Runes
By
Janet Baldey
“Do you see that lady
over there?”
Margie followed the line of the Nurse’s
pointing finger to where a figure was slumped in a wheelchair. Covered by a
brightly coloured blanket, with only a tuft of white hair showing, its sex was
difficult to determine but she trusted the nurse’s word.
“You’d never guess, but that’s Lorna Lane’s twin
sister.”
“What the film star? Can’t be!” Another
figure flashed into Margie’s mind, slim and lithe with masses of platinum hair.
“True, we checked it out. When she’s
awake, have a chat. She loves to talk.”
***
My wretched body might be past it, but I
still have all my faculties and I smiled to myself as I overheard their
conversation. It was, I conceded, very
difficult to believe but I felt too sleepy to care. Two heavy weights pressed down on my eyelids,
the smell of disinfectant disappeared and the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon
rolls took its place as the clamour of the room faded and I fell back into a
past that I barely remembered but would never entirely forget.
My twin and I are half Swedish and when we were
young, we always spent Christmas with my mother’s sister in a tiny village just
outside Stockholm.
Again, I clearly felt rough wool
scratching my chin as mamma buttoned me into my thick winter coat ready for the
long journey into the frozen Swedish countryside.
Aunt
Saga’s cottage was spotlessly clean and so crowded with old fashioned pine
furniture that a journey between rooms was like an obstacle course. My Aunt was very like my mother, maternal and
loving and after our hugs and kisses, she lost no time in ushering us into the
warmth of her kitchen where we were revived by strong coffee and gingerbread
biscuits.
“Don’t
treat us like guests, we’re family.” Mamma always said and very soon, we were
up to our elbows in food, preparing the enormous julbard smorgasbord traditionally
served on Christmas Eve.
In Sweden, presents are handed out
after dark when everyone is stuffed full of smoked fish, cold and hot meats,
salads or the spiced meatballs that were always my particular favourite. But I
was a naughty and impatient child and couldn’t wait to get my gifts. I always
remember staring out of the latticed windows wishing the remains of the day
away. So, one year while the rest of the
family were in the kitchen hoovering up the smorgasbord and quaffing spiced
eggnog, I rebelled. Like a bandit, I
crept into the room where the Christmas tree sparkled in a corner surrounded by
a huge pile of presents. My hands
fluttering like hummingbirds, I skimmed through them until I found those
marked with my name, Ebba. From their
feel, I could guess most of them, books, games, or sweets but there was one
that intrigued me. It was from Aunt Saga
and rattled when I shook it. With a
stealthy look towards the door, I carefully undid the wrapping and took a peek.
I can still feel the sense of crushing disappointment. The brightly covered
package merely contained little pieces of wood with strange marks on them. They
looked a bit like five-stones, but I already had those and was bored by them.
It
was a dull present and I wondered what Astrid had got. I stopped and listened. I could hear the raucous sound of singing, strong
drink was obviously being served and it was plain that nobody would notice my
absence for some time. So, I searched on until I found it. Astrid’s gift was shaped like a doll and seemed
much more exciting. I hesitated but only for a second, then knowing I shouldn’t
but doing it anyway, I switched labels and scurried back to the dining room.
It
turned out that my parcel didn’t contain a doll but a fluffy white haired Tomte,
a Swedish gnome supposed to guard the household if treated respectfully. Tomte
was dressed in his usual scarlet tunic and was way better than scrappy old bits
of wood so I was satisfied. Out of the
corner of my eye, I watched as Astrid undid her parcel. Instead of looking
disappointed, she seemed curious and looked towards Aunt Saga. With a slightly
puzzled frown, Aunt beckoned her into another room but I didn’t give them another
thought, I was too busy ripping off wrapping paper.
