Coffee and Vodka - out now in paperback!

It's finally here! My family drama, Coffee and Vodka, is now out in paperback.

Here's the blurb:

Nordic Noir meets Family Drama

‘In Stockholm everything is bigger and better.’ 

When Pappa announces the family is to leave their small Finnish town for a new life in Sweden, 11-year-old Eeva is elated. But in Stockholm Mamma finds feminism, Eeva’s sister, Anja, pretends to be Swedish and Pappa struggles to adapt. 

And one night, Eeva’s world falls apart. 

Fast forward 30 years. Now teaching Swedish to foreigners, Eeva travels back to Finland when her beloved grandmother becomes ill. On the overnight ferry, a chance meeting with her married ex-lover, Yri, prompts family secrets to unravel and buried memories to come flooding back. 

It’s time for Eeva to find out what really happened all those years ago… 

Coffee and Vodka is now available to buy from the Finn-Guild office, 1A Mornington Court, Mornington Crescent, London NW1 7RD Tel 020 7387 3508 at the special price of £5 (and part of the proceeds will go to support this worthwhile charity). Please telephone to ask about postage and packing - this, I'm afraid, will be extra.

On 29th November both of my novels, Coffee and Vodka, and The Englishman, will be on sale during Finn-Guild's annual pop-up shop from 11 am to 2 pm. Do come along if you find yourself in London on the day!

Or you can buy the book online from Amazon at the equally reasonable price of £7.99.

How I came to be in England - Part 38

I spent the last few days I had left in Helsinki in February 1984 arranging the practical details of a move to another country.

On the Thursday I had an oral examination in Methodology with my Professor at the Swedish School of Economics. I was ill-prepared for the exam. The old man with his untidy grey hair and small round glasses had to prompt me several times to extract the correct answer. At the end of the session, I was surprised when he told me I'd passed. He shook my hand warmly as I left his stuffy office on the uppermost floor of the School of Economics building. 'Don't be a stranger,' he said and smiled.

Closing the door behind me, I stood for a moment in the wide, empty hall. It was suddenly flooded with bright sunshine through the large windows to one side of the Sixties' style building. There was a lump in my throat when I realised this could be the last time I'd stand here. Four years ago when I first stepped inside this building, I was proud to have got a place to study here, but scared I'd not be accepted by the other students. I knew nothing about the Swedish-speaking community in Finland and was full of prejudices. That my life would be turned upside down during my time here never occurred to me, nor that it was the start of the end of my life in Finland. How much older and wiser I felt now, yet as I stood there in the empty space, listening to the familiar echoing sounds from the stairwell of students milling about on the floors below me, I was more unsure of my future than I'd ever been in my life.

I glanced at my watch and saw I was running late. For old times' sake my friend and I were going to go to the University Disco that evening, even though we rarely went there these days. I was due to be at her flat in five minutes' time. When my friend had suggested that I stay the night I hadn't hesitated. I didn't want to spend any more nights in my Father's house than I had to.

I ran down the stairs, taking two at the time and headed out of the glazed double doors of the School of Economics building. I just made the tram approaching the stop on the other side of the street. The yellow and green vehicle screeched as it took the sharp corner of from Arkadiankatu to Runeberginkatu and headed downhill towards Töölö.

My friend and I both laughed and cried that evening.

'This is not goodbye. I'll see you in June before the wedding!' I said. I'd be back for at least two weeks, to allow for the fitting of the wedding gown and a hen party, which my old school friends had already started planning.

'Of course,' my friend said and put her arm around my shoulders. 'But you promise to write, yes?' she said and turned to face me. She'd stopped walking. We were on our way up the windy Arkadiankatu from the tram stop to the disco. I was freezing in my tight-fitting winter white velvet jeans and satin blouse. My suede coat had never been the same after enduring six weeks of rainy weather in Edinburgh. I looked at my friend's serious face.

'I promise.' I took her arm and we hurried to the warmth of the disco.

When I entered the haberdashery department at Stockmann's on Friday evening, my last day working day, and saw the familiar faces, I again felt a lump in my throat. I'd been wishing for so long to be away from Helsinki and Finland, but to finally do it, was harder than I'd imagined. The doubts hovering in my mind about the seriousness of my decision didn't help. All the older ladies' questions about what I was going to do in England, when I was going to get married, or where we were going to live exhausted me and I wished the evening would speed along. Half an hour before closing time, the floor manager gave me a card and a present of a pinnie made out of blue and white checked fabric. The colours of the Finnish flag. I cried and hugged them all in turn before returning my name badge, uniform and discount card to the personnel department on the top floor.

When I returned home later that evening my legs ached. The house was dark and quiet. I was relieved, my Father would not be home tonight either. I sat in front of the TV and put my feet up on the settee. The phone rang.

'What's up?' the Englishman said when he heard my voice.

