The Cold Song by Linn Ullmann Read Free Book Online

Siri had picked her up at the bus stop.
    He regarded his daughters. They were jumping back and forth and Liv laughed and lay down in the meadow and made angel wings in the snow, even though it was summer and there wasn’t any snow and she would leave no imprint. Something to hold on to. Something that was real. Alma turned and looked up at the window, but it was so dim in the atticand so bright outside that she could not possibly have seen him standing there looking down at her. Don’t let go. Try to live a decent life. Hold on to my girls. Protect them. Don’t let go.
    And maybe Alma realized that he was standing there looking down at her, because she broke into a wild sort of dance in the tall grass, with her eyes fixed on the window. She spun around and around then suddenly fell down. Jon laughed. Alma got back onto her feet and looked up at him as if she had heard him laughing. Alma’s short dark hair. Alma’s chubby face. Alma’s unformed body. She started spinning again. Around and around and around.
    Jon shifted his gaze, looking for Liv, who was closer to the woods, having found a spot where there were obviously more flowers. Milla was right behind her, together they were picking an enormous bouquet.
    Jon went on standing at the window. But now he wasn’t looking at Alma spinning and falling, or at Liv picking flowers. He was looking at Milla. She had long dark hair and big eyes. A nice body. He had noticed that the evening before. About nineteen or twenty years old. Shy and a little bit awkward. Sweaty palms. Her eyes bright when she shook his hand and said hello. She had held on to his hand a little longer than necessary and something in her eyes told him that, young as she was, she had acknowledged him. And now she was running after Liv with a flower for her bouquet.
    Her body full and young, she had held his hand a little longer than necessary. Something inside him quieted down. It was all going to hell anyway.
    It was fine to just stand here and look at Milla and not think.
    BUT SOMETHING WAS wrong. Siri held her breath. It had to do with Milla. Or something else. But Milla definitely had something to do with it. Her presence here at Mailund. The slightly lumpish body, the long dark hair (long dark hairs on the kitchen counter, in the bathroom sink, between the sofa and the sofa cushions, on the baseboards and doorframes), her face, sometimes pretty, sometimes not, beseeching eyes.
    More and more Siri found herself having to concentrate in order to keep herself in check—was that the expression? Keep oneself in check? Be one. One body, one voice, one mouth, one thread, and not fall apart, dissolve, collapse in a heap.
    “Your main responsibility,” Siri said, “will be to look after Liv for five hours or so every day. But we’d be grateful if you’d keep an eye on Alma as well. Alma’s twelve. She’s”—Siri searched for the right word—”a bit of a loner.”
    Milla laughed hesitantly, brushed the hair back from her pretty moon face, and said that she thought it all sounded really great.
    It was a mild, bright day in May and Siri had invited Milla to the house in Oslo. The idea was for them to get to know each other a little better before the summer. Alma was at school, Liv was at nursery school, and Jon had gone for a longwalk with Leopold. Something about a chapter he was having trouble writing.
    Milla had replied to the ad on the Internet for a summer job and Siri had been taken with her application. In her e-mail she came across as a happy, friendly, reliable girl.
It would be fantastic to get to know all of you and be able to be part of your family this summer.If I get the job I’ll do my best to be a good “big sister” to your daughters so that you and your husband won’t have to worry when you’re at work
.
    Maybe Milla could spread a little happiness? Maybe, Siri had thought, maybe, just maybe there were such things as happiness-spreaders? Siri may also have been influenced, or