The
years went by and I forgot all about Tomte, stuffed into the back of a dusty
cupboard. But during that time, I
noticed something strange. It seemed that Astrid could do no wrong and I could
do no right. While my blonde hair darkened to mouse and acne marred my looks,
Astrid’s hair shone like gold and her complexion remained flawless. At school, I struggled, while Astrid romped
ahead. She always seemed to know the
right questions to revise and invariably got top marks; it wasn’t long before
she became Head Girl. After school, she opted for an acting career. She changed her name from Astrid Smith to Lorna Lane and
always seemed to be in the right place at the right time when choice parts were
handed out. She quickly became famous when, quite by
chance, she crossed the path of a well-known film director casting for the
female lead in his latest blockbuster. Later, in a blaze of limelight, she
married a wealthy man who adored her and moved her to a luxurious home in Hollywood where her star
continued to rise.
Meanwhile,
I had no luck at all. I was stuck under
a permanent cloud. Just occasionally, the cloud lifted and a weak beam of
sunlight struggled through, but mostly I was rained on from a great
height. Fed up with the attention Astrid
got at school, I mixed with the wrong crowd and skipped lessons. Instead of
studying, I spent my weekends in the mosh pit jumping up and down to the sound
of discordant music. My parents tried to stop me by locking me in my bedroom,
but what are windows for?
Of
course, I failed my exams and entered the workplace with no
qualifications. Eventually, I
found a dead-end job and worked for a pittance under the sadistic control of a
fat-arsed pig of a manager. Our hatred was mutual. He called me pizza-face and
gave me all the worst jobs and I once put salt in his coffee.
Fed
up with my moaning, Dad, who came from England,
said that perhaps I’d stand a better chance in London. He still had some connections, so he
got me a job as a waitress in a big hotel.
The work was hard on the feet but there was plenty of it and the tips
were good. The trouble was, the rents were sky-high so although I only rented
one room in a squalid shared house, I still had to paddle hard to stay afloat. Then the heavens opened again
and once more I was drenched. Covid
arrived and the hotel was forced to close.
Out
of a job, no money, the streets beckoned but then the cavalry galloped
into town. After a long and happy life, Aunt
Saga died. I was sad but the legacy she
left me soon dried my tears. For the first time in my life, I had money in my
pocket.
It
was soon after that I met the love of my life. Tony was tall, dark and handsome and better
than that, he vowed he adored me. He actually vowed many things and one of them
was that he could make my money grow.
“Your
money will be safe with me,” he said. It
may well have been, but how was I to know because as soon as I gave him my PIN
number, Tony disappeared. along with the contents of my bank balance. I learned later that he was already married
with a wife burdened with a litter of children somewhere in the depths of Essex. I can only
hope, for the sake of the gullible, that none of his children inherited his
criminal gene.
So,
then I really did end up in the concrete embrace of London’s pavements and believe you me, being
on the streets does nothing for your health, which is the reason I’m here now.
But I
don’t want you to think I blame Astrid.
It was my own fault for switching labels all those years ago. We were reunited recently and after we’d dried
each other’s tears, I learned why she’d been so lucky all her life.
“It
wasn’t luck. I’ve got Aunt Saga to thank
for my good fortune. Do you remember that Christmas when you got Tomte and I
got those bits of wood? They are called
Runestones and she told me how to use them afterwards. Apparently, only some people can. You need the gift. Funnily enough, she always
thought you had it. You were meant to get them Ebba but she muddled up the
labels. Anyway, casting the Runes is
very complicated but I managed it in the end.
Afterwards, every time I had to make a decision or came to a cross-road
in my life, I relied on them. They told me what path to take and never failed
me. So, you see, I’ve got dear Aunt Saga
to thank for my good luck.”
“Oh no, Astrid. You’re wrong there. It’s me you have to thank.” I thought. But
I didn’t say anything. I may not have much but I still have my pride.
Recently
though, another thought has occurred to me. Perhaps my bad luck was not due to
the Runestones. Perhaps they only work
for Astrid. Perhaps it was because of Tomte.
Perhaps Tomte had a grudge against me for leaving him in the dark for all those
years with only bits of broken toys for company? But maybe he has forgiven me
now ‘cos Astrid is being very kind to me.
After I leave hospital she has arranged for me to stay with her, so I
will get to see Hollywood
after all.
I do
hope I like it.
Copyright Janet Baldey
By Rosemary Clarke
