I felt no inclination to follow his instructions. In order to preserve my privileged status as someone she trusted, I handed her the phone. She accepted it as if it were a precious gift, cupping it in her open palms. She didn’t raise it to her ear, saying to me:
‘This show of faith gives me hope. I know we haven’t been close for many years. But we can be again.’
I thought upon my mum’s assertion that we weren’t close any more. We met up less frequently. We spoke less. We wrote less. Lying to her about my personal life had forced me to pull away, to limit the number of lies I’d need to tell. Every interaction carried the risk of discovery.
I was not close to my mum any more.
It was true.
How had I allowed that to happen? Not by design, or intention, not by a rupture or a row, but by careless small steps. And now, looking over my shoulder, certain my mum was no more than a few paces behind, I saw her far away.
As she played the voicemail I expected a powerful reaction, yet my mum’s face remained blank. Finished with the message, she returned the phone, for once unaware of my feelings, distracted by the news. She took a deep breath, picked up the troll knife and slid it into her pocket, arming herself against my dad’s arrival.
A man prepared to pay for his freedom with the life of his wife – what is that, not a man but a monster. Why give me a warning? Why not sneak over? I’ll tell you why. He wants me to lose control, to rant and rave. That’s why he left you the message. Ignore what he said about the need for secrecy. That’s a lie. He intended
In the end I spent so long weighing up the situation that I missed his call. My mum gestured at the phone:
Call him back. Let him prove he’s a liar. He’ll claim to be concerned with how you’re holding up under the strain of listening to my sinister allegations. He’ll offer comforting certainty, there’s been no crime and no conspiracy, there are no victims, and there will be no police investigation. All that needs to happen is for me to swallow pills until these allegations drop from my mind.
• • •
M Y DAD HAD LEFT A VOICEMAIL . Despite numerous missed calls he’d never left one before. Wary of hiding anything from my mum, I said:
‘He’s left a message.’
‘Listen to it.’
‘Daniel, it’s Dad, I don’t know what’s happening – I can’t stay here, doing nothing. I’m at Landvetter airport. My flight’s in thirty minutes but it’s not direct. I fly to Copenhagen first. I’m due to land at Heathrow at four this afternoon.
‘Don’t meet me. Don’t mention this to your mum. I’ll come to you. Just stay at home. Keep her there. Don’t let her go . . .
‘There’s so much I should’ve told you already. The stuff she’s been saying – if you listen to it long enough it starts to sound real, but it’s not.
‘Call me, but only if it doesn’t unsettle her. She can’t know that I’m on my way. Be careful. She can lose control. She can be violent.
‘We’ll make her better. I promise. We’ll find the best doctors. I was slow off the mark. I couldn’t talk properly with the Swedish doctors. It will be different in England. She’ll be okay. Don’t lose sight of that. I’ll see you soon.
‘I love you.’
• • •
I LOWERED THE PHONE . By my dad’s own assessment, if he walked into the apartment, taking my mum by surprise, there was the possibility of a violent confrontation. My mum would turn against both of us.
My mum said:
‘How long do we have?’
My dad had set in motion a ticking clock, upsetting the already fragile calm. I felt no inclination to follow his instructions. In order to preserve my privileged status as someone she trusted, I handed her the phone. She accepted it as if it were a precious gift, cupping it in her open palms. She didn’t raise it to her ear, saying to me:
‘This show of faith gives me hope. I know we haven’t been close for many years. But we can be again.’
I thought upon my mum’s assertion that we weren’t close any more. We met up less frequently. We spoke less. We wrote less. Lying to her about my personal life had forced me to pull away, to limit the number of lies I’d need to tell. Every interaction carried the risk of discovery.
I was not close to my mum any more.
It was true.
How had I allowed that to happen? Not by design, or intention, not by a rupture or a row, but by careless small steps. And now, looking over my shoulder, certain my mum was no more than a few paces behind, I saw her far away.
As she played the voicemail I expected a powerful reaction, yet my mum’s face remained blank. Finished with the message, she returned the phone, for once unaware of my feelings, distracted by the news. She took a deep breath, picked up the troll knife and slid it into her pocket, arming herself against my dad’s arrival.
A man prepared to pay for his freedom with the life of his wife – what is that, not a man but a monster. Why give me a warning? Why not sneak over? I’ll tell you why. He wants me to lose control, to rant and rave. That’s why he left you the message. Ignore what he said about the need for secrecy. That’s a lie. He intended
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