Una, Unwanted E-Book

Elin F. Styve

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 233

Beschreibung

When Una, a child of infidelity, as an adult decides to do everything she can to reunite with her father, it is with a sense that something important is missing in her life. The father is the well-known self-help expert MotivaTor, and Una follows everything he does through YouTube and social media. Inspired by his encouraging life advice, she finds the courage to seek him out to become a part of his life, despite warnings from those closest to her. MotivaTor's inflated self-image is nourished by the admiration he receives from his audience, but does it reflect his actual life and personality? Along the way in her quest for her father, Una realizes that everything she has dreamed of looks different than what she expected. When she gets to know her half-brother Kalle, her faith in her father takes a dramatic turn, and she makes a decisive choice. A dark feel-good with Scandinavian flavour. Released in Norway in 2022, with brilliant reviews nationally. "Recommended! Compelling storytelling, well-written, constructed as a psychological drama. Sharp satire and themes for reflection - with just the right glimpses of astronomy and philosophy." "Poignant, witty, and exciting all at once. The characters come across as vivid, nuanced, and credible in their pursuit of success in their lives. When one of the main characters simply works as a "MotivaTor," it sheds clear light on the self-destructive pursuit of external happiness. Stylistically reminiscent of the worlds that Helle Helle and Marit Eikemo enchant us with. Lots of humor, difficulty, and strangeness walking hand in hand. A bit like in real life! Highly recommended." "A book brimming with warmth, joy, curiosity, and melancholy. It's a book about everything one desires, and everything one believes they don't have. It's easy to relate to and perfect for Norwegian summer days - both the grey and the sunny." "Beautiful, painful, dramatic, and poignant. I am truly impressed." "What a delightful book! I was completely engrossed from page one to the last. The story was compelling, warm, and painful at the same time. It's interesting to read between the lines about the self-images and life lies we humans create for ourselves. The book ended far too quickly."

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

CHAPTER 1

2015

Having a birthday on an ordinary Tuesday in the summer is as good as being invisible. It was boring when she was a child, too. Her mum always tried to gather the girls in her class around a decorated table in the little garden behind the house. Despite it being a holiday, some would show up for her parties. But they never quite buzzed with the vivacity of her friends' celebrations, where the parents circled around little dress-clad guests, conjuring games until laughter and excitement permeated the atmosphere.

Today marks the inception of something significant. Una awakens long before her phone's alarm is set to chime. Eight hours remain until her late shift. Ample time to embark on what she's pledged to herself for her birthday. A year from now, when she turns a quarter-century old, she envisions everything falling into equilibrium. She's squandered enough time waiting for others to act.

A newfound sense of resourcefulness and courage courses through her, making it effortless to rise. Her phone buzzes from the bedside table's edge.

"Happy birthday, my favourite weirdo! Coffee and cake on me. Café this weekend? A."

A red heart and a serpentine emoji gleam from the screen. She begins drafting a reply to Angie but hesitates and sets the phone down.

She traverses the short expanse from the living room to the kitchenette, measuring coffee for two cups. Glancing at the cupboard for something sweet – after all, it's her birthday – she finds only an open packet of dried dates, which she promptly discards. It strikes her: it's been five years since she last woke up alone on her birthday. What is Erlend doing now? Perhaps he's marked this date with a black line on his calendar. Maybe he has a new girlfriend and narrates tales of his fragile, needy ex who became increasingly fixated on her self-imposed mission. Of digging, exploring, and recovering, despite his and her mother's efforts to dissuade her. Who knows.

In the last few hours of her slumber, she must have been half-conscious, half-working on her plan, although she recalls awakening. Structure, content, words. A mental picture of the recipient on the other end. Slightly receding hair, yet not grey, dark eyes, broad and gently rounded shoulders, coupled with a crooked smile, on websites and videos. Will he wonder why this message arrives today? Will the date convey a message to him? Una attempts to fathom what he might have been contemplating when waking on the seventh of July for the past sixteen years.

Her mother calls to extend birthday wishes.

