Page 78 of The Happiness Blueprint
Saga: ?
I type back:
Me: Klara is dead. You’re next. Best, Spider.
“Not funny,” Saga says as she appears from the bathroom five minutes later, her hair in a navy blue towel turban that makes her eyes even bluer.
“Well, the spider would agree with you. He’s now a squashed shadow of his former self inside a tissue in the kitchen garbage.” Saga looks suspiciously at the kitchen cupboard that hides the bin but decides not to worry about spider ghosts and grabs a cup from the shelf.
“Can’t tell you how nice this is. Coffee that’s hot. The problem with cold coffee is not the taste but how it reminds you of the fact that you are not on top of things,” Saga tells me as she cradles the Stuttgart University–logo mug with her whole hand. “If you don’t have time to finish a beverage while it’s hot then—pardon my language—you are screwed in terms of that famous work–life balance. This is the first time in months I’ve burned my tongue on coffee,” she adds for clarity. Then she closes her laptop and eyes me up and down. I’m suddenly aware of the three-day-old joggers with holes on the thighs and the rest of my braless look.
“This isbad.It’s time we got you out of the house properly. I’ve booked us horse riding tomorrow,” Saga says. “And I have questions about bathrooms. We need you back at work to do a proper handover to Gunnar and Hanna.”
“I have paperwork to catch up on. And we have Dad. And I was planning to bake something and to paint my toenails.”
“Oh, because you’ve been so productive lately? I’m pretty sure you just made those plans up.”
“I’m a bad liar. Doesn’t mean I should be punished with team-building exercises,” I mutter, longing for the upstairs.
“It will be fun. When was the last time you and I did something together that didn’t involve analyzing an MRI scan or working out how to make tiles look appealing on Instagram? Please.” She does have a point. When was the last time I did something just for me? My hobbies are confined to tidying the living room and stacking the dishwasher.
I think of the warm nuzzle of an Icelandic pony nibbling at my hand for a treat and putting my nose to its mane and breathing in the smell. Horses smell earthy and ground you. You can’t breathe shallowly when you have the musky smell of horse around you.
“I’m certain scrolling on your phone has a negative impact on both balance and the nature experience,” I say to Saga, who is holding her reins with one hand and her phone with the other. Her horse walks calmly along the path, with mine next to it. My horse is called Pontus and is brown; Saga’s is called Vega and is white.
Saga keeps fiddling on her phone, and I think that it seems less about getting me out of the house than whatever she is doing on the phone. I’m just about to look through my mental library for a snarky remark when I realize her distance could mean many things, not just that she is ignoring me. I wonder if I should ask Saga something likeAre you okay?It seems to be the helpful phrase when you get that nagging feeling of worry that I’ve just identified. But then I remember how she usually sneers and makes faces at questions like that. So I instead put down some ground rules for our afternoon together.
“No phones for an hour. I will even put mine on Silent too, which you know very well I dislike.” It’s not easy to talk when you ride a horse. She turns her torso back to me while bouncing along, and her speech comes out stuttered. I lean forward over my horse’s mane to catch the words.
“Fine.” She pops it in her pocket and puts her hood over her helmet. It’s started to drizzle ever so slightly. I know this to be the start of something.
I’m right: water soon falls on us in a steady supply. Not the polite drizzle you have in England but a rude, heavy rainfall. The wind also seems to be picking up. My hair is escaping its elastic-band constraint hair by hair, and there is a wailing noise in my ear.Great.
“Why are you muttering? You have a raincoat on.” Saga’s voice is almost drowned out by gusts of wind.
“I’m not two, and this is not a muddy puddle. Most adults don’t enjoy being soaked by freezing water,” I say.
“There is no such thing as inclement weather—just inappropriate clothing.” Gosh, she sounds likeMum.Or any other Swedish parent. This is an actual, established Swedish saying. One that kids are peppered with when they are told to take the bike to football training, go out at recess or clean the front yard in the middle of a snowstorm.There is no bad weather...
“Do you think we should turn back?” I shout to Saga, having to ask the horse to trot faster to even be heard.
“We’ve paid for two hours!”
“God help us if we would return even a minute before that, then.” I would usually do the same. I like to keep end times—they are useful. Bookings and activities are great like that. Kids’ parties have a start time and an end time. When you’re an adult you enter one massive gray zone. Really, the only reason I dislike dinner parties is that I’m not sure when the guests will leave, and hence, I’m not sure when I can turn the music off, wash my face and teeth, and go to bed. I do like having Alice’s family over because they live outside London and have to catch the last train home—the 10:14.
“Klara, just stop talking, will you?”
“I won’t stop. Let’s have a good time. You wanted team-building? Well, let’s build this team of sisters!”
“No, seriously—just stop talking. Because I think we’re lost. Give me the number for the riding center,” Saga says, hand outstretched as if collecting rent.
“You organized this, didn’t you?”
“Thanks, you’ve been a huge help,” she sighs, pouts and then straightens up reassuming her composure. We both rummage through pockets for a business card with a horse on it. Contents of mine: a measuring tape, dirt, blood-glucose kit, a lollipop and a few nails. Hers: a pack of tissues, lip gloss and a hair band, the plastic spiral one that doesn’t ruin the hair. Nope. Nothing.
I don’t point out that this was her idea. That she was in the lead or that it was a fight initiated by her that made me lose my sense of direction. I stamp angrily at a puddle on the ground and hold on to the reins of both our horses. As she shields her phone with one hand she tries to make out what Google Maps has to say. I know Google better than her.
“It won’t work here. There are no roads drawn up.”