I couldn't explain how I felt to him. We'd been talking about this day, the day I'd finally move to England for so long, I wasn't able to explain to him that I felt sad now that much-awaited day was here. Instead I talked about the wedding arrangements. My sister telephoned me daily with updates and questions on guest lists or table placements.

'Oh,' the Englishman said absent-mindedly. 'Where did you say this was again?'

I was silent. I'd told him on several occasions about the changed venue, why it had happened and how upset I was with my Father.

'You there?'

'Yes. Look, I'll call you from Stockholm on Sunday, OK?'

I put the receiver down with tears running down my face. I felt stupid for getting upset over such a small thing and was glad I hadn't actually had a fight with the Englishman. What was the matter with me?

Later the same night, I heard the front door go and my Father walk into the house. He kicked off his boots, rattled the clothes hangers in the hall and used the lavatory. Then all went quiet. I looked at the time, it was well past twelve o'clock. I wondered if he was drunk. His movements had seemed controlled, perhaps he was sober and had come by car from his girlfriend's place. I tossed and turned in my bed for hours. I didn't want to see my Father ever again. I'd managed to avoid him since he refused to invite my Mother to the wedding. On the Monday before, rather than ask for his help with the car, I'd taken a taxi to transport the two cardboard boxes of my belongings to the railway station. They would take a month or so to arrive in Portsmouth, but the cost was included in my train ticket through Europe to Harwich. The taxi journey to Helsinki station cost more than the transport to England, but it was worth it if I didn't have to see my Father. But here he was now, at home. And tomorrow would be Saturday and he'd be free from work. How in this small house was I going to avoid saying goodbye to him?

Suddenly I remembered the stolen books. While living in his house, I'd occasionally referred to two expensive volumes of Finnish/English dictionaries my Father had. In my fury at his betrayal I'd packed both volumes in one of my cardboard boxes. They were in a container ship somewhere in the middle of the Baltic now. What if he noticed the large gap in his book shelf where the dictionaries normally stood and asked me where they were?

I finally fell asleep around two o'clock in the morning. I dreamt I hit my Father with a large ice-hockey stick and drew blood. He'd been trying to lead me into a darkened room. I woke with a start and heard movements in the kitchen. My alarm clock showed it was five to seven in the morning. There was a strip of light under the door to my bedroom.

How I came to be in England - Part 37

I was lying face down on my bed, with my head spinning, trying to make sense of what had just happened, when I heard the front door slam shut. Had my Father left the house? I waited for a few minutes. It was quiet. I crept out of my room and walked into the darkened kitchen. The parking space where my Father's Saab was usually parked was empty. I took a deep breath and wiped my face with the threadbare tissue I had in my hand.

I went to the telephone in the hall and lifted the heavy receiver.

'Mum?'

'What's the matter?'

Hearing my Mother's concerned voice brought up the tears again, but I tried to stop the flow. 'Dad, he...' Holding back the tears took such an effort I couldn't finish the sentence.

'What's he done now?'

I hesitated. How much of what my Father had said could I tell her? I didn't want to upset her, but then I needed to speak with someone. 'He said you wouldn't be allowed to come...' now I couldn't hold back. Tears were running down my face. The cream coloured receiver stuck to my chin. 'He said because he's paying, you are not welcome at the wedding. He said I'm not to invite you.'

'What!'

'Oh Mum!' I was crying now, there was no stopping me. What would I do? Get married in England? But how could we pay for the wedding? We had no money and I couldn't ask the Englishman's parents. Without my Father there was no way I'd be able to marry the Englishman.

There was a short, shocked silence at the other end of the phone. I heard my Mother's quick intake of breath. 'I cannot believe it.'

'I know.' It was such a relief to hear that my Mother felt equally strongly about what my Father had said. And she hadn't even heard the awful words he'd used. Perhaps she guessed.

But very soon she recovered, 'Don't worry, I will pay for your wedding.'

'But you don't have the money!'

'I do. It's not a problem.'

I leant my weary body against the wall and sat down on the floor.

My Mother continued, 'I knew he was going to be trouble. Always the same, he just doesn't change.'

Half an hour later I got a call from my sister.

'Bastard!' she said. 'But don't worry, Mum and I have discussed everything. We'll organise the wedding in Tampere, it's where you were born after all. You can stay at Grandmother's place and the English guests can be in a hotel. I'm thinking of the Cathedral for the wedding. I can't imagine the date is a problem, we have nearly six months to organise things. I also think that we should have the reception at Rosendahl Hotel by Lake Pyhäjärvi, it's perfect for foreign visitors.'

My sister went on, she had ideas about the menu, the wines and champagne we were going to serve. I listened and relaxed. She'd recently qualified as Maitre d'. I smiled as I thought my big sister liked nothing more than to organise things. Why hadn't I thought of that before? She now said all I needed to do was turn up, she'd take care everything.

