Chapter Text
Later Sofia often asks herself if Nurmi hadn’t insisted on going after her, would he still have been in danger? Her gut says yes, but perhaps the choice for her might not have been so black and white. Though if he hadn’t come after her, would she have been able to save Emil on her own? And what if he hadn’t had the foresight to wear a vest?
When she points the gun at him and fires, she doesn’t know, and truth to tell, she doesn’t care. As he gasps out, and stumbles, she thinks she hears him say ’Sofia’. With his dying breath he calls her by her name. One of us will leave, the other stay. And my heart can’t bear the pain.
It’s a song, but she can’t remember where she’s heard it before. She fires again.
_________
Rautamaa insists that Sofia takes time off, books an appointment with the police psychotherapist before going back in to the field. Those few days soon fly by, taken up with finding a new school for Emil, now he’s back home with her in Helsinki, as well as arranging counselling for the boy. She thinks he needs it more than she does: events have left him traumatised, as if he hadn’t been having enough problems before the kidnapping. Lauri, too, demands her attention. He is out of hospital, determined to continue living independently, but his ongoing care is a worry.
She has no time to think of Nurmi. He looks terrible, whip thin, cheekbones standing out against sunken eyes. Whatever was wrong with him the night she caught him sobbing on her landing is still not right, but she dare not call him out on it, she does not want to know, doubting that she has the strength to deal with his answer. And she has no idea how she can ever repay the debt she owes him.
Her dilemma is not made easier by the fact that Nurmi’s home has been destroyed, and he is sleeping in Henna’s old room. They haven’t kissed again since the night of the shooting. She wonders about inviting him to share her bed, thoughts haunting her that what she feels for him is more than fondness. Love is too big a word for it, too much and at the same time not enough. She worries that if she gives rein to the raw sensuality that simmers between them, it will overwhelm her, carry her away from all she knows and trusts, the few certainties she has been able to hold on to in her life.
The thread that binds them together is fragile, could still crumble to dust, leaving nothing but the hope of what might have been.
In any case, going to bed with him is out of the question. Emil still has nightmares about Paarma, is still frightened to sleep alone, still needs his mother. In a strange way, he needs Nurmi too. He has a resilience about him that belies his haggard appearance, a buoyancy that keeps the three of them afloat in this peculiar ménage à trois. He cooks for them in the evening, plays video games with Emil or, often, talks quietly to the boy about how he’s doing and how he feels about what happened to him.
He doesn’t seem to want to talk to her in the same way. They exist in the same space, they talk, and yet they say nothing that matters. The thought makes her shudder, but it’s almost like a marriage on which the tide has gone out, like the stalemate that once existed between her and Jussi.
_________
Sakari’s been confused, since the shooting. She tiptoes around him, blows hot and cold, more hot than cold most of the time he has to admit, but then she backs off. Sofia Karppi is the bravest woman he’s ever known, fearless to the point of recklessness, yet it is as if she’s afraid of him, as if she thinks they might both spontaneously combust were they actually to kiss again. Now and again he catches her looking at him and, well, it rips at his gut, he wants to take her in his arms, to imprint himself upon her, to reassure her. To feel her skin warm against his. To bury his face in her hair and drown in her sweet scent. To hear her cry out his name. To lose himself in her soft flesh yielding under his touch.
He wants this, yet there are all sorts of reasons for not giving in to that yearning. He knows she feels bad about what she did to him. Her anguish is palpable, she would smother him with atonement. And she still carries the battle-scars of her marriage. While she may trust him with her life, until Sofia has come to terms with her loss, he knows she will never trust him fully with her heart.
It is ironic that after so many empty months apart they are to all intent and purpose living together. They exist in the same space, they breathe the same air, but their lives are still separated by a polite distance. It is easier for Sakari to talk to Emil than it is to the boy’s mother. The kid is remarkably resilient considering what he has been through, though he is understandably still nervous and doesn’t like to sleep alone. He asks once if he can sleep with Sakari, but he refuses, explaining firmly that Sofia needs Emil to look after her, as much as Emil needs her. It is the right thing to say, the boy visibly grows, puffing up with pride at being the man of the house, no longer just a dependent child.
________________
He finds a tiny rental apartment, a bolthole, and Sofia helps him move in. There’s not much to salvage from the wreckage of the flat in Kruununhaka, and unpacking his meagre belongings is a dispiriting business. She has donated a few spare items of her own, but even these fail to brighten their spartan surroundings.
”Don’t you have any mementoes?” Sofia asks. ”Like photographs, or knick-knacks? Books you read when you were a kid? A teddy bear?”
His face says it all, but it is hard to believe he never owned a cuddly toy of any sort.
”Do you?”
”My Moomin still sits on the dresser in my bedroom. But even that came from my mother’s house. That’s been mine since I was Emil’s age.”
”That’s nice,” he murmurs in a noncommittal way that sounds like he doesn’t really understand that kind of connection to the past. Even if it’s a past that wasn’t always happy, it’s still there, a tangible link to where she came from.
”I gave my Action Man comics to Emil,” he says. ”Does he still have them?”
”He treasures them. You know Emil, he can be quite offhand, sometimes, but he knew he was honoured to receive such a gift.”
Nurmi’s eyes light up. ”I’m glad he appreciates them. My grandmother gave me those.” He looks round the bare flat, gives her a tight-lipped smile. ”I’ve never really set much store by material possessions. They’re mostly replaceable.”
The words he leaves unsaid gather like stones in Sofia’s gut. We can’t ever replace the people we lose.
”What was your grandmother like?”