"It's a shame you're working late today, otherwise, I could have prepared something nice for you. How about this weekend? Would you like to visit?"

Una can't decline, even though she'd rather be alone.

"Saturday after the early shift is perfect."

"Balder can't wait to see you. He's lost a tooth! Time is catching up with him, Una."

The words send a shiver through her. She can't bear her mother's constant hints about the aging dog's inevitable end.

"Have a wonderful day! I hope they celebrate you a bit at work!"

"Mum?"

Her mother has already disconnected, and Una hears faint beeps before hanging up herself.

Una wanted to ask about the day she was born, even though she had been told many times before. Who was present at the birth, the midwife, why not Dad, no, it doesn’t always work out that way. Imagine, I was so in love with you that when I left the maternity ward, I had forgotten my home address when I got into the taxi with you in a little basket. Dad then, when did he get to see me, well, I don't remember, you were probably a few months old. He also thought you were lovely, but I've said that many times.

Each time Una seeks more details, sharper images, adding sounds, colours, and feelings to the story, but her mother mechanically repeats the same tale. Was he even informed about the day she entered the world?

Una originates from the Latin word 'uno', signifying the number one. She's convinced her mother had a purpose in naming her so. Her mother had enough with her, only wanted her, no husband, no more children, just Una. And Una, the one, had to grow up deprived of everything her mother didn't desire.

She sets down the phone and lifts the lid off her laptop. Opens the brief Word document already prepared, highlighting everything, copying, and pasting.

"Dear Tor Høyseth, I'm a freelance journalist for the magazine Plus Time, catering to families with children. I conduct interviews with prominent figures known for their innovative thinking in a simple questionnaire. The column is newly established, and we'd be delighted if you'd be among the first participants. It's a quick task, and you can respond via email. The questions are as follows:

1. Who is the most important person to you?

2. What are you most proud of in your life?

3. What would you have done differently if you could?

4. Who or what has influenced you the most in retrospect?

5. What does family mean to you?

Most of the content and the fabricated Gmail address were crafted long ago. She makes minor adjustments. Signing off with a name conjured up when she created the email address, she unexpectedly feels at ease, almost cheerful, as she dispatches the bold email to his official contact address.

A moment later, warmth flushes her face. The final question was a stretch, she regrets it. Yet, it fits well for a magazine like Plus Time, doesn't it? After all, their motto is 'inspiration, tips, and advice for the family', which necessitates family values as a natural theme.

The die is cast, the email has been sent! Now she must confront whatever unfolds, as he often reminds her. Yes, the questions are relevant, meant for reflection, as they say. She reassures herself that she is in control. The initial step has been taken. She will remain committed to her plan.

The coffee bites into her empty stomach, yet instead of preparing breakfast, she navigates to his YouTube channel.

"Before you conclude that achieving something is impossible, list the obstacles preventing you. I wonder if what you come up with is as daunting as you initially thought."

Her father smiles at her with hands splayed out in an open gesture. Clad in jeans and a white T-shirt, the hair on his arms seems sun-kissed.

She flinches when a square slides into the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. He responds so promptly that she's unprepared for the sensation of him being present, sharing a wink in the same virtual realm. She doesn't dare open the email and goes to fetch a glass of water. She lets the tap run for a while, her hands tremble, and the water initially spills over the glass. After thoroughly drying it with the dishcloth draped over the sink, she approaches the computer again.

"Thank you for the kind invitation to interview me. Of course, I'd have liked more space to discuss these matters, but I understand the format. I'm in!" he writes and proceeds to provide his answers.

1. Does it have to be just one person? Then I must say Erna, encompassing the fact that she has birthed our three fantastic children!

She reads the sentence twice, biting her lip. Three. Not even a hint of her existence. She pities him. Addressing such profound topics with a brief response must be challenging, what had she expected?

2. I strive not to be excessively proud but rather humble about the opportunities life has afforded me. However, if I had to choose, I've established my own business, and it's going well. Fairly content with that!

3. I can't say I would have significantly altered anything. Rather, I'd respond thus: No one can rewind and start anew, but everyone can start today and carve out a new ending!

