Jack’s face twitched. Tiny spasms, a tic he always got when he was stressed.
“Sorry, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“I know. Don’t worry.”
Faye swallowed and turned away before he could see her eyes shimmering. She closed the door to the tower room carefully behind her.
—
On the sofa Julienne was trying to plait Johanna’s red hair.
“You’re very good at this,” Johanna murmured.
Faye usually enjoyed chatting with her. But right now she just wanted Johanna gone. She wasn’t far from tears, the lump in her throat was growing.
“Mommy taught me,” Julienne said.
“That’s lovely. What book shall we read tonight?”
“Maddy, I think. Or Pippi.”
After her conversation with Jack the previous week, Faye had bought a copy of every Astrid Lindgren book she could find in Akademibokhandeln.
Faye cleared her throat. Johanna’s freckled face peered up above the side of the sofa.
“Are you about to go?” she asked.
“No. Change of plan. We’re doing it another time. Work crisis.”
Faye tried to laugh, but the darkness inside her was threatening to well up, it kept rising and falling.
Johanna tilted her head.
“That’s a shame. When you look so lovely. Would you like me to put Julienne to bed anyway?”
“No, it’s fine.”
Faye swallowed the lump in her throat as Julienne clung to Johanna’s arm. She pulled two five-hundred-kronor notes from her handbag and handed them over. Johanna held her free hand up to stop her.
“There’s no need, honestly, I’ve only been here fifteen minutes or so.”
“You’ve still given up your evening. Take it, and I’ll get you a taxi.”
Julienne was sniffing and tugging at Johanna’s arm.
“I don’t want Johanna to go! I want her to stay!”
Johanna bent down and stroked her on the cheek.
“I’ll see you the day after tomorrow when I pick you up from preschool. Then I’ll read to you when we’re on the way home in the taxi.”
“Promise!”
“I promise. See you soon, sweetie.”
When Faye had shut the door after Johanna she took her heels off, tossing them on the hall floor, and carried Julienne into the bathroom and told her to brush her teeth.
“Spit it all out, then we’ll go and read Maddy.”
“I want Johanna to read to me! She makes it more fun!”
“Johanna isn’t here now. You’ll have to make do with me.”
Faye carried Julienne to her room. She squirmed and wriggled, hard feet hitting Faye’s arms. Faye’s stomach was aching and the lump in her throat was threatening to suffocate her.
She put Julienne down on the floor and shook her. Hard. Too hard.
“That’s enough!”
The crying stopped abruptly.
Julienne was looking up at her in shock. Faye had never lost her temper in front of Julienne, she always smiled at her, caressed her, told her she was the best in the whole world. The darkness inside her shifted. Rumbling from somewhere buried deep within her. A different time. A different life.
Julienne curled up in bed. Faye knew she ought to comfort her, say she was sorry, smooth things over. But she didn’t have the words. She felt utterly horrified with herself.
She shut her eyes and tried to find herself again. But the past had caught up with her, showing her how small she was. Who she really was.
“Good night,” she said quietly, turned the light out, and left.
—
Faye was walking aimlessly through the aisles of NK. The venerable old department store was one of the few places that gave her any peace. Sometimes the feeling of suffocation became so strong that the only thing that could suppress the itch inside her was wandering around the air-conditioned boutiques running her fingers over the beautiful clothes.
The staff recognized her. Young women who formed their collagen-ruined lips into smiles, women she knew would do anything to swap places with her. In their eyes she had everything. Millions in the bank, status, a husband who could guarantee her place in the pecking order.
NK was almost empty. Whenever she reached the Tiger boutique she always thought of foreign minister Anna Lindh, and how her killer had fled through the store. One of those surreal moments when the breezy superficiality of life crashed into ugly reality. The world had stopped to stare at Sweden in astonishment. A country that was seen by much of the world as some sort of dream society, with no problems, no crime, inhabited solely by leggy, big-chested blondes in bikinis, furnished by IKEA and echoing to a soundtrack by Abba. An image every bit as false as her own. As unreal as the sight of Anna Lindh lying wounded among the gray Tiger suits and non-iron white shirts.
