Memory of Love (9781101603024) by Linda Olsson Page B

of utter vulnerability. I left the door open when I went out to put the kettle on and change into dry clothes.
    Later I sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea trying to sort my tumultuous thoughts. I had never enquired about his family, other than to ensure that they knew where he was when he was at my house. He had never volunteered any information, just nodded or shaken his head in response to my questions. I realised now that I knew nothing about his life.
    There must be someone I should ring. Someone who would be worried. Someone who must have missed him by now. It was late and darkness was falling rapidly.
    The professional part of me must have known what to do, but there was a primitive part that refused to listen. A part of me that instinctively just wanted to protect him. Make sure he was safe. And never let him out of my sight again.
    Yet I knew that I could not just keep him without letting the family know. It was just not possible.
    I didn’t even know his surname, and I only had a vague idea where he lived.
    I returned to the living room and dropped down on the sofa, wrapping a blanket around me. As if he sensed that I was cold, Kasper jumped up and lay down beside me.
    I had no idea what to do.
    Finally I picked up the phone and rang George. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I was hoping to achieve, but I rang him. He took a while to answer and when he did he sounded hesitant, as if the sound of the phone had surprised him. Over the years I had rung him a dozen times at the most. And never in the evening. Almost all our previous communications had been face to face. So this felt distinctly awkward to begin with. But George listened and asked no questions. I volunteered only the bare facts. That I had found Ika in the sea. That he was asleep and would be better off staying with me overnight. And that I didn’t know whom to contact.
    George knew who Ika was. I got the impression he knew about us, about our Thursday meals together, though he didn’t say so. Perhaps it was common knowledge. What did I know? Again, I had that sense of being slightly handicapped, an outsider who hadn’t quite grasped this community’s unwritten rules of conduct. Others knew all about me, while I knew virtually nothing about them.
    George also knew where Ika lived, knew of the family. Not that it was much of a family. Ika lived with his grandmother, apparently. George promised to drive over and talk to her, and then ring me back. I told him Ika was fine, and that I was happy to keep him overnight.
    I went to the kitchen and made another cup of tea, turned on some music at low volume and returned to the sofa. I must have dozed off because I felt disoriented for a moment before I realised the phone was ringing.
    George had talked to the grandmother. He cleared his throat and seemed to hesitate for a moment before he continued.
    â€˜She is not concerned. Happy for him to stay with you till tomorrow . . .’ I felt that there was more he wanted to say, but he left the line silent.
    â€˜Should I call her, do you think?’ I asked.
    Again that awkward silence.
    â€˜No . . .’ Pause. ‘No, she doesn’t expect you to.’ Another pause. ‘No need to ring.’ Silence. ‘I’ll come over in the morning. I can take the boy home then, if you like.’
    Somehow I got the feeling he didn’t want me to meet the grandmother. There were things I wanted to talk to her about, questions I wanted to ask. But I decided to leave it till the following day.
    So, I just thanked him and hung up.
    I tiptoed into the bedroom and checked on Ika. I stood at the foot of the bed and watched his face. He was lying on his back and his face was calm, his breath hardly audible. Now I thought he looked ancient. Like a person at the end of his life. Wise, as if he were above or beyond this world. I bent down and put my cheek on the blanket over his chest, let it brush against