When he got home, he took a hot shower, then took out a little of his grandfather’s sourdough starter. He added some flour and kneaded the dough until his arms felt numb. Kneaded and kneaded, as if he were letting out all his pent-up emotions. He put the dough in a bowl, covered it with a kitchen towel, and left it to proof. Then he opened his laptop; he had a promise to keep.
When he told Nora he would help her, he had mentioned compensation from the production company, but he knew that was never going to happen.
He took out his phone and logged on to the Eklunds business account. He was impressed by everything that Nora had achieved. Regardless of what he said during filming, he didn’t know anyone more motivated and hardworking. Her vulnerability had been a complete revelation. When he had placed his hand on hers at Harry’s, he realizedhe was taking a risk, and half expected her to bawl him out. But there had been something wonderful about what they had shared in that moment, and the feeling of her skin beneath his fingertips had affected him in an unexpected way. He had wanted to lean in closer, inhale the smell of her. And that confused him.
Her vulnerability had made her more human, and he liked that. After everything she had gone through, she deserved some help. No one had ever supported Henrik’s dreams, and if he could help someone else, then he was going to do it. As he entered the sum of money, it occurred to him that he probably wouldn’t have done this for any other participant, even if they’d needed it. There was something special about Nora.
21
1945
Tuula went into the butcher’s and was met by the metallic smell of meat. It was chilly in here, a sharp contrast to the early-summer warmth that had swept into the village over the last twenty-four hours. She joined the line; there were only three people in front of her. She was planning to buy a steak and cook it for Aino and Heikki to thank them for watching the children this evening so that she could have dinner with Nils.
She had left Matias at home in the yard, playing marbles with some of the other boys on their street. Ritva, however, was still struggling to make friends. Tuula had found her trying to hide her tears the night before. The children had teased her, and the teacher had done nothing. Tuula was distraught, and the faint spark of hope she had felt was instantly extinguished. Instead, her mind swirled with anxious thoughts as she waited her turn. She had urged Ritva to keep a low profile, keep to herself and avoid the other children, but was their life always going to be like this?
When it was her turn, the assistant turned to a man who stood behind Tuula. “What can I get you, sir?”
The man was confused, and gestured in Tuula’s direction. “I think this lady was before me.”
The assistant ignored Tuula and kept her eyes focused on the man. Tuula had no idea what to do. She eventually stepped back to allow the man to go ahead. She stood there waiting as the assistant served the next customer. And the next.
The insults that were sometimes flung at her in the village were nothing compared to this humiliation. She wanted to protest, but she didn’t want to draw even more attention to herself. Yet that made her despise herself. Why was she accepting this?
Forty minutes later the store was empty, and Tuula walked up to the counter. She cleared her throat. “I’d like a pound of beef, please.”
The assistant still refused to look at her. She began wiping down the counter with a frayed cloth.
“Excuse me,” Tuula ventured, but to no avail. Rage and humiliation surged through her, but Tuula suppressed her feelings. “Excuse me,” she said again, her voice trembling.
At long last the assistant went over to a piece of meat on the shelf behind her, chopped off the end with the most bone and gristle, wrapped it, and weighed it.
The assistant slammed the package down on the counter without making eye contact, then nodded toward the price label to indicate that Tuula could work out the cost for herself. Tuula handed over a coin. She should have received some change, but she couldn’t bear to stay in this woman’s presence for a second longer. She picked up her meat and hurried outside, tears pricking behind her eyelids.
She almost felt like laughing scornfully at herself—how could she have imagined that she and the children would be able to live a normal life here? They would always be regarded as second-class citizens. The fucking Finns weren’t wanted here.
And tonight she was having dinner with Nils Eklund, the golden boy of the village. Who did she think she was?
She turned her face up to the bright summer sun, as if she could burn away her tears. There was no way she could go out with him.
When she got home, Matias was still playing with the boys. Ritva was sitting in the yard doing homework. Tuula hurried upstairs and switched on the oven. She had spent so long at the butcher’s that she was now running late. She placed the beef in a roasting tin, added seasoning, sliced a couple of onions and put them in beside the meat, dotted the whole thing with butter, and put it in the oven. It wasn’t the best cut of beef, but hopefully there would be enough for everyone.
Then she sank down at the kitchen table. She really ought to get ready. Aino had lent her a pair of pumps, and they were standing in the corner like a bad joke. What was the point of wearing nice shoes when everyone thought she was the most repulsive creature in the world?
She had intended to wear her thin cotton dress with the pumps and Aino’s spring coat. She also had some hair curlers that Aino had borrowed from Lydia, and if Aino had time she was going to come down and help her with them.
It was time to do her hair, change her clothes, apply her eyebrow pencil and mascara. A dab of rouge on her cheekbones, a slick of lipstick. The lipstick was one of the last things she had tossed into her suitcase before she left home. She had felt incredibly vain, thinking about lipstick in the middle of a raging war, with a dead husband, and two small children to take care of. But it carried the hope of normality, a faint promise of a life where it might be possible to think of such trivialities.
That hope now seemed very distant.
There was a knock on the door, and she pulled herself together.
A beaming Aino was waiting outside. “Something smells delicious!” she said as she came in.
“There’s a pot roast in the oven—you can take it downstairs if you’d rather eat at home.”
“Thank you! So? Are you excited? I am!” Aino’s smile suddenly vanished. “But you haven’t changed! Or done your hair! I mean, you’rebeautiful as you are, but I thought ... You need to hurry, he’ll be here soon to pick you up.”
“I can’t go.” Tuula swallowed hard. “I’ll have to let him know.”