Faye’s stomach clenched as she touched a black jumpsuit with a price tag of almost ten thousand kronor. Instead of eating she was now only drinking juice she had delivered to the door. Five bottles a day. Green, yellow, white, and red. According to the adverts, packed with all the nutrients you needed. And tasty. In reality they tasted terrible. Particularly the green one. She had to hold her nose when she drank them, and stifle the urge to throw up. The absence of anything to chew was starting to drive her mad.
She had lived on juice alone for two weeks, only occasionally letting her hair down and eating some fruit. As well as making her constantly tired, it had also led to her being short-tempered toward Julienne and Jack. She had read online that severe mood swings were a common side effect, but she had been unwilling to believe that. A simple diet shouldn’t pose a problem. People were capable of amazing feats. Going to the moon. Defeating Hitler. Building Machu Picchu. Britney Spears resuscitating her career after her 2007 breakdown. So surely Faye could endure a bit of hunger without losing her temper and lashing out at loved ones? Julienne had been fragile and anxious ever since Faye lost her temper the other evening, but she couldn’t talk to her daughter about it. She had no idea what to say. Time heals all wounds, she tried to tell herself. That had been the case with her.
As she left the store, thoughts swirling in her head, she almost collided with a woman who gave her a wide smile.
“Hi!” Lisa Jakobsson said. “How lovely to see you again! How’s your lovely daughter?”
“Thanks, she’s fine,” Faye said.
She was searching her memory desperately to remember when she might have met the television presenter without there being a television screen in the way.
“And Jack?” Lisa tilted her head sympathetically. “Poor thing, he really does work far too hard. He’s lucky to have someone like you to take care of him.”
Lisa went on talking about what a great support Faye was, and soon she felt in a better mood. How starved of compliments was she?
“We should go out for dinner sometime, just the four of us,” Lisa said.
Faye remembered that she was going out with a colleague who was responsible for several modestly popular entertainment shows. She and Jack had got stuck talking to them for far too long at the premiere of a play.
“We’ll have to see,” Faye said curtly, and Lisa’s smile wavered. “I’m afraid I must dash.”
Stockholm was a jungle in which she and a handful of other millionaires’ wives were the queens. Faye knew that people analyzed every word, every syllable she uttered, fawning and simpering just because she was Jack’s wife.
She knew that Lisa wouldn’t hesitate to dump her boyfriend for Jack. Or someone like him. Women were drawn to money and power. And fake feminists like Lisa were as susceptible as the rest.
Wealth was the power Faye possessed, and it was so intoxicating that it drowned out the rumble in her stomach. Regardless of how much she despised herself for feeling that way.
She walked away from Lisa and took the escalator down to the perfume department, passing a huge poster of an emaciated model with smoky eyes and a half-open mouth. It was yet another reminder of all the pounds she hadn’t managed to lose.
Jack hadn’t touched her since that evening when he forgot their date, he barely glanced at her when she got into her side of the bed.
Her stomach groaned again.
She took out her mobile and sent him a text.
I love you! She added a heart emoji.
She opened Jack’s Facebook page and discovered that he’d changed his profile picture. He used to have a photograph of her, Julienne, and himself standing in front of Drottningholm Palace a year or so ago. The new image was a professional photograph from Compare’s website. She brought up the list of likes and clicked on every young woman to check out their profile. They all seemed to have come from the same mold: hungry, eager, hunters. They were all thin and had big, expensive lips and long, perfectly styled hair.
Faye forced herself to put her mobile back in her handbag.
