She had moved like a dancer, although she had abandoned her career as a dancer long ago. She claimed that she hadn’t been ambitious enough. Not because of lack of talent, but she hadn’t had the determination required always to put dance first, to sacrifice love and time and laughter and friends. She had loved life too much.
So she’d stopped dancing. But when they met, and right up until the end, she’d still had the lithe rhythm of a dancer in her body. He could sit and stare at her for hours. Watch her walking around the house, cleaning up and humming while her feet moved so gracefully that she looked like she was floating.
Again he pressed the dress to his face. How refreshing and cool the fabric felt against his feverishly hot skin, catching on the unshaven stubble of his cheek. The last time she had worn the dress was on Midsummer Eve. The blue of the dress had mirrored the colour of her eyes, and the dark plait hanging down her back had gleamed as brightly as the lustrous fabric.
It was a fabulous evening. One of the few Midsummers that had offered glorious sunshine, and they’d sat outside in the yard, eating herring and boiled new potatoes. They had cooked the meal together. The baby was lying in the pram, with the mosquito netting firmly in place so that no insects could get in. The child was well protected.
The baby’s name fluttered past, and he gave a start, as if he’d jabbed his hand on something sharp. He forced himself to think about the frosty beer glasses and the friends who had raised those glasses in a toast, in honour of summer and love and the two of them. He thought about the strawberries that she brought out in a big bowl. Remembered how she had sat at the kitchen table, cleaning them, and how he had teased her because of the mess she’d made and the fact that every third or fourth strawberry had ended up in her mouth instead of in the bowl. The serving bowl that would later be presented to their guests, along with whipped cream topped with a sprinkling of sugar, just the way she’d been taught by her grandmother. She’d responded to his teasing with a laugh, then pulled him close and kissed him with lips that tasted of ripe berries.
He began to sob as he sat there holding the dress in his hands. He couldn’t help it. Little dark spots appeared on the material from his tears, which he quickly wiped away on the sleeve of his shirt, not wanting to soil the dress, refusing to ruin what little he had left.
Christian carefully put the dress back in the suitcase. It was all that remained of them. The only thing he could bear to keep. He closed up the suitcase and pushed it back in the corner. He didn’t want Sanna to find it. His stomach turned over at the mere thought of her opening it, looking inside, and touching the dress. He knew it was wrong, but he had chosen Sanna for only one reason: the fact that she was completely different in appearance. She didn’t have lips that tasted of strawberries, and she didn’t move like a dancer.
But it turned out not to be enough. The past had still caught up with him. Just as malevolently as it had caught up with her, wearing that blue dress. And now he could see no way out.
‘Could you watch Leo for a while?’ Paula was looking at her mother, Rita, but then she cast an even more hopeful glance at Mellberg. Soon after their son’s birth, both she and Johanna had realized that Rita’s new boyfriend was the perfect babysitter. Mellberg was totally incapable of saying no.
‘Well, we were actually about to …’ Rita began, but Mellberg jumped in and said eagerly:
‘No problem. We’ll be happy to take care of the little fellow. The two of you should just go off and do whatever you were planning to do.’
Rita sighed in resignation, but she couldn’t resist casting a look of appreciation at this man – a diamond in the rough, and that was putting it mildly – whom she’d chosen to live with. She knew that many people regarded him as a boor, an unkempt and brash sort of man. But from the very beginning she’d seen other qualities in him, qualities that she as a woman should be able to encourage.
And she was right. Bertil Mellberg treated her like a queen. It was enough for Rita to see him looking at her grandson to know what hidden resources he possessed. His love for the infant was beyond comprehension. The only problem was that she had swiftly been demoted to second place, but she could live with that. Besides, she’d begun making progress with Bertil on the dance floor. He’d never be a salsa king, but she no longer had to make sure to wear shoes with steel toes.
‘If you wouldn’t mind taking care of him on your own for a while, maybe Mamma could come with us. We were thinking of driving out to Torp to buy a few things for Leo’s room.’
