Page 45 of Hidden in Memories
Tiina wishes she were stronger. She has tried to set boundaries before, but it doesn’t work. The words refuse to come out; they stick in her throat.
The fear that Ogge will lose control always holds her back.
33
The open fire is blazing away hypnotically before Hanna’s eyes. The orange-and-yellow flames dance as she lies on her newly purchased gray sofa, relaxing with her phone in her hand.
She curls up on her side. It is nine thirty in the evening, and it has been a long day. She still feels down after the conversation with Filip, and the images of Charlotte’s mutilated body won’t leave her. She is just about to check out the evening papers’ websites to see what they’re saying about the murder when Morris starts meowing loudly from the floor. A second later he lands on Hanna.
“Ouf,” she groans as the cat settles down on top of her ribs. The only things Morris seems to want to do in life are eat and cuddle. He is a big cat with an even bigger personality, and he has clearly decided that Hanna is his person.
Her view on this seems largely irrelevant. She has to deploy a limited amount of force in order to move him so that she can actually breathe.
“Seriously, Morris,” she murmurs, shifting slightly so that she can see her phone screen.
Morris doesn’t care; he just purrs even more loudly. After a few days together, there are gray and white cat hairs all over the house—and Hanna’s clothes. Then again, Morris is probably the only live-in partner she will ever have. Her relationship with Christian ended in disaster,and as long as she feels the way she does about Daniel, she’s not likely to meet anyone else.
Her phone rings, and Hanna tries to sit up to answer. Morris gives her a reproachful look.
The display says, “Mom.” Even though she knows better, at first Hanna thinks that maybe Ulla is calling because she senses that her daughter is feeling lonely and low—but her mother has never provided that kind of emotional security.
Reluctantly Hanna accepts the call.
“Hi,” says a cheerful voice. “You haven’t been in touch for a long time.”
It has been three weeks since they spoke, and if it were up to Hanna, it would be a lot longer.
The constant criticism, the insistence that she needs to find a new boyfriend, the reminder that it will soon be too late to have children of her own—all this makes her want to avoid conversations with her parents. They live in the Costa del Sol in Spain, enjoying a carefree life as retirees.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, immediately on the defensive. “Work has been kind of busy.”
“Lydia said you went out for dinner together the day before yesterday.”
The subtext is clear—So you have time to hang out with your sister.
Hanna is very well acquainted with Ulla’s ability to allocate blame; she almost admires her mother’s skill in unfailingly making her feel guilty.
“Are you and Dad okay?” she says, changing the subject. “How are the lemons?”
It works. Ulla embarks on a colorful account of the lemon trees in big pots on the terrace. Hanna tunes out. They have never had an easy relationship. Hanna has always been the difficult child who has failed in her mother’s eyes.
Maybe that’s why she can’t stop thinking about Filip? It struck a chord when he talked about Charlotte—the experience of having a parent who is constantly disappointed in you. Hanna knows exactly how it feels when you can’t live up to their expectations. The fact that Filip and his mother had clearly argued a great deal before her death must be very hard for him right now.
Suddenly Morris stands up, waving his fluffy tail in her face. She starts to sneeze.
“What are you doing?” her mother demands.
“Sorry, it’s just the cat.”
“Cat? Have you bought a cat?”
“Not exactly.”
Hanna tries to explain that it was Morris who adopted her rather than the reverse.
“Oh, Hanna, it’s no good getting a cat instead of building a family of your own. I don’t understand you at all.”
The misinterpretation is absolutely typical. Hanna has neither the patience nor the energy to continue the conversation. However, she does manage to end the call without starting a quarrel.
