Feeling guilty, she looked at the little downy head resting happily on the nursing pillow. The baby’s mouth was half open and her eyelids fluttered now and then. Erica’s despair had nothing to do with lack of motherly love. She loved Maja fiercely and sincerely. At the same time she felt as if she’d been invaded by an alien parasite that sucked all joy out of her and forced her into a shadow existence that had nothing in common with the life she’d lived before.
Sometimes she felt such bitterness against Patrik as well. Because he could make small guest appearances in her world and then slip out into the real world like a normal person. Because he didn’t understand how it felt to be living her life right now. But in more clear-headed moments she realized that she wasn’t being fair. Because how could he understand? He wasn’t physically bound to the baby in the same way she was; not emotionally either, for that matter. For better or worse, the bond between mother and daughter was so strong in the beginning that it functioned as both a shackle and a lifeline.
One of her legs had gone to sleep, and Erica cautiously tried to change position. It was risky, she knew that, but the pain in her leg was too much. Maja started to squirm, opened her eyes and immediately began searching for food with her mouth wide open. With a sigh Erica stuck in her nipple again. So far Maja had only slept for half an hour, and Erica knew that it wouldn’t be long before she fell asleep again. Sitting motionless like this, her butt was going to get a real workout today too. No, damn it all, she thought in the next instant. This time she was going to make Maja sleep alone!
It turned into a battle of wills. In one corner, Erