Хьелль Аскильдсен - The Dark Blue Winter Overcoat and Other Stories from the North

I know I’ll fall asleep on the living-room settee again before long. Jere will pick up Maija from nursery, I know that. I can rely on him. Then, when I wake up at about seven, I’ll go to the corner shop, fetch another twelve-pack and pass out again in front of the nine o’clock news. The boys understand me, they never seem angry with me, and that makes me ashamed too, ashamed that they still love me.

I met Jani in the car park when I reversed into the back of him. As we stood there arguing about his no-claims bonus, our auras collided and he invited me to McDonald’s for a bite to eat. We drove off, and that’s when everything started. Back then I was still married to Lari and he was with Susse. I’ve got three boys and a Labrador called Saku, and Jani’s got three girls and Lilli the golden retriever. Jani is six foot three, he was into diving and spoke fluent English.

Our relationship got off to a flying start. Jani filed for a divorce and expected me to do the same. Hold on, I said. We’ll see about that. As a realist, I wanted to be sure of a few things first. I asked Jani for Susse’s phone number. He looked a bit confused and asked why I needed it. I said, I’m not buying a pig in a poke.

I rang Susse and we agreed to meet at the work canteen. As soon as I saw her, I felt like we’d known each other since we were kids. I asked her straight out if she had anything against me. She said she might have had once, but not any more because she can tell I’m a kindred spirit. We agreed to work together. I asked her to list all Jani’s good and bad points. There were thirteen good points and only one bad one. He’s a total junkie—an endorphin junkie. He can’t survive a day without a twenty-mile run. If he can’t get out for a run, he turns into a right pain in the backside, Susse explained. Fine, I said, I can deal with that.

After that we talked about the practical side of things. We started with the kids, because divorces have a habit of affecting them the most. We agreed to look after the children together because we had virtually identical ideas about child-rearing. Three boys and three girls make for a perfect match. We shared all Christmas, Easter and half-term holidays. Then it was time to talk about the dogs. Diet, training regimes and agility competitions. We had things wrapped up soon enough. Susse asked if she could keep the house she’d shared with Jani. Sure, I said, Jani can move in with me and Lari can rent himself something cheap out in the suburbs.

As soon as the divorces came through, Jani and I got married. Lari didn’t want to move out because he’d become best mates with Jani and they’d started going running together. They were always off somewhere, training for marathons in New York, Berlin, you name it. I began to feel quite lonely because the guys were always away together, so eventually Susse and the kids moved into our place. First, she and I started dating each other, then a few months later Lari and Jani came out of the closet. Now we all live together in one big, wonderful blended family of four adults, six children and two dogs, and everything’s going just brilliantly. And we’ll soon have a new addition to the family too: Saku and Lilli are expecting sextuplets!

First I got the sack, because they were streamlining at work, downsizing, consolidating, cutting back or whatever they called it. I looked for a new job for a couple of years; I even went to three interviews, but it didn’t work out. That was my first strike. I was on unemployment benefit, so I wasn’t in any trouble at first. The missus worked on a construction site; I sat in the pub all day. I liked the booze, and that was my second strike. Before long the unemployment benefit ran out too and I had to sign on. The missus told me to take a hike, said she wasn’t going to work all day just to keep me in drink. I didn’t want a fight, so I left. That was my third strike. Once I was homeless, I started drinking even more, living on people’s couches. Thank God, I had a car. I parked at the petrol station near Sörnäinen harbour and slept there all summer. Things were fine for a few months, but when autumn came round, it started to rain, and one day when I came back from the pub, the car was gone. I went over to the gypsy camp near the petrol station and asked if they knew anything about it. One of them said a pickup truck had turned up and towed me motor to buggery. I didn’t have the cash to reclaim it, and things quickly went from bad to worse. With the help of some hard Russian liquor, I hospitalized myself in the space of eight months. The quack said me pancreas had given up the ghost and I had two options: it’s either a coffin or an AA group. Three strikes and you’re out, mate. I chose the latter because I figured the AA might buy me some time. I’ve been clean for two years, three months, nine days and fifty-four minutes now, but right now I’m going to open a bottle of cut brandy and empty it down me gullet.

Sometimes you wake up in the morning, you feel like shit, and you just know it’s going to be a bad day, so normally I don’t bother getting out of bed at all, I just sleep all day. On days like that, Lauri takes care of Otto. He knows how to open the fridge so that Otto can reach his feeding bottle. When Otto starts whining, Lauri opens the balcony door so that he can crawl outside. I’ve put a box out there with all the plastic toys that won’t go mouldy. He plays with them by himself or with Lauri. Otto already knows to throw the ball where I’ve hidden pieces of cheese, and Lauri fetches it for him. On bad days I feel like I can’t do anything because I’ve got Otto. I can’t concentrate on making the tea, cleaning, listening to music, can’t be bothered going on the PlayStation or fiddling with my phone or even watching reality TV. On bad days I just think the flat’s a tip, the neighbourhood’s a dump, and I’ll probably die soon of all the rush and the stress of keeping our little family together, I’m just another fucking loser who can’t even be bothered to queue up for my benefits. On bad days I feel like my quality of life is so rough in this shitty world that I might as well stick two fingers up to the lot of it.

When I feel good from the word go, I know it’s going to be a good day. I get up, have a shower, wipe Otto’s bum and change his nappy, put some food in Lauri’s bowl and head out for the queues. First, I walk past the wellness centre, get the bus to Kallio and head for the job centre. While I’m waiting in the queue there, I chat to the other mums about the kids’ ear infections and the rotavirus. From there I move on to the social. I tend to keep my head down there, mostly because there are so many junkies around. I don’t want anyone to attack me or Otto. The final stop of the day is the food bank. Otto enjoys it there because he gets to see his friends. On good days the volunteers might give me an extra packet of coffee or some washing powder so I can do the laundry. On bad days there’s a busload of Russian tourists there too, turning their noses up at the packets of oat flakes because they don’t realize how healthy porridge is. Days like that are pretty rare though, thank God. On good days I make a healthy meal, use vegetable oil instead of butter, take Otto to the playground and stand there watching him instead of sitting on the bench. On good days I think I’ve got nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be fine.

I feel in love with Jore the minute he said he’d give me a lift to the Metro station after work. I’d never met a guy as down-to-earth as that. It wasn’t long before I was expecting Jani, and once he was born I was over the moon. Jore wasn’t much interested in family life, he preferred to spend all his spare time down the pub, so we split up. I met Fiude when I was on the Metro, coming home shit-faced after a night on the town. When he heard I had a kid with another bloke, he said straight up, it’s me or the boy. I thought about it for a couple of minutes and said I could always hand Jani over to the social services. And so Jani was sent off to a foster family in Lempäälä, and me and Fiude had a bundle of fun. We travelled a lot, went to Hamina, Tampere, and once we even got as far as the Canaries. I was as free as a bird and Fiude was really sweet, and before long I was expecting Tina. By the time Tina was born, Fiude had already found himself another bit of skirt on the beach at Hietaniemi and taken a hike. I was pissed off, but thank God, I met Tike. He comforted me, helped me with the transition into my new life, but he got bored before long. We never get a chance to do anything, he said, because everywhere we go the kid’s always hanging round. I’d had enough of him moaning all the time, so I handed Tina over to the social services. After that, me and Tike were happy for about two years. After a while, though, I started to feel like I’d had enough of freedom, and I wanted the kids to come back home. I told Tike to sling his hook, and he didn’t put up a fight. I went back to the social services and screamed that I wanted my kids back, said I’d top myself if I couldn’t have them back home with me. That was the beginning of a crazy legal battle. I fought with the authorities for a full nine months before they agreed to return the kids. When I picked them up, Jani and Tina didn’t recognize me. They’d forgotten me, but I hadn’t forgotten them. They cried all day long, saying they wanted to go home. Enough of that whingeing, I said, I’m your real mum and this is your home! Eventually the kids got used to me, and sometimes we even had quite a nice time. Then one day, down at the corner shop, Veke looked my way and that was it. Veke liked kids, but he didn’t get on with Jani and Tina. I spent a whole week thinking about what to do: do I choose him or the kids? I chose Veke and took the kids back to social services. These two are so damaged I doubt anyone could put up with them, I said, those foster families have turned my lovely, sweet children into right little monsters. I left the children at the social, and me and Veke moved into a flat in the suburbs. We’ve got loads in common—we’ve got the same sense of humour and we both like blancmange and double cheeseburgers. Sometimes he threatens to leave me because I’m so fat. I don’t believe him. I’ve got a feeling our love is going to last forever. There’s nothing can get in the way of my happiness now.