The four-room apartment, spread out across eighteen hundred square feet on Karlavägen, right opposite the ICA Esplanad supermarket, had cost fifteen million. But it was hers. Hers and Julienne’s.
“We’re home, Kerstin!” Julienne cried. Faye followed her into the kitchen.
“Hello, my little one,” Kerstin said, lifting Julienne into her arms.
Faye smiled. She had helped Kerstin buy the neighboring apartment, and they had dinner together most evenings. If Faye had to work, Kerstin was more than happy to sit with Julienne. There were no longer any au pairs in Faye and Julienne’s life.
Kerstin spoiled Julienne far too much. Faye didn’t really approve, but she didn’t have the heart to make an issue out of it. Kerstin was her anchor, her rock.
While Faye put the kettle on and filled the dishwasher Julienne ran off into the living room.
“What went wrong?” Kerstin whispered.
“He’s changed his password. I’ve found a way around it, but it’s going to take more time than I expected.”
The television went on in the living room.
“There’s only one problem,” Faye went on.
“And that is?”
“I’m going to need help from . . .”
She nodded in the direction of the noise from the television.
Kerstin’s eyes widened.
“You haven’t said anything about . . . ?”
“Of course not. She’s not going to be involved. Not knowingly, anyway.”
“You know, Faye, I have no objection to almost anything you do, I admire you and am happy to support you, but I don’t like this.”
“Nor do I,” Faye said. “But I haven’t any other way of getting at his computer.”
The kettle clicked. She took out two mugs and put them on the table.
“There are no guarantees here,” she said quietly. “I don’t even know if those documents are still there. But it’s our best chance. The most important thing is not to get desperate and make any mistakes that can be traced back to me.”
“To us,” Kerstin said, blowing on her tea. “There are two of us in this. I’ll back you all the way, regardless of whether I like it or not.”
Faye nodded. She too felt distinctly uneasy about using Julienne. But she didn’t have a choice.
—
They were lying on Julienne’s bed reading The Brothers Lionheart out loud. The dishwasher was rumbling away out in the kitchen.
Before Julienne went to bed, Faye had showed her the USB stick.
“Darling, there’s something I want to ask your help with,” she had said when they were sitting at the kitchen table. “I’m planning a surprise for Daddy.”
“What sort of surprise?”
Faye held up the USB stick.
“I can’t tell you yet, but you know how Daddy usually leaves his computer on in his study when he watches the financial news? I’d like you to stick this into his computer. Then, when you’ve done that, I want you to press this button.”
She pointed.
“And that’s all. Then you can take it out.”
“Why can’t I say anything to Daddy? He’s told me we mustn’t have any secrets from each other. We only have secrets from you.”
Faye frowned. What did she mean by that?
“Because that would spoil the surprise,” she replied. “Then, when you’ve done it and I come and pick you up, I’ll have a surprise for you!”
“What?”
“Something you’ve wanted for a long time.”
“A mobile?”
“You’re no fool, are you? Yes, your very own phone! So you won’t have to keep borrowing mine.”
“When can I have it?”
“On Sunday. It’ll be lying here waiting for you, if you help me.”
Faye felt terrible. But it couldn’t be helped. She had to get hold of those files.
Now Julienne had fallen asleep beside her and Faye put the book down on the bedside table and kissed her daughter’s warm hair. Her face looked so peaceful in her sleep, but a change had come over her recently. She had become more withdrawn, quieter. Faye could feel her anxiety growing, and couldn’t help wondering what sort of secrets Jack was sharing with his daughter. Probably something trivial, like Julienne being given ice cream for breakfast. But what if they were hiding something important from her?
—
Faye was lying on her back in her own bed—she’d found it hard to lie on her front since her breast enhancement. The air in the bedroom felt heavy, hard to breathe. She got up, grabbed her dressing gown and opened the door to the balcony. The autumn air felt fresh against her skin. She lit a cigarette and sank onto the wicker sofa. Every so often a car drove past on Karlavägen, but most of Stockholm was sleeping.
Three years had passed. Three fantastic, industrious, successful years. When she allowed herself a moment to stop and reflect over everything that had happened she always felt astonished.
She had built up a successful business, made successful investments, had bought an apartment for her and Julienne, another for Kerstin, and had got back on her feet again. But, ridiculously, she sometimes asked herself if she didn’t still miss Jack. Or at least the fantasy of Jack.
Was that why her hatred had never faded? Was that why she was going ahead with a plan she had first thought up three years ago? Sure, there had been other men in that time, but before Jack was wiped out she didn’t dare embark on anything serious. She mustn’t lose focus. The goal was the whole point of it all.
Sometimes she wondered if she should be happy with what she had. After all, she had everything now. She had fought her way to success. She had money, social status, Julienne. But on some level she knew that wasn’t enough. He had taken so much from her. He had walked all over her to the point where she had barely been able to get up again. She couldn’t forgive that.
