The Gilded Cage

by Camilla Lackberg

  The online store she had opened, with a special forum where women could share stories of how they had got their revenge on their husbands, had struggled to cope with demand. The forum was overflowing with stories. More poured in every day, they never seemed to stop. Another vital tool was Facebook. They had been able to target their advertising at the precise audience they were after: well-educated, aware women. Customers who also had money, which meant they could charge a higher price and make more of a margin on each item sold.

  At first all sales were online. When it was time for Irene Ahrnell’s department stores to introduce Revenge’s products, Faye realized that something extra was needed to maintain the hype and mystique that had been built up online. She contacted a dozen female artists, authors and actors and invited them each to design one piece of packaging, giving them full artistic freedom. Backed up by a huge campaign on social media. And all of it launched under the magical concept of the limited edition.

  Young women queued outside stores to get hold of Revenge products bearing their idols’ imprinted messages about the sisterhood. They suddenly found themselves reaching new target groups. Within their limited forum they had managed to foster a spirit of revolution.

  Kerstin cleared her throat in the doorway.

  ‘You’re picking Julienne up at four o’clock today.’

  ‘Any meetings booked before that?’

  ‘No, you asked to keep this afternoon free.’

  ‘Of course, that’s right. Thanks.’

  ‘See you at home this evening,’ Kerstin said, and closed the door.

  She seemed tense today, and Faye wondered why. Then she remembered that Kerstin had been to visit Ragnar at lunchtime. She was always unsettled after seeing him. When Faye asked why she still visited him, Kerstin had replied: ‘I’m still his wife, in spite of everything. I only go to stop the staff phoning and nagging me. Besides, it gives me a certain satisfaction to see him lying there helpless. But I always fantasize about one day smothering him with a pillow.’

  Faye looked out of the window again. The traffic was rumbling by down below. It would soon be October, when Compare was going to be launched on the stock market, after years of speculation. And that meant that the second part of the plan could begin. After so much hard work, everything depended on whether she was successful in the coming months. She picked up her bag, containing the Dell computer she had bought earlier, and left the office. In Sturegallerian she found a café where most of the clientele were pupils playing truant from the posh schools nearby.

  She listened idly to their conversations, about which Gucci bag they’d like for their birthday, someone complaining about having to go on a family holiday to the Maldives because ‘there’s, like, nothing to do there’. She ordered coffee from an uninterested waitress, sat at one of the corner tables, opened the laptop and connected to the Wi-Fi. Jack had had the same password since Julienne was born. During all their years together he hadn’t changed it more than a couple of times. And he was a creature of habit.

  Or at least he always used to be.

  The very earliest documents relating to Compare were saved as PDF files in his Gmail account. But she could only access them if he was using the old password: Julienne100730. Faye raised the white coffee cup to her lips and took a sip. Her hand was shaking. Every step she’d taken over the last three years had been leading up to this. It all hinged on the supposition that Jack was a creature of habit who was too lazy to change his password.

  She tapped in the letters and number, then clicked to log in.

  Wrong password.

  She tried again.

  Wrong password.

  She stifled a cry of frustration. The bastard had finally got round to changing it. She slammed the laptop shut and left the café.

  What was she going to do now? She had to get into his emails.

  Ten minutes later she was back in the office. As she reached the door the first raindrops had started to fall. Kerstin looked up at her expectantly.

  Faye shook her head.

  ‘Can you ask Nima to come and see me?’ she said, and hurried into her room.

  Nima, a skinny guy with pale skin and hairy arms, was Revenge’s IT expert. Socially inept, but a genius when it came to computers.

  Faye hung her coat up and waited for him behind her desk.

  He appeared in the doorway a couple of minutes later.

  ‘You needed help?’ he said.

  Faye smiled.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, gesturing towards the visitor’s chair.

  He sat down, rubbing his hands anxiously.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said, flashing him a disarming smile. ‘Quite the contrary. I need your help with something. It’s a bit embarrassing.’

  ‘OK?’

  ‘It’s Julienne, my daughter. She’s been given a computer, and I’m a bit worried she might be looking at unsuitable sites. I’d like to be able to keep an eye on what she’s getting up to. I’m a real worrier, I just can’t help it.’

  Nima nodded.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Is it possible to do anything?’

  ‘What sort of information do you want?’

  ‘Her password for Facebook, that sort of thing. You can’t help worrying these days, children will talk to anyone and they’re so naïve.’

  Nima frowned.

  ‘That can be sorted. I suggest you install a key-logger on her computer. Then you’ll be able to see everything without having to sign into her social media.’

  ‘How would a …’

  ‘Key-logger … You just have to activate it on her computer. Then whenever you want you can download everything that’s been typed in, in the form of an ordinary text file. Every keystroke gets registered, it’s as simple as that. You can follow her every move without having to sign into her Facebook or Snapchat accounts.’