‘Hand him over,’ said Bertil enthusiastically, motioning at the baby lying in Paula’s arms. ‘We can manage for a couple of hours. A bottle or two when he gets hungry, and then a little quality time spent with Grandpa Bertil. What more could the boy ask for?’
Paula put her son in Mellberg’s arms. Good lord, what an odd couple those two made. But she couldn’t deny that there was a special connection between them. Even though, in her eyes, Bertil Mellberg was the worst boss she could imagine, he’d shown himself to be the world’s best grandfather.
‘So you’re sure you’ll be all right?’ asked Rita, a bit uneasy. Even though Bertil often helped out with Leo, his experience of caring for babies was limited, to say the least. His own son, Simon, was already a teenager by the time he made an appearance in Mellberg’s life.
‘Of course I’m sure,’ said Bertil, sounding offended. ‘Eat, shit, sleep. How hard could it be? I’ve been doing exactly the same things for almost sixty years.’ He more or less shoved the women out of the flat and then closed the door behind them. Now they’d have some peace and quiet, he and Leo.
Two hours later he was completely soaked with sweat. Leo was crying at the top of his lungs, and the smell of dirty nappies had settled over the living room like a fog. Grandpa Bertil was desperately trying to lull the baby to sleep, but Leo just cried louder and louder. Mellberg’s hair, which was usually combed over into a neat nest on top of his head, had tumbled down over his right ear, and he could feel the sweat spreading under his arms in patches as big as platters.
He was close to panicking, and he cast a sidelong glance at his mobile phone lying on the coffee table. Should he ring the girls? They were probably still in Torp, and it would take them a good forty-five minutes to drive home, even if they started out at once. And if he phoned for help, they might not dare leave him alone with their son again. No, he was going to have to find a way to cope on his own. He’d wrestled with quite a few ugly customers in his day. He’d also had to fire his weapon in the line of duty, and deal with demented junkies wielding knives. So he should be able to handle this situation. After all, Leo wasn’t any bigger than a loaf of bread, even though he had a voice loud enough for a grown man.
‘Okay, now, my boy, first we need to analyse the situation,’ said Mellberg, putting down the furious baby. ‘Let’s see. Looks like you’ve made a mess in your nappy. And you’re probably hungry. In other words, we’ve got a crisis at both ends. It’s just a matter of which one to prioritize.’ Mellberg was talking loudly, in order to drown out the screaming. ‘Okay, eating always comes first – at least, for me it does. So let’s find you a big bottle of formula.’
Bertil lifted Leo up and carried him into the kitchen. He’d been given detailed instructions on how to make the formula and, using the microwave, it took no time at all. He carefully tested the temperature by sucking a little from the bottle himself.
‘Hmmm, doesn’t really taste of much, my boy. But you’ll just have to wait for the good stuff until you’re a bit older.’
Leo screamed even louder at the sight of the bottle, so Bertil sat down at the kitchen table and nestled the infant in his left arm. When the nipple touched Leo’s lips, he began greedily sucking the formula into his stomach. He finished off the whole bottle in a flash, and Mellberg could feel the tiny body relaxing. But soon the boy began squirming again, and the odour was now so strong that Mellberg couldn’t stand it any longer. The only problem was that changing nappies was
n’t a task that he’d managed very successfully so far.
‘All right, now we’ve satisfied one end. Let’s go take care of the other,’ he said in a sprightly tone of voice that didn’t correspond in the slightest to his true feelings about the job.
Mellberg carried the whimpering Leo into the bathroom. He’d helped the girls fasten a changing table to the wall, and there he found everything he needed for Operation Dirty Nappy.
He placed the infant on the table and pulled off his pants, trying to breathe through his mouth, but it didn’t help much because the smell was so overwhelming. Mellberg loosened the tape on the nappy and just about fainted when the whole mess in all its stinky glory appeared before his eyes.