Una experiences a surge of warmth throughout her body. She re-reads the sentence. Where does he get this wisdom from? That's precisely what she desires: to forge a new ending. No recriminations, no resentment – just starting anew today, finding each other, and scripting the conclusion together. She'll turn to him when she needs a solid foundation. When her mother, Angie, and her job don't fill her up.

4. It's the realisation of my own capacity to catalyse others' personal development and the feedback I receive that refines my role. A self-reinforcing, positive cycle!

5. I'll echo Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson's words: "A family that holds together is invincible." That's us.

The final response jabs her in the gut. The invincible ones. Who's the adversary? She rises, fingers tingling, the room closing in. The answers to the questions she'd laboured over for weeks were relayed so swiftly. What will she do now? What was the plan anyway?

She needs to dress, go out, get some air.

Just as she's about to close her laptop, a new email arrives addressed to the journalist persona she devised. Her hand trembles. She opens the email.

"Hello again! I've sent you the answers you requested. If Plus Time wishes to attend a lecture and delve deeper into my thoughts, please let me know. I have some ideas focusing on motivation and optimism. Can I reach you by phone?"

She paces back and forth on the floor, crouches with arms wrapped around her stomach. He's so close now. A few keystrokes and they can be father and daughter once more. A hum echoes in her ears.

Then she deletes the fabricated profile.

The day after, when she returns from her early shift, the events of the previous day blur together. Arne and Ingrid had congratulated her on her birthday, or was it Jan and Ingrid? Did she fill out everything required in the report before leaving the evening shift? When did she actually drift into slumber upon arriving home? She kicks off her sandals and reclines barefoot on the sofa, pulling a cotton blanket over her body.

She awakens late in the evening. A profound self-awareness grips her the moment she opens her eyes. I can't say I would have done anything significantly differently. What does that signify?

Una tosses off her blanket and heads for the bathroom. She piles her clothes on the lukewarm floor, turns on the water, and tests its temperature with her hand before stepping into the confined shower stall. She reaches for the most opulent bottle from the basket hanging near the taps, a soap redolent of juniper and almond. She lavishly lathers the foam over her body, paying meticulous attention to her neck and chest. The delicate fragrance uplifts her spirits, and as she steps out onto the bathroom mat, she can tolerate herself again. Water trickles from her semi-damp hair, streaming down her shoulders even after wrapping a towel around her head. The mist slowly dissipates from the mirror, revealing her reflection. Her green eyes seem lacklustre. Her cheeks are flushed.

Enveloped in her morning robe, she pauses by the wall calendar in the narrow hallway. The paralysing feeling from what she did yesterday is suppressed by the sense of drive towards the next step. The sight of the red circle around Wednesday the ninth of September eases her mind. The next opportunity is merely a short holiday, three working weekends, eight evening shifts and a bus ride away.

CHAPTER 2

1993

Tor became aware of the premonition of doom as he came through the door. When he removed his shoes and hung up his jacket in the dark hallway, every sound resembled small bangs, as if the suffocating silence of someone waiting in the house seized his movements and sent them shooting into the air like gunshots. The feeling of not being alone and simultaneously not knowing where the enemy was hiding went through him like a shudder. Is this it, he pondered. Is this the moment when everything unravels?

The velvet curtains muted the summer evening's light, leaving only a single wall lamp aglow in the living room. Running his hand up the left side of the door frame, he flicked the light switch. Abruptly, Erna stood before him. His forearm instinctively rose in defense, palm facing her, a feeble barrier against impending disaster. Her wide eyes brimmed with panic, gasping for air, her voice hoarse as she unleashed a desperate howl. With trembling hands, she thrust a photograph toward his face – an image of himself with a little girl – before flinging it to the floor.

"If this gets out, I'll kill myself!" Her right fist hammered against his chest. He reached for her shoulder, she jerked away, biting at his hand. "You horny bastard!" A lock of dark hair cascaded over one of her eyes. He placed his hands on her upper arms, feeling the weight as she faltered, her knees buckling. Letting go, he sidestepped, regaining his balance. She mirrored his movements. Blurry dots and shadows formed a curtain between them, obscuring the anguished face he confronted.

