Collected Works by Lydia Sandgren

Author:Lydia Sandgren [Sandgren, Lydia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC000000 Fiction / General
Publisher: Astra Publishing House
Published: 2023-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

• • •

After a couple of weeks, she stopped answering her phone. He called and called for days, but the signals might as well have been relayed straight into space.

Just as he was pondering whether to write her a letter, Per came home and asked if Martin wanted to go with him to a mate’s house for a drink. Martin was disinclined until he realized which mate Per was referring to: the stuck-up photographer.

All three of them went. Per had aced an essay and was trying to cheer up Gustav, who was still low. Martin walked half a pace behind them and said little.

They got there. They rang the doorbell.

It was almost too much to hope for.

But there she was. He recognized the back of her neck immediately. She turned to see who had just arrived, but because Martin was trying hard to pretend he hadn’t noticed her, he missed her facial expression.

After a while, she came over. They kissed each other on the cheek, made small talk. Martin felt Gustav’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

“I’ve been calling you,” he said when he was sure Gustav couldn’t overhear.

She stared into her glass. “I’ve been away.”

Of course. So simple.

And then he asked where and she said La Rochelle, and she asked if he’d written more of le roman, and he said Oui, naturellement, and she asked if it was about her, and time passed both very quickly and very slowly, and he gazed into her eyes, brown and moist, and the future seemed, in that moment, physically tangible, he saw her pull her sweater over her head, every day, every morning, felt puzzle pieces fall into place, and for a second, Cecilia’s face flashed past, but he pretended not to see it, what happens in Paris stays in Paris, oh my god, I have to be allowed to live, don’t I, you’re only young once, sometimes you have to just take the plunge.

“Maybe,” he said.

Per left early, but Gustav insisted on staying. He sat in the kitchen, rolling cigarettes, drinking vodka and discussing art. And then he’d suddenly called a taxi and was telling Martin it was time to go, and Martin felt his body got up off the sofa where he’d been talking to Diane and some other people.

He gave Diane and the others some kind of farewell salute.

“À la prochaine,” he said and then they were on the steps, on the street.

Is it about me?

He could wait.

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