‘Dear Jesus,’ he muttered. He glanced around in desperation and caught sight of a package of wet wipes. When he reached for them, letting go of the baby’s legs, Leo took the opportunity to bury his feet in the dirty nappy.
‘No, no, don’t do that,’ said Mellberg, grabbing a whole fistful of wipes to dry off the baby’s bottom and feet. But all he managed to do was smear the shit around until he realized that he needed to remove the cause of the problem. He lifted Leo by his legs and coaxed out the nappy, which he then dropped into the rubbish bin standing on the floor, unable to stop the grimace that appeared on his face.
Having used up half the package of wipes, he finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel. The worst of the mess had been cleaned up, and Leo had calmed down. Mellberg carefully wiped away the last of it and took a new nappy from the shelf above the changing table.
‘All right then. We’re just about done here,’ he said with satisfaction as Leo kicked his legs, seeming pleased with the chance to air out his bare bottom. ‘I wonder which way this goes on.’ Mellberg twisted and turned the nappy, deciding at last that the little animal pictures must go in the back, like the label on a piece of clothing. It didn’t seem to fit very well, and the tape didn’t close properly. How could it be so hard to make a proper nappy? It was lucky that he was such an efficient person who regarded a problem as a challenge.
Mellberg lifted Leo up, carried him back to the kitchen, and held him against his shoulder as he rummaged in the bottom drawer under the counter. There he found what he was looking for. A roll of tape. He went into the living room, placed Leo on the sofa, and wrapped tape several times around the nappy. Then he sat back to admire his handiwork.
‘Okay now. The girls were worried that I wouldn’t be able to take care of you. What do you say, Leo? Don’t you think we’ve earned the right to take a little snooze?’
Bertil picked up the now well-taped baby and held him in his arms as he settled himself in a comfortable position on the sofa. Leo rooted around a bit before burrowing his face in the hollow of the police chief’s neck.
When the women in their lives came home half an hour later, they were both sound asleep.
‘Is Christian at home? Erica would have liked nothing better than to turn and run when Sanna opened the door. But Patrik was right. She had no choice.
‘Yes, but he’s up in the attic. I’ll call him.’ Sanna turned towards the stairs. ‘Christian! You have a visitor!’ she shouted and then looked again at Erica. ‘Come on in. He’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Thanks.’ Erica felt awkward standing there in the front hall next to Sanna, but soon they heard footsteps on the stairs. When Christian came into view, she noticed how worn out he looked, and the guilt she was feeling grew even worse.
‘Hi,’ he said, looking a bit puzzled to see her so soon, but he came to give her a hug.
‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ said Erica, feeling again an urge to turn on her heel and dash out the door.
‘Really? Well, come on in,’ said Christian, motioning towards the living room. She took off her coat and shoes and followed after him.
‘Would you like something to drink?’
‘No, thanks.’ She shook her head. All she wanted was to get this whole thing over with.
‘How did the book-signings go?’ she asked, sitting down at one end of the living-room sofa. She sank deep into the cushions.
‘Fine,’ said Christian in a tone of voice that did not invite further questions. ‘Did you see the newspaper yesterday?’ he asked instead. His face was a pallid grey in the winter light filtering through the window.
‘Yes, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ Erica paused to muster her courage to go on. One of the twins gave her a hard kick in the ribs, and she gasped.
‘Are the babies kicking?’
‘You can say that again.’ She took a deep breath and went on. ‘It’s my fault that the story got leaked to the press.’
‘What do you mean?’ Christian sat up straighter.
‘I wasn’t the one who tipped them off,’ she hurried to explain. ‘But I was stupid enough to mention it to the wrong person.’ She didn’t dare meet Christian’s eyes. Instead, she looked down at her hands.
‘You mean Gaby?’ said Christian wearily. ‘But didn’t you realize that she would –’
Erica interrupted him. ‘Patrik said the exact same thing. And you’re both right. I should have known not to trust her, that she would view it as an opportunity to get some publicity. I feel like a real fool. I shouldn’t have been so naive.’