The staff behind the perfume counters followed her with their eyes. She picked up a Gucci bottle and sprayed some of the contents into the air. She was on the lookout for a sweeter, slightly more youthful scent. She took a few steps back, and found a pink YSL bottle that caught her eye. She picked up a sample strip and pressed the nozzle twice. Much better. It reminded her vaguely of something but she couldn’t put her finger on what.
The sales assistants had grown tired of watching her and turned away. She picked up a box and put it in her basket. The perfume, naturally. No cheap eau de cologne.
Her mobile buzzed. A reply from Jack at last?
You never got back to me. John Descentis
Faye sighed. She had hoped he would understand the situation when she hadn’t called him.
I’m afraid I’ve booked another act. Maybe some other time.
As she was putting her mobile back in her bag it buzzed again.
Can we meet to talk about it?
Can’t, off to the cinema.
The cinema? Where had that come from? She used to love going to the cinema when she was younger. She, Sebastian, and their mom would get dressed up and head off to Grebbestad, where they would have coffee and cake and see two films in the same evening. The two films that the cinema was showing. Sebastian would hold her hand in the darkness. Then they would head home with their stomachs full of popcorn and fizzy drinks, while Mom and Sebastian talked about the films. They didn’t stop talking until they crossed the little bridge before Mörhult, where the swans always swam about with their young each year.
Faye shuddered. Her thoughts increasingly seemed to find their way onto dark paths.
Her mobile buzzed in her hand.
Love cinema. Which one?
Rigoletto.
Great. See you there.
Faye shook her head. What was she doing? Why on earth was she going to go to the cinema with John Descentis, of all people? All the same, it felt nice that someone wanted to see her. Maybe it would help take her mind off Jack and their canceled date night.
When Faye opened the heavy door of the Rigoletto, John Descentis was already sitting on a bench waiting for her. She considered turning and sneaking back out, but was worried he’d spot her.
“So you decided to come after all.” His voice was gravelly but cheerful. “Thought it was going to be a repeat of the party.”
Faye sat down next to him. Maintaining a certain distance.
John Descentis was dressed in a dark T-shirt and jeans, as usual. He had a dark-brown leather jacket over his arm, and a bucket of popcorn in his hand, the largest they had.
“Like I said, our plans changed.”
“Maybe next time he has a birthday,” John said, still smiling.
He moved closer to her.
“What film are you going to see?”
He smelled faintly of cologne, leather, and flat beer. Her body reacted to the smell in a way that surprised her.
She gestured to the poster, where Bradley Cooper’s blue eyes were staring straight into the camera.
“I’d like to see that one,” he said.
“Why did you really want to meet?” she said. “What do you want with me?”
“I thought it would be nice to talk,” he said, getting to his feet. “You struck me as a real person in Riche. Unlike all the other . . .”
He left the sentence unfinished.
Faye took a deep breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound unfriendly. It’s been a rough day.”
“We all have those. Everyone has their secrets. And their own crap to deal with. The difference is that mine has been all over the tabloids.”
She frowned. What was he getting at? What did he know about her having secrets and her own crap to deal with?
“Like my song,” he said, registering her expression. “ ‘Secrets’. You know, ‘Everyone has their secrets, and their own crap to deal with.’ Those are the lyrics. But maybe you’ve never heard that one?”
The doors to the theater opened and John nodded toward it. Faye took several deep breaths, imagining Sebastian and her mom laughing at a romantic comedy as they ate popcorn from big paper cones. Free for a short while.
They bought tickets and Faye followed John into the empty auditorium. They sat in the back row and Faye took her mobile out again. Jack still hadn’t replied. She was feeling increasingly anxious. Didn’t he love her anymore? Did he no longer find her attractive?