And her hatred had been nurtured by all the stories she had heard from other women over the years. Every day she went to the forum of Revenge’s online store and Instagram account to read new stories. There was a huge need out there for restitution, to rebuild lost pride, to fight back, take control, take revenge.
There was something primitive in that desire. The Old Testament had a lot to say about revenge. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A desire for justice. She was no longer driven purely by her own hatred, now it was reinforced by the voices of thousands and thousands of other women. She had awoken something that had been slumbering for far too long.
Their fury was hers. And her fury was theirs.
Faye blew off some ash that had landed on her dressing gown, reached for her mobile, and went into Spotify. Eldkvarn’s “Alice” started to play quietly.
Her mom had always loved Eldkvarn. How many times had she told the story of the first time she saw them play live, and had been given Plura Jonsson’s guitar pick? That was before she met Faye’s father. After that the music had fallen silent.
The song, and the cigarette, cast Faye backward through a thirty-year journey. Back to her childhood, to Fjällbacka, to the house where they lived. Her, Sebastian, Mom, and Dad.
She had put the day’s mail on the small table in front of her. At the top of the pile was another letter from her father. All the people she used to know were gone now. Only Dad was left. He had recognized her when the papers started writing about Revenge. And the letters had started up again, after so many years of silence. First one a week. Then two. Then three. Faye never opened them.
She had asked her lawyer to look into the legal situation. He mustn’t be allowed to get out now. She knew how things were in Sweden; in reality there was no such thing as a life sentence. Not even for her dad. Sooner or later he would be released. But not now. Absolutely not now. First she had to finish what she had set out to do.
She picked the letter up an
d held the cigarette against it. The relief when it started to burn was indescribable.
FJÄLLBACKA—THEN
THE ROAR OF THE SEA outside my bedroom window couldn’t drown out the sounds from the kitchen. The voices getting louder and louder. Dad’s full of rage, Mom’s full of pleading. Still hoping that she might be able to fend off the inevitable. It was my fault they were fighting. I’d forgotten to clear up after the snack I made when I got home from school. How could I have done that? I knew Dad didn’t like anything to be left out. Except when he had got himself something to eat. He never cleared up after himself, but the rest of us had to make sure that everything was kept clean, tidy, clinical. Me, Mom, and Sebastian.
Mom always took the blame. I loved her for that. And more than anything, I wished that I could grow big and tall and strong, so she didn’t have to take the punishment for something I’d done. But as long as I was so small, he didn’t dare punish me. He might clench his fists when I did something wrong, but he was afraid he’d break my brittle bones, hit me so hard that no one could save me. So he had to make do with Mom. She could bear more.
The first time I realized everyone was afraid of Dad was when I went to the supermarket with him when I was five years old. He had bought the usual things: a couple of packs of cigarettes, a large bar of chocolate, and a copy of Expressen. Sebastian and I rarely got to taste any of the chocolate.
As we approached the checkout a man jumped in front of Dad in the line. Just as Dad was about to put his things on the belt the man threw his shopping onto it. It was obvious from his clothes that he was one of the summer visitors. I was struck by the look of horror on the cashier’s face. Her fear of Dad’s anger.
Dad wasn’t about to accept some bastard tourist bastard, as he called them, pushing in front of him. I found out later that the man ended up in Uddevalla Hospital with two broken ribs. I was only five when it happened, but the story lived on, and I heard it many times over the years, along with plenty of others.
My math books had been open at the same page in front of me ever since the first blows were dealt down in the kitchen. Division. Easy, really. I found math perfectly straightforward. But when the blows started I dropped my pen and covered my ears with my hands.
A hand on my shoulder made me start. I ignored Sebastian. Kept my hands over my ears. From the corner of my eye I saw him sit down on my bed. He leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed, trying, like me, to shut it all out.
I stayed inside my bubble. There was no room for anyone else in there.
Faye met up with Chris at the Grand Hôtel for dinner and a few drinks. She didn’t feel like it—all she wanted was for the weekend to be over so she could find out if Julienne had succeeded. But she realized that it was a better idea to spend time with Chris, get drunk, maybe flirt a bit, rather than stay at home climbing the walls. The maître d” had prepared a table out on the veranda, with a view of the water and the Royal Palace. The noise level was slowly rising. At the piano bar at the far side of the room a beautiful woman was singing “Heal the World.”
Chris ordered a hamburger while Faye made do with a Caesar salad. Just as their mojitos arrived two young women in their mid-twenties came over and asked if they could have a selfie with her.
“We love you!” they squealed excitedly before they disappeared. “You’re such an awesome role model.”
“Next time I’m going to have to book a private room so I can get a chance to talk to you,” Chris said, highly amused, stirring her mojito.
“It’s not like you’re exactly unknown either,” Faye said.
Chris gave her a wry smile.
“How are your tits?”
“Different,” Faye said curtly.
She had been perfectly happy with her old ones, but had done what needed doing. Her body was a tool, something to help her reach her goal.
“Have you tried them out yet?”
Faye raised her eyebrows.