"Think of the kids, you’ll wake them," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, throat parched, searching for words that wouldn't surface.

"For two years! What the hell were you thinking? Are you visiting other children I don't know about?"

Her words emerged shrill, as though her throat might rupture. Amidst the torrent of accusations, he remained frozen, locking his gaze with hers. Stepping back, he leaned against the wall, one arm at his side. She sank to her knees, hands covering her head. He gingerly retrieved the picture from the floor, haunted by her muffled sobs as he retreated to the hallway, stealing a glance at the ceiling – the room above where the kids were sleeping.

The following day, he parked his car nearby and trod slowly across the gravel toward the front door. His clothes were sweaty from the day before, his stubble scratched after a sleepless night at the guesthouse in the city centre. The receptionist with the crooked face, everyone knew that she had almost died of a stroke, had scrutinised him with her eyes when he checked in. His hand hesitated on the door handle, a desire to turn and flee tugging at him.

He knew it now: henceforth, a new compass would guide him, with Erna directing the arrow by which he must navigate. Inside the living room, he tugged the curtain wide, sliding the door open. He inhaled deeply, facing the terrace. Erna lay still on the sofa, wearing yesterday's clothes. He approached cautiously. She glanced up, yet her gaze seemed to pass through him. "Erna, it's best to let this go. Where are the kids?"

Silence was her only response.

CHAPTER 3

2015

The sun is still high. The soft rays through the window reveal a layer of dust on the side table holding a stack of unread magazines. Una lies halfway down her bed with a book in her hand but doesn't open it. Only the sky is visible from where she lies. The long, bright evenings are exhausting, there is always something going on, always people, noise, and unrest outside. She looks forward to the days getting shorter and the air getting colder. With darkness outside, she finds more peace inside, serenity to conjure up images of her father, his voice.

She wrestles with her thoughts, trying to summon the scents, sounds, and moments shared. The colours that enveloped them during his sporadic visits with her and her mother. Yet, the images elude her, she closes her eyes, tries to banish them, grasping at the sensation of standing between the two worlds. The palpable tension in the room, the chilling air that trailed him into the hallway, lingering around him as he stooped to enter. Always bearing a gift, surrendered before shedding his jacket. The hallway, adorned with vibrant linoleum flooring and yellow wooden panelling. A crochet-covered coffee table in the living room, the site of shared coffee, where she perched on his lap. The haunting silence left behind after his departure. Just Una, her mother, and the gift.

The most cherished among them – a dollhouse. A flutter in her stomach as he bent to arrange miniature figures around a kitchen table, mimicking conversation. His fingers thick and cumbersome, his fist nearly obliterating the furniture within the small room. The dollhouse's exterior walls painted white, topped with a red roof. Figures adorning the tiny kitchen, two adults, two children. The living room, a resplendent yellow, one bedroom adorned with pink wallpaper, each with minuscule pictures hanging on the walls.

Una's gaze shifts to the cobwebs encircling the ceiling lamp. The urge to rearrange the confined apartment seizes her thoughts. A smudge on the wall remains after removing the large picture of her and Erlend. She must replace it soon. The act of putting the picture away felt liberating – the two of them, grinning, sun-kissed in a Portuguese restaurant, exhibiting smooth gold rings as they raised their glasses. She even sported highlights then, her hair dry and brittle from sun exposure and the salon's chemical mistreatments. Her dark brown locks stubbornly resisted turning blonde, instead acquiring a garish yellow hue, imparting an air of cheapness. Nonetheless, she felt vibrant and alive.

The picture remains relegated to the basement. His CDs are still nestled in a cardboard box beside the bookshelf.

"Just keep them," was his response to her text, as if relinquishing music he alone liked was a magnanimous gesture. To someone who solely relied on Spotify. She cannot bring herself to discard them.