During the first few minutes of the film Faye was intensely aware of John looking at her. She didn’t know why, but being so close to him was affecting her in a peculiar way. Without taking a conscious decision to do it, she put her hand on his trousers. With her eyes glued to the screen and Bradley Cooper’s chiseled features, she unbuttoned his fly and noted with surprise that he wasn’t wearing any underpants. Neither of them said anything, but she heard him breathing heavily, and it excited her. She bent over and took him in her mouth. She heard his breathing get heavier and heavier, and, absurdly, he carried on stuffing popcorn into his mouth as he groaned. Faye felt herself getting wet, forgot whose cock she was sucking; she was sucking Jack, sucking him so well that he would realize how lucky he was. She shut her eyes and stood up to pull her trousers and panties down. She sat astride his hard cock, John’s, Jack’s, and sank down. He filled her in ways she had been dreaming of, places she had forgotten, and she kept her eyes closed as she moved faster and faster, murmuring, “Fuck me, Jack, oh, fuck me.”
Just as she climaxed John filled her with his warm, sticky seed. He groaned as Bradley Cooper’s warm voice filled the cinema.
For a few moments Faye curled up numbly in John Descentis’s arms. Then she stood up. His semen seeped out of her, and what had felt so exciting only minutes before now felt nothing but sordid.
She picked up her bag and left the cinema without looking back.
STOCKHOLM, AUGUST 2001
“WHAT’S SO SPECIAL ABOUT THAT Jack Adel . . . what did you say his name was?” I wondered as Chris put another beer in front of me.
“Adelheim,” Chris said, sitting down. “Are you kidding, or what?”
“Okay, apart from the obvious, then. He’s handsome. In a fairly stereotypical way.”
“Handsome doesn’t begin to cover it. He’s aristocracy. From a family with a tarnished reputation. Everyone at college wants to be his friend, everything circulates around him. All the girls want him. Even I’d like to fuck him till he passed out,” Chris said dryly.
I’d just taken a large gulp of beer and had to clap my hand over my mouth to stop myself spraying it across the table. Chris’s remark probably wasn’t that funny, but the alcohol was making the room spin, and making everything Chris said extra funny.
At that moment Jack and his friend appeared. They seemed
to be looking for somewhere to sit. We’d taken the last free table, but there were spare chairs.
“What’s happening?” Chris whispered. She had her back to them, but had spotted the curious look on my face.
“They’re looking for somewhere to sit . . . and . . .”
Chris’s eyes opened wide. She clamped her mouth shut.
“They’re on their way over,” I whispered.
“Fuck! Don’t look at them! Stop staring! Laugh instead. Laugh like I’ve just told you the best joke you’ve ever heard!”
I leaned back in my chair and pretended to laugh. I felt ridiculous. Chris was laughing as well. A loud, exaggerated laugh that sounded to me like she was on the brink of madness. Jack Adelheim and his friend waited until we finished laughing.
“Is it okay if we sit here?” Jack said. “We promise not to disturb you.”
Behind him his friend was holding his beer a little too tightly and was swaying gently as he looked groggily toward us.
“Sure,” Chris said flatly, looking up with feigned surprise.
Jack sat down next to me and his friend settled onto the bench opposite. He reached out his hand unsteadily across the table.
“Henrik.”
“Mat . . . Faye,” I said, not yet used to my new identity.
It was hard to shed my skin. Harder than I’d expected.
I twisted around and repeated the handshake with Jack. He smiled. A beautiful, open smile. His blue eyes looked straight into mine. He was handsome, I couldn’t deny that. But I had Viktor, and I wasn’t that sort of girl. Besides, Chris would probably smash me in the nose with her beer glass if I made a move on Jack.
“Nice to meet you.”
Once everyone had shaken hands Chris leaned forward and asked pointedly what I thought about the new U.S. president, George W. Bush. I rolled my eyes and launched into a short lecture that was basically a summary of the editorial in that morning’s Dagens Nyheter. Jack and Henrik waded into the debate at once, taking issue with my argument, Jack on my side, Henrik against. The noise-level—Bryan Adams singing “Summer of ’69”—meant that I only heard fragments of what they said.
The Gilden Cage Page 7