‘Well, there’s not much to be done about it now,’ said Christian.
His resigned attitude made Erica feel even worse. She almost wished that he would yell at her. That would have been preferable to looking at the tired and disappointed expression on his face.
‘I’m sorry, Christian. I’m so sorry about all this.’
‘Let’s just hope that she was right, in any case.’
‘Who?’
‘Gaby. Then at least I’ll sell more books as a result.’
‘I don’t understand how anyone can be so cynical. To throw you to the wolves like that just because it might be good for business.’
‘She didn’t get to be as successful as she is today by trying to be everybody’s friend.’
‘But still. It can’t be worth it.’ Erica was filled with remorse about what she’d done, even though she’d acted in good faith. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand how anyone with a conscience could behave the way Gaby had done. And all for the sake of making a profit.
‘I’m sure it will blow over,’ said Christian, but he didn’t sound convinced.
‘Were you hounded by reporters today?’ Erica shifted her position, trying to get more comfortable. No matter how she sat, it felt like one or another of her internal organs was getting pinched.
‘After the first phone call yesterday, I switched off my mobile. I’m not planning to give them any more fuel for the fire.’
‘So what about …’ Erica hesitated. ‘Have you received any more threats? I know that you have no reason to trust me after all this, but believe me when I say that I’ve learned my lesson.’
Christian seemed to shut down. He looked out of the window, as if deciding what to say. When he did answer, his voice sounded weak and exhausted.
‘I don’t want to dwell on that. It’s been blown way out of proportion.’
There was a crash upstairs, and a child started crying, loud and shrill. Christian made no move to get up, but Erica heard Sanna dashing upstairs.
‘Do the children get along?’ Erica asked, motioning towards the room overhead.
‘Not really. My older son doesn’t like competition. I suppose that’s a good way to describe the problem.’ Christian smiled.
‘Most people have a tendency to focus a little too much on the first child right after the birth,’ replied Erica.
‘You’re probably right,’ said Christian, his smile disappearing. He had a strange look on his face, and Erica couldn’t really decipher what it might mean. Upstairs, both boys were now crying, joined by Sanna’s angry scolding.
‘You need to talk to the police,’ said Erica. ‘I’m sure you realize that I mentioned the m
atter to Patrik, and I don’t regret doing so. He thinks you should definitely take this whole thing seriously, and the first step is to report it to the police. You could start by just going to see him – unofficially, if you like.’ She could hear that she sounded like she was pleading with him, but the letters had really upset her, and she had the feeling that Christian felt the same way.
‘I don’t want to talk about this any more,’ he said, getting up. ‘I know you didn’t mean for things to turn out the way they did after you talked to Gaby. But you need to respect the fact that I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.’
The screams overhead had now gone up several decibels, and Christian headed for the stairs.
‘You’ll have to excuse me, but I need to go and help Sanna before the boys kill each other. You can find your way out, can’t you?’ Then he rushed off without saying goodbye, and Erica had the distinct impression that he was glad to escape.
7
Weren’t they ever going back home? The caravan seemed to get smaller with every day that passed, and he’d already explored every corner of the camping area. Maybe once they were home they’d start to like him again. Here it felt as if he didn’t exist at all.
Father sat around solving crossword puzzles, and Mother was ill. At least, that was the explanation he’d received when he tried to go in and see her. She spent the days inside the caravan’s cramped sleeping area. And she hadn’t gone swimming with him again. Even though he couldn’t forget the terror or the feeling of something wriggling past his feet, he would have preferred that to being constantly banished from the caravan.
‘Mother is ill. Go out and play.’
So he would take off, filling the hours of the day on his own. At first the other children at the campground tried to play with him, but he wasn’t interested. If he wasn’t allowed to be with his mother, then he didn’t want to be with anybody.
The Drowning Page 9