“With a guy, I mean.”
“No, not yet.”
“You need a good seeing to. It’s food for the soul.” Chris scanned the room. “That’s going to be tricky here, though. Most of the men in this place haven’t had an erection without pharmaceutical assistance since the fall of the Berlin Wall.”
Faye laughed and looked at the clientele. Chris was right. Plenty of money, not much hair, and regular consumers of little blue pills—that pretty much summed things up.
Chris leaned forward.
“Where are we with Jack? It’s not long until the IPO.”
“There was a temporary problem, but we should be back on course now,” she said, and told Chris what a key logger was. “Enough about me, though. What’s going on in your life?”
Chris took a sip of her mojito, then smacked her lips softly.
“A couple of months ago I was seriously considering retiring and moving somewhere sunny. The whole Queen organization runs itself, and I don’t exactly need any more money. But I’ve thought better of it now.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Chris said without meeting her gaze.
“Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to shake it out of you?”
“I am, embarrassingly enough, in love. Completely, hopelessly, fucking in love.”
Faye almost choked on a mint leaf. She started coughing.
“In love?” she repeated lamely. “Who with?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but his name is Johan and he’s a high school Swedish teacher.”
“That sounds very . . . normal,” Faye said, who had been expecting a tattooed participant in Paradise Hotel with bulging biceps who was eligible for a student discount on flights.
“That’s what’s so weird about it,” Chris said.
“How did you meet?”
“He came into our salon in Sturegallerian with his niece. He was wearing one of those ridiculous jackets with patches over the elbows. When his niece sat in the chair she said she wanted a Mohawk. That made me curious. How was he going to react? But he just nodded and said: ‘I always wanted one of those, they’re pretty cool.’ ”
Chris fell silent and looked out of the window.
“Shame he’s already taken, I thought, because I assumed she was his daughter. But I stayed in the salon to talk to him. And when he was about to pay she asked when her dad was going to pick her up. My mood sank even lower then—I assumed he was gay.”
“But?”
“She got picked up outside the salon by a bald guy whose face turned bright red when he saw his daughter’s hair. They parted and I . . . fuck it, I might as admit it—I cancelled all my meetings and started to follow him.”
“You stalked him?”
Faye was staring at her friend in amusement. This was crazy, even for Chris.
“Yes, just a bit, I guess.”
“How much is just a bit?”
“To Farsta.”
“You haven’t ventured outside the city center since . . .”
“Since the Year of Our Lord 2006. I know. So, when we got to Farsta he finally turned around. I’m not exactly James Bond, so he’d noticed I’d been following him all the way from Stureplan.”
“What did he say?”
“That he was very flattered, then he said I must be thirsty after all that stalking. I said I was, so he asked if he could buy me coffee.”
“Bloody hell, Chris! I’m so happy for you.”
Chris couldn’t help smiling. “So am I.”
“Then what?”
“He got me a coffee and I fell hopelessly in love. We went back to his place and I spent the next two days there.”
She laughed and Faye felt a warm glow spread through her.
“And now?”
“He’s the one, Faye, the man I’ve been waiting for all my life.”
For a f
raction of a second her smile flickered into a grimace. Anyone who hadn’t known Chris as long as Faye had wouldn’t have noticed a thing.
Something was wrong.
“Chris, what is it?”
“What do you mean?” she said nonchalantly.
“I know you. What is it?”
Chris raised her glass and took a sip. Then she put it down.
“I’ve got cancer,” she said in a thick voice.
Time stopped, the noises around them vanished, shapes blurred, sharp edges lost their focus.
Chris’s voice sounded muffled and unfamiliar.
Faye couldn’t take it in. Chris, so vital, so full of life, couldn’t possibly have cancer. But she did. A rare type of endometrial cancer. As Chris pointed out, that was rather ironic given how little she’d used her womb. Glasses clinked around them. The entrance to Stockholm harbor lay sunlit and smooth as a mirror before them, the Royal Palace loomed up on the other side of the water, looking as usual more like a municipal prison than a fairytale castle. It was an unusually beautiful autumn day, and it had drawn out the city’s inhabitants in their hordes. At the tables around them people were enjoying their afternoon tea with clinking gold jewelry, and Faye wondered how they could be laughing when her own world had imploded.
“I wasn’t going to say anything until I got rid of it. But it is what it is.”
Chris shrugged. If the doctors didn’t manage to stop it she’d be dead within twelve months. Faye kept looking for a sign that she was joking, kept waiting for Chris’s loud, disarming laugh. But it didn’t come.
“We have to get out of here,” she said. She could barely breathe. “I can’t sit here picking at a fucking Caesar salad while you tell me you’ve got cancer.”
She regretted saying that at once. She realized Chris must be terrified, and was struggling to hold everything together. This wasn’t the right time for her to be saying what she wanted. And it wasn’t the time for her to be feeling sorry for herself.
“Sorry. I’m just so incredibly sorry,” she said.
The Gilden Cage Page 21