My mind started to wander and my thoughts turned to the gown. A school friend was a good dress maker and had promised to do mine. I couldn't wait to consider designs with her. I'd saved several magazines and patterns. At Stockmann's, dress patterns were sold next to the fabrics department, where I'd worked at the weekends for over four years . I only had two Saturdays left there. The lady in charge of the patterns concession gave me several pictures from the ones she sold. They included a Vogue pattern of a simple silk tulle dress. That was my favourite, but I had no idea if it was possible to make it and where I'd find the correct fabric. We had nothing even close at Stockmann's. There must be places in London where that sort of fluffy, soft silk is sold, I thought.

'You still there?' My sister's voice was concerned.

'I'm just tired.'

'I'll call you tomorrow with more details,' she said and hung up.

I went off to bed and slept soundly for over nine hours.

The next day there was no sign of my Father. I had to be at my friend's place at nine, so I hurried out of the house. I hoped my Father would stay away at his girlfriend's, where I presumed he was hiding, as long as possible. I didn't think I could endure even an evening with him. I couldn't wait to leave his house and Finland for good.

There was little snow left on the ground, just a few dirty patches on the side of the road. But there was a harsh Northerly wind as I walked along the streets of Lauttasaari, where my friend lived. For the second time in the same week I was back on the island, and walking past my old flat. Was this some kind of torture designed to make me consider the consequence of my actions? I shrugged off this fatalistic thinking, although sometimes I wondered how many obstacles were going to be put in the way of me and my Englishman.

Would we ever walk down the aisle together?

How I came to be in England - Part 34

My Father was due home from his travels on the evening of the same day, 3rd of January 1984, I'd said goodbye to the Englishman at Helsinki airport.

I planned to cook his favourite meal: meatballs in a creamy sauce and peeled potatoes. I made a salad too, but knew he wouldn't want any. He called it 'rabbit food'.

'Did you have a nice Christmas?' I asked.

We were sitting opposite each other on the small kitchen table. I wondered if he'd spotted the ring on my left finger.

My Father lifted his head up from the food and looked at me from under his light-coloured, unruly eyebrows, 'In Oulu?'

'Yes.'

He put his knife and fork down, 'In Lapland they don't even know how to bake a ham properly. They're not really Finns, too close to the North Pole.' He paused, then a smile flitted across his untidy face. He looked tired. 'But the Christmas tree didn't cost anything. We felled it from one of the forests her family have. They're big landowners up there.'

'Oh,' I said and rested my chin on my left hand. But my Father went back to eating, ladling the food into his mouth as if he'd never been fed. I sighed. 'I got this,' I said, stretching my arm across, shoving the hand with the sparking diamond ring under his nose.

It took him a little while to comment. He looked at the ring as if it was on fire. Or infectious. His eyes moved slowly from my hand up to my face. I smiled. He went back to the food and cleared his plate in silence.

I sat and waited. I couldn't eat.

'You're getting married and moving to England then?' he said finally.

'Yes.'

'Getting married in England?'

'I...I don't know. We haven't decided yet. It all depends...'

'I'll pay for it if you get married in Finland,' my Father interrupted me.

'Oh.'

My Father's eyes were squarely on me. He coughed and said, 'Anyway...are you happy?'

I was so surprised by his words, I didn't reply for a while. He'd never asked me such a thing. I didn't think 'being happy' entered his consciousness. He scoffed at the modern disease of stress, thought any psychiatrist was a conman, worse if they happened to be female. He called anyone who belonged to a cult, religion, or had any beliefs, 'One of the Happy People'. In short, he didn't seem to possess a soul, or at least didn't admit to having one.

My eyes filled with tears. 'Yes, very.'

'And has your mother met the young man?'

'Yes.' I realised my mouth was still open. I closed it and tried to remember the last time my Father had called my Mother anything other than 'That Woman', or worse, 'That Bitch'. Had he undergone some kind of personality change?

'Good, good,' he said, nodding vigorously.

There was a long silence. I looked out of the window. It had started snowing at last. Large flakes hung in the air, slowly falling onto the ground. The single lamppost gave an orange glow to the small patch of dead grass outside the house.

'I think this calls for a celebration!' My Father got up and took a bottle of Koskenkorva out of the fridge. He poured two tumblers full and lifted his glass.

'Kippis!'

I nodded and lifted my glass. I couldn't speak. We sat in silence drinking the neat vodka. It burned my throat as it always did. I took small sips and tried not to grimace.

'There's a lovely church in Espoo, you know,' my Father said.

I didn't know what to say. 'Yes?'

'Have a look and tell me how much it's all going to cost. I've got the funds, so don't worry about that.' My Father downed the rest of his drink and walked into the living room. I heard him put on the TV, sit down in one of the velour covered comfy chairs and fart loudly.