‘Breakfast. My mum says you’ll be late otherwise.’
This isn’t like me, I think. In fact, nothing I see around me, in front of me or to the side is like me, and for a moment I don’t know where I am or what has happened. Then I remember – everything. Naturally. There is nothing out of the ordinary about this at all. The only thing out of the ordinary is that I fell asleep … blissfully.
First, we worked at the park, making plans and taking measurements. Then we took the park’s delivery van and drove to my apartment, where I gave Schopenhauer some fresh food, water, dried food and a small treat and told him I would be away for the night, which didn’t seem to shock him as much as I thought it might. Then we drove to Laura’s place in Herttoniemi, where the babysitter and a sleeping child were waiting for us.
And eventually I too fell asleep, in Laura Helanto’s arms, after engaging in a great many pleasant activities that both lifted our spirits (because I believe our time together was mutually beneficial) and relaxed me in a way I doubt I’ve ever experienced before. And I don’t think this assessment is an exaggeration.
Tuuli is standing at the bedroom door. I’m in Laura Helanto’s apartment, in her bed. I’m under her duvet, wearing a T-shirt she has lent me. Across the yellow T-shirt is a text in black lettering reading THE PRETENDERS.
‘Good,’ I say. ‘Thank you for passing that on. I will be at breakfast in approximately eleven minutes’ time.’
Tuuli stands in the doorway a moment longer and seems to be watching me. I wait for a moment, and she disappears. I locate my clothes, carry them into the bathroom, take a three-and-a-half-minute shower, comb my hair, get dressed and walk round the corner into the living room, where there is also a dining area and an open kitchen. Laura and Tuuli are already sitting at the dining table. Laura gives me a smile.
‘There’s porridge, bread, eggs,’ she says and shows me the spread on the table. ‘And coffee. There’s hot water in the pot.’
‘Thank you,’ I say and sit down opposite her.
‘Did you sleep well?’ she asks, and there’s a look in her eyes that reminds me of last night.
‘Very blissfully indeed,’ I reply.
Tuuli sniggers at my answer. I don’t know why. I take some porridge and glance around me. The fifth-floor windows are level with the boughs of the trees outside, the old-town bay ripples past in front of us, with the houses of Arabianranta standing beyond it. The morning is at once light and dim. The living-room walls are a summery yellow, the furniture a mixture of old and new. I imagine this is deliberate. I’m not entirely sure what the word cosy means, but I’m minded to believe this room must be it. I take a spoonful of porridge and only then realise quite how hungry I am. It seems that art and intimate relations make us temporarily forget the importance of maintaining regular mealtimes. I’m about to say how much I have enjoyed the porridge and that I hold the porridge maker herself in high regard, but Laura beats me to it.
‘Juhani called.’
I swallow. The porridge feels suddenly rough.
‘Juhani? He called you?’
‘Said he couldn’t get hold of you.’
It’s true; my phone has been switched off. I noticed the battery was low just as I was taking off my trousers last night. At that moment, the phone’s battery was the least of my concerns.
‘Apparently the two of you have an engagement later,’ she continues. ‘That’s what he said. They’ll pick you up outside the house at ten past.’
I look at the black-and-white wall clock in the kitchen and keep my eyes fixed on it. Right now, that feels like the best option. I try to filter what I’ve just heard, and I remind myself that the park’s problems have no place in this part of my life and that Laura Helanto doesn’t need to know anything about them. Once I’m sure I can maintain my composure and continue eating breakfast, I look at her again.
‘This porridge is delicious,’ I say, because I want to tell the truth, but I’m also keen to change the subject. I’m aware that Tuuli is watching me just as she was a moment ago at the bedroom door. Her eyes are curious, perhaps a little inquisitive. Laura seems to notice this too.
‘Tuuli remembers the way you calculated our bill when we were in the café. She’s been doing arithmetic at school now, too, and she’s very enthusiastic…’
‘What’s thirteen times sixteen?’ Tuuli asks suddenly.
‘Two hundred and eight,’ I reply.
‘What’s three hundred and thirteen times fifty-eight?’
‘Eighteen thousand, one hundred and fifty-four.’
‘What’s four thousand eight hundred—’
‘Tuuli, you have to go to school in a minute,’ says Laura. ‘You can ask later on.’
‘Just one more,’ she pleads.
Laura Helanto looks at me. If my mouth weren’t full of porridge, I would explain that multiplication is one of humanity’s greatest achievements and that Tuuli has clearly understood this most excellently.
‘What’s eight thousand, three hundred and fifty-eight times four thousand, five hundred and sixty-one?’
I swallow my porridge.
‘Thirty-eight million, one hundred and twenty thousand, eight hundred and thirty-eight.’
As I finish my answer, Tuuli squeals as though she has won something special and starts laughing. Laura Helanto looks as though, on the one hand, she would like to calm her down but, on the other, she is happy and proud of something. I eat my porridge. It doesn’t feel the least bit rough anymore. Laura and Tuuli leave the table and walk through to the hallway and the door to Tuuli’s room.
I eat an egg and a slice of ryebread, and drink a cup of tea, all the while watching the clock. Though everything is always in motion, I think, and though right now, on a personal level, time seems to be running out at an unfathomable pace, the passage of time feels different when I’m with Laura and Tuuli. My sense of hurry dwindles, and time restraints temporarily loosen their grip. I can’t immediately think of an explanation for this, and I don’t have time to think of one either. I try to prepare myself for what is, as I understand it, about to happen next: Juhani is going to pick me up and, presumably, we’re going to drive somewhere. I’m not happy about this, but right now I can’t change things one way or the other. Once Tuuli is ready for school, we stand in the hallway and pull on our outdoor clothes together.
My phone’s battery is charged now. I switch it on to see whether anyone has sent me any messages or tried to call me. Juhani has not once tried to contact me, either by calling or by text message. Laura Helanto looks me in the eyes, she says she loves me, then kisses me on the lips.
In the lift on our way to the ground floor, I try to rationalise and make sense of everything I have heard. Unfortunately, my attempts produce nothing but undesirable outcomes.