  ‘And there’s no way she’d know I was doing it?’

  ‘No, not if it’s hidden among all the other files. It would be buried in the background. And it would record everything without her knowing.’

  ‘Great. How do I get hold of one of these key-loggers?’

  ‘Give me a minute,’ Nima said, and stood up.

  He was soon back, holding a black USB stick.

  Faye pushed her chair back and he inserted the stick into one of the ports on her computer, and showed her how to install the program.

  ‘I’ve got kids too, so I know what it’s like,’ he said.

  Faye looked at him in surprise. She would hardly have believed he had a girlfriend.

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Astrid. Ten years old, and on the internet the whole time. You can’t help worrying as a parent.’

  ‘You must have been very young when you had her.’

  ‘Twenty. Planned, though, weirdly enough. I’ve always been old for my age.’

  ‘And you’re still with …?’

  ‘Johanna.’ He lit up when he said her name. ‘Oh yes, we’re married.’

  Faye raised her eyebrows. People never ceased to surprise her.

  Money does something to people. Back when Faye was still Mrs Adelheim the other children’s parents used to ring pretty much every weekend to invite Julienne to parties and play-dates. They strained so hard that they practically shat themselves trying to pretend that it was their kids who wanted to see Julienne. The truth was that they wanted to cosy up to her and Jack. Or Jack, to be more precise. She was merely an accessory, a way to get at a successful man.

  Julienne was their ticket to being invited to dinner, so they could bask in Jack and Faye’s reflected glory in the hope that some of their success would rub off on them.

  They stopped talking to her after the divorce. The phone stopped ringing. Enskede might as well have been Mogadishu or Baghdad as far as they were concerned. There wasn’t a parent on Lidingö who was prepared to send their child there, not without a bodyguard and a load of vaccinations.
They called Jack instead. And he in turn delegated the calls to Ylva, who had to spend a fair chunk of her time coordinating parties and play-dates on the weekends they had Julienne. Not that that was ever more than one weekend per month.

  Things couldn’t have been more different after Faye’s success with Revenge.

  Julienne had started at Östermalm School. Jack had wanted her to go to the private school, Carlsson’s, where the royal family’s children went, or Fredrikshov Palace School, because there were rumours that was where the footballer Zlatan Ibrahimovic was planning to send his sons, but Faye had refused. She didn’t want Julienne to grow up into the sort of teenager who complained loudly about having to go on holiday to the Maldives.

  OK, so there weren’t exactly a lot of kids on benefits at Östermalm School, but at least there were a few children who didn’t take it for granted that the summer would be spent in Marbella or New York, Christmas in the Maldives and half-term in their family’s chalet in Verbier or Chamonix.

  Julienne was having a great time. Faye and Kerstin were the cornerstones of her life. She looked forward to her weekends with Jack before they happened, but was always withdrawn when she came home. It seemed he made a habit of promising more than he could deliver.

  Faye parked the car on Banérgatan. Julienne was waiting on a bench by the lift with her face in her iPad. Faye sat down beside her without her noticing. She only looked up when Faye nudged her in the side.

  Julienne laughed and gave Faye a hug.

  ‘What are you playing?’

  ‘Pokémon,’ Julienne said, tucking the iPad away in her rucksack.

  Faye took Julienne’s hand.

  ‘Have you had a good day?’ she said as they walked to the car.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know you’re going to Daddy’s this weekend?’

  ‘Mmh.’

  She opened the door for Julienne and fastened her seat belt.

  ‘That’ll be fun, won’t it?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Don’t you like being there?’

  ‘Sometimes. They argue a lot and that isn’t nice. And Daddy’s away working most of the time.’

  ‘Adults do argue sometimes, Julienne. Daddy and I used to as well. But it’s absolutely nothing to do with you, though I can appreciate that it’s not nice to hear. And it’s for your sake that Daddy works so much.’

  She stroked Julienne’s cheek.

  ‘Do you want me to talk to Daddy?’

  Julienne shook her head hard.

  ‘He’d be angry.’

  ‘Why would he be angry?’ Faye said, giving her a hug.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Julienne said quietly.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Julienne nodded against her chest.

  When Faye opened the door to the flat Julienne rushed in ahead of her and ran into the kitchen.

  The four-room apartment, spread out across one hundred and seventy square metres 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 neighbouring flat, 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 round 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 not daft, are you? Yes, your very own mobile 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 a flat for her and Julienne, another for Kerstin, and had got back on her feet again. But, ridiculously, she sometimes asked herself if she d
idn’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 mum 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 backwards through a thirty-year journey. Back to her childhood, to Fjällbacka, to the house where they lived. Her, Sebastian, Mum and Dad.

  She had put the day’s post 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.