BEFORE IRENE WENT home for the day, she called the hospital to see how her mother was. The nurse informed her that Gerd was feeling a little tired, but by and large she was recovering well.
“She had an intertrochanteric fracture, which is the most common hip fracture in older people; it occurs at the neck of the femur. Because the ball joint itself was in a poor condition, we’ve removed it, so Gerd has a new prosthetic hip. One slight problem is that she also has a small crack in her coccyx,” the pleasant professional voice explained.
“And what can be done about that?” Irene asked anxiously.
“Not much, unfortunately. It is causing her pain, and that could go on for quite some time.”
“Can I come up and see her in a little while?”
“Of course.”
SHE HAD EVIDENTLY arrived in the middle of the rush hour when it came to visiting, because it was almost impossible to find a parking space. Eventually she spotted one and slammed the Volvo in right in front of a VW Polo. The driver of the smaller car reacted with a series of long, angry blasts on the horn, but Irene pretended not to notice. She bestowed a sweet smile on her furious fellow driver and hurried off to the ticket machine.
Up on the ward there was a lot of activity in the corridor. A male auxiliary was maneuvering a huge stainless steel container, rattling toward the elevators as he transported the dinner trays back to the central kitchen.
Gerd was no longer alone in her room. The occupant of the bed by the window was snoring loudly. Judging by the shape under the blanket, it was a very well-built woman. There was a frame at the end of the bed to stop the bedclothes from touching her feet.
Gerd was lying there with her eyes closed. A lump came into Irene’s throat as she gazed at her mother; she looked like a pale, fragile china doll. Irene edged toward the bed and bent down to stroke her mother’s white hair. Gerd opened her eyes and smiled.
“You don’t imagine I can sleep with this racket going on, do you?” she said.
Irene was relieved to find that her mother hadn’t lost her sense of humor.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Well, I know I’ve had surgery, but I thought it would be worse. I’m starting physical therapy tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Isn’t that a bit soon?”
“It’s to minimize the risk of blood clots.”
Irene was suddenly aware that she had turned up empty-handed. “I didn’t know if you were allowed flowers on this ward. And I didn’t know if you were eating yet. So tomorrow I’ll—”
“Don’t bother. Bring me a few magazines instead. And one of those things you can play talking books on. Then I can plug in my earphones, and I won’t have to listen to …” She gestured toward her neighbor who had just taken a deep breath culminating in a huge snore, after a period of total silence. It sounded as if she was swallowing her tongue and choking.
“Sleep apnea. It’s dangerous. It can lead to a stroke,” Gerd said knowledgeably. She always read medical articles with great interest. You have to know more than the doctors if you’re going to cope with being ill, she always said.
All at once she looked sharply at Irene. “Did you get hold of Sture?”
This was the moment Irene had been dreading. She took one of Gerd’s hands in both of her own. It was ice-cold.
“Mom … Sture … He …”
“He’s dead.”
Gerd was looking straight at her as she spoke. Her eyes shone with tears which slowly rolled down her cheeks and onto the pillow.
“Yes. I found him when … when I went over there,” Irene said, her voice breaking.
Gerd nodded, as if Irene had confirmed something that she had already suspected. For a long time Irene sat there holding her mother’s hand.
The tears were still flowing when Gerd suddenly said, “He had a feeling he was going to die. He called me on Saturday to say goodbye. That was why I went out even though I knew it was icy, and I shouldn’t have … I wanted to see him before …” She waved her free hand toward the bedside table, where there was a pile of paper napkins. Irene passed her a handful.
“Why didn’t he call an ambulance?” Irene asked.
Gerd blew her nose on the crackly napkin before she answered. “That’s exactly what I told him to do … he said he would, just as soon as we’d hung up. But he obviously decided not to, or else he didn’t have time.”
“I don’t think he had time. It must have happened very quickly.”
“Where … how did you find him?”
There was no point in lying and saying that he’d been in bed. One of Sture’s neighbors was bound to know what had happened; he or she would mention it to an acquaintance in the grocery store, who in turn would speak to someone who happened to live near Gerd, and that person would … She was bound to find out one way or another.
“He was lying on the bathroom floor. But he hadn’t hurt himself. It looked like he had just decided to lie down. Peaceful. He looked peaceful,” Irene said.
Gerd squeezed her hand. “Thank you. Thank you,” was all she said.
Irene stayed with her mother for over an hour. By the time she left, Gerd had fallen asleep—or at least she was lying there with her eyes closed, in spite of the deafening snores from the other bed.
THE ENTIRE HALLWAY was strewn with boxes. The twins had obviously decided to start packing; they would be moving in a couple of weeks.
The house would be empty.
That was the disadvantage of having twins; they always hit the various stages of life simultaneously despite the fact that they were so different in terms of character. It was entirely logical for them both to move out at the same time, which doubled the sense of loss. On the other hand, it meant that Irene would need to work through empty-nest syndrome only once. But perhaps it never went away completely?
“Mom! I’m taking my bed!” Jenny yelled from upstairs.
Irene hadn’t even taken off her coat. She called back, “Okay!”
“Great! In that case I’ll take the curtains as well. We bought them to match the bedspread,” her daughter replied happily.
Really? Irene couldn’t remember, but perhaps Jenny was right. They had definitely bought the bedspread with stripes in every color of the rainbow at IKEA because she had been there. But as for the curtains …
“I’m taking the bedroom and there’s already a lovely double bed, so mine can stay here,” Katarina said, emerging from the bathroom with a pile of fluffy white bath towels. Also from IKEA. Brand new. Not even used.
“Those are mine,” Irene said.
“Ours. Me and Jenny need one each.”
“One each. You’ve got four there. At least,” Irene pointed out sourly.
“Yes, but we need spares. Our mom raised us to be good clean girls,” Katarina countered with a smile.
“I said you could take some towels from the linen closet. Not the new ones!” Krister called out from the kitchen.
Katarina sighed and rolled her eyes. “Surely we can have one each.”
Irene’s heart softened. “Okay. One each of the new ones and two of the old ones. Take the red ones. You can put the rest on your birthday wish list.”
“Cool!” Katarina said.
“How’s Grandma?” Jenny shouted down the stairs.
“We’ll find out over dinner, which is ready now!” Krister yelled before Irene had the chance to answer.
She went into the kitchen and smiled at him. There was an appetizing smell of boiled fish—or poached, as her husband would have said. An aromatic symphony of dill, lemon and prawns rose from the largest pan on the stove. The potatoes were bubbling along beside it. Irene suddenly realized how hungry she was and how much she appreciated her lively, loving family.
It wouldn’t just be empty when the twins moved out. It would also be extremely quiet.
THE TEMPERATURE REMAINED above freezing, and the wind blew steadily. Most of the slush had disappeared by the time Irene drove into the city center on Thursday morning. The weather was supposed to stay more or less the same until Saturday, and then it would get colder. Irene hoped that by then there wouldn’t be much water left on the streets to turn into ice. Healthcare costs for the number of broken arms and legs this winter had already surpassed all records, according to the front page headline in Göteborgs Posten that morning. And spring was still a long way off, as the song said. So Gerd was just another statistic. It’s not easy getting old, Irene thought with a sigh.