She has never tried to press him on who he is, what makes him tick. Part of it is down to his reserve, the keep off signs, the warning light that flashes in his eye when she gets too close to matters relating to his inner life. With most people, she would regard those signals as a challenge, an invitation to dig deeper, but with Nurmi, she has effectively tutored herself not to ask. All she knows is what he, over time, has chosen to tell her. She still struggles to read him. I should know him better, after all this time, she thinks.
”She was a very strong woman. Actually, I do have a picture of her.” Nurmi rummages distractedly in one of the few boxes they have brought from Kruununhaka and hands her a small framed photograph. A petite older woman with elegantly styled white hair gazes proudly up at a young man who has his arm round her shoulder. He is outrageously good-looking, film-star handsome. A shock of summer-bleached hair is pushed back from his forehead by his sunglasses; a broad, toothy grin sits between dimpled cheeks; and the familiar, unmistakable dazzling blue eyes shine out at her.
”What are you smiling at?” He comes closer to her to peer at the photo, so close she feels his warm breath tickling her face, can smell the woody undertones of his aftershave.
”How old were you?” Sofia is mesmerised by the boy’s smile, an expression of such promise, of optimism for the future. When she turns from the picture to look up at him, she is surprised to see a smile playing on his lips, the dimples forming just above the neat stubble line. She draws in a sharp breath. Sometimes she forgets just how damned attractive Sakari Nurmi is.
They each gaze at the other, lips parted, for just a beat too long before he answers, breaking the spell.
”About nineteen. I’d just wormed my way out of going to medical school by answering the call-up.”
”Aijaa.” She recalls he told her he didn’t sit his exam, but not why. ”Who took the photograph?”
”Why do you ask?”
”No reason. You look so relaxed, I figured it must have been someone you liked.”
He takes it from her and puts it not on display, but back in the box. ”Must’ve been Tuomo,” he mutters. Seeing her eyebrows raise, he adds, ”a family friend.”
_____________
As they fall back into the routine of work, the air between them grows less stultifying. Though it has to be the smallest apartment in Helsinki and he tells himself it is a relief to have his own space again, Sakari is inevitably drawn back to Merihaka, where a new habit establishes itself. Sometimes he lingers too long over a late night glass of whisky and ends up staying the night, a kiss never seeming far away. Yet neither he nor Sofia is ready to take the first step across the chasm that divides them: it’s just a bridge too far.
____________
“What difference does it make?” she asks. “Leo still needs a father.”
He doesn’t know what to say. I don’t have a father. Emil doesn’t. Hell, you don’t.
Sofia has never known who her father was, never had anyone she could call a father figure. He thinks it’s why she always tries so hard, too hard sometimes, to be mother and father to her kids. And to me and now Leo as well.
She’s wrapping her arms around him, knocking all the breath out of him, a full on everything’s-gonna-be-all-right hug, while all these thoughts are still rattling around in his brain. How the fuck am I ever going to be able to tell her?
The test result hasn’t come as a complete surprise. When the adoption services adviser show him Leo’s birth registration, he’s realised immediately that the boy was several months older than Laura had led him to believe and well, it doesn’t take a genius to do the arithmetic, though by that time he has already agreed to take the DNA test.
He has to ask the question.
”What if I’m not the boy’s biological father?”
”You think that’s a possibility?”
”His mother’s life was…unsettled.”
”Are you aware of anyone else who might be the father?”
Sakari shakes his head.
”Our first step would be to make every effort to identify him. Failing that we would investigate her family background, see whether any other kin is likely to come forward. Assuming there is no one, you may be able to apply for adoption.”
”Is that even an option? I mean, I’m not married.”
Registering the look of bewilderment on Sakari’s face, the social services adviser offers to explain the process.
”It’s set out by law, and is intended to secure balanced development and well-being for a child who cannot grow up in his or her own family. Where possible, the consent of the child’s parents or legal guardian to adoption is required. And the person wishing to adopt has to demonstrate that they are able to provide appropriate care by undergoing adoption counselling.”
Sakari swallows hard. ”What does that entail?”
”Well, for a start, we would want to understand your own background. Not just your financial situation and your general health, but also your family circumstances. Who the people in your life are who would form part of the child’s support network.”
Sakara nods, he can understand this. The process sounds every bit as intrusive as he feared. Hopefully they’ll never find out about his drug use, but his total lack of any family connections whatsoever will not look good on paper.
The adviser continues. ”As you are single, we would also take into consideration any relationships, or whether you are likely to enter into a relationship. In particular, it is important that the child should have access to a representative to an appropriate extent of both genders. The counselling process should clarify in particular who would be important people of the opposite sex in the child’s life.”
Sakari’s heart is sinking fast. He grieves for the little boy, but he has to question his own suitability as an adoptive parent. He will fail miserably on most counts as required by law, even though it is considered acceptable for biological parents, including single parents, to muddle through as best they can. Consider Sofia’s situation.
Oh fuck.
It goes without saying that Sofia would be his choice as his person of the opposite gender, a role model for the little orphaned boy. But whether adoption services would allow it is an entirely different matter: one child has already been removed from her care by child protection services and the other has just come out of prison. He just can’t see it happening.
He feels Karppi’s arms tightening round him, and he hugs back, glad that she cannot see his face. He is about to own up, to admit that he’s not sure whether he is relieved or disappointed at the news. He can at least explain to her that going for adoption rather than paternal custody is just too long and too complicated; and may not even be successful; and that he doesn’t think he can go through with it.
The radio crackles from the car and JP is summoning them to a crime scene.
They break the hug, and Karppi is smiling at him, her eyes shining. Sakari can’t quite return the smile.