Now, she can meet Angie without his sour disposition, savour solitude without the cacophony of sports broadcasts in the background. She had long feared that being alone might equate to the absence of freedom, leaving an unfillable void within her. But upon parting ways with him, she was astonished at the ease of it all. The chaos she anticipated, the internal turmoil, never materialised. Erlend placed the ring on the bathroom shelf, mentioning she could melt it down if she wished, and departed. He didn't meet her gaze, inquire, or propose reconciliation. He didn't call.

In the initial days, grappling to regain her composure, she pondered incessantly about what love truly entailed, contemplating how easy it seemed to leave someone.

Singlehood. Not as daunting as she envisioned. The void within her has nothing to do with Erlend.

Her legs fidget, urging her to take Balder for a stroll, yet she feels drawn to the open laptop on the table. She straightens, facing her father's website once more.

Is your business currently in a downturn? Remember, the Chinese character for crisis combines 'danger' and 'opportunity.' We equip you with tools to harness latent resources in your organisation!

Her finger glides across the touchpad, navigating to the Menu and eventually landing on About us.

Tor Høyseth, born in 1961. Extensive expertise in IT sector sales and marketing. Entrepreneur in motivation and personal development since 2010.

The portrait adjacent to the review mirrors the one smiling at her on Facebook and YouTube.

She scrolls through the menu to Events. The last one on the list reads:

26. November: The MotiVision, Dalen Centre: a seminar for those aspiring to create something new but unsure where to begin.

Several other meetings in various regions populate the list for autumn. Yet, it's the September date that reverberates through Una's mind, drowning out nearly everything else. She closes the website, shutting her eyes. What if he discovers it was her? Has she jeopardised the next step? She had been too ambitious. The virtual guise, a foolish ploy. Perhaps her mother was right – it's possible she needs to be protected from herself. A familiar sensation of helplessness surges within her chest.

YouTube. She searches for the video chapter on self-respect.

"The greatest act of kindness you can perform is to forgive yourself."

Her father's gentle smile meets hers.

"Grant yourself a second chance. Tomorrow, when you awaken, decide to be the best version of yourself. A minor misstep today mustn't dictate your future self-worth!"

Raising his right hand, he gestures forwards, towards her.

"Remember: It's never too late to transform a mistake into a catalyst for personal growth."

Una feels her hair clinging damply to her scalp, warmth engulfing her from neck to cheek. She pauses the video.

CHAPTER 4

The heart of Engvik seems smaller every time Una has been away. A scattering of intersections is regulated by traffic lights, a small park boasting tall, cooling maple trees, and footpaths laden with yellowish sand. The aging, fragile church stands shrouded in vast scaffolding and tarpaulin. Her grandmother's resting place lies forty-eight steps from the church's entrance. Una knows this as she tends to count when unpleasant thoughts need to be kept at bay. Most shops, once adorning the sidewalks of her childhood, have relocated to the weather-resistant, parking-friendly Amfi mall. Yet, the cafés endure, offering a range of options diverse enough to prevent absolute monotony.

The community centre's sports hall remains active, while the once-vibrant swimming pool has languished in emptiness for years. Una took part in children’s exercise classes midweek and swimming lessons with Angie and her parents every other Thursday. By year two, she had mastered swimming underwater across the pool, silently wishing her father would come to witness her skill.

This isn't a place for single people, Una thinks on her way to the supermarket not far from her apartment. But she doesn't know where else to go. Would she be better off in a bigger city, in a different job? Or would she end up with her mother's life – a solitary existence in Engvik? She'd much rather emulate her father. The perspectives he presents to the audience – and to her, without realising it – are deeper than her mother's unenthusiastic reflections on life. Than Angie's too, for that matter.

At Joker supermarket, a ten-kroner deal on tomato soup and three packs of corn greets Una. She drags the shopping basket behind her, its wheel making an irritating squeak. From the dry goods aisle, she spots Trude leaning over by the fruit counter. Una tries to slip away, but her former primary school teacher catches sight of her.

"Una, it's been quite a while!" Trude comes over and stops when she is right in front of her. Una takes a short step back, but the teacher persists, keeping herself close to Una’s face. Too close. Her hair, once pale brown, now showcases a streak of grey along the middle parting and near her ears. She smells of cheese, as she did when she bent down to help Una with her schoolwork, but the smell seems stronger now. Una tilts her neck slightly backward.

Each encounter with Trude ignites a sharp pang of shame within Una. As an adult, she's realised that her teachers must have seen through the white lies she spun during her early school years. Lies about her father residing with them but frequently embarking on long trips. Tales of his important job and inability to attend school functions and children's sports – a story the other kids believed, while the adults likely harboured different thoughts.

"How's everything? Are you enjoying your summer? I heard you're travelling a lot with your fiancé, though his name escapes me." Trude's voice, loud and shrill, prompts Una to glance aside.

"No grand plans this year," Una murmurs softly, sidestepping to the right.

"And you?"

"Oh no, I have a house bustling with children and grandchildren every summer, so no need for extensive travel, you know. What about your mum? Is she still ... alone?"

"She's fine. Yes, she lives on her own," Una responds, attempting a friendly demeanour. She inches gradually toward the deli shelf, maintaining eye contact with Trude. The aging woman beams broadly.

"Give my regards to Grete!"

Una places her cloth bag of groceries in her bike’s basket. Friday, July tenth – twenty-four years and three days old. Her father awaits a quote in Plus Time, claiming a united family is invincible. Una, the unpredictable, has stumbled again.

Her legs feel powerless against the bike pedals. Parking outside the health food shop, she pulls her phone halfway out of her pocket. A new update from her YouTube subscription beckons, but it stings her stomach, and she stows the phone away.

"I use these myself, melatonin helps you sleep quickly. No side effects, you won't feel a thing the next day." Una nods appreciatively at the heavily made-up woman behind the counter for the hope in tablet form that she’s packed into the green bag.

The next day, everyone else enjoys the weekend respite, the midsummer sun slows the rhythm of the quiet Saturday morning. Pets lounge in the shade as Una cycles past houses, en route to her early shift. Butterflies flutter with renewed vigour in the warm air. Working all weekend feels like a reprieve, the structured routine shields her from the piercing hues and wavering rays that haunt her when she's alone, leading her into suffocating rooms within herself.

The ward faces southeast, its windows are firmly locked, offering only a slight opening. The aged building's ventilation system, long defunct, provides no respite. Una eats a yoghurt with muesli, preserving her appetite for the promised dinner her mother has arranged.

"The doctor will return post-lunch, and I'll note your desire to speak with him."

The patient, hovering near the staff room, eager to discuss medication, settles for Una’s response. Unlike most long-term patients, he seeks more, not fewer, psychotropic drugs.

At least I can manage this, Una muses. The patients trust her. Unbeknownst to them, she's become as crazy as they are, ha-ha.

She disposes of the yoghurt cup and cleans her hands with a wet wipe. Today, she's assigned the primary care of an old acquaintance. Lena, with her delicate, reticent demeanour, has returned to the clinic. After a few days of medication, the doctor deems it safe for her to venture out in the sweltering weather.

Una almost felt relieved to see her again, although it felt entirely wrong.

You shouldn't be here, Lena. You should be healthy and enjoying summer. Your family should be taking care of you instead of pushing you away. Una holds back from speaking the words as she strides toward the room of the young woman with the endearing upturned nose and cascading dark curls.

"How are you, Lena?"

Lena gazes expressionlessly at her.

In her medical records, the psychiatrist perfunctorily references early childhood trauma – sexual abuse and neglect. She's fixated on religious doctrines instilled by her family. At her worst, auditory hallucinations command Lena to inflict harm upon herself. Usually, she voluntarily reclines in a restraint bed when the voices intensify.

"This is you when you're scared," Lena told Una during her last hospitalisation, handing her a drawing of a pallid, naked figure facing away. Una found the drawing both captivating and unsettling. The figure, on paper, bowed its head and hunched its shoulders, as if in self-defence. She framed the artwork, now hanging in her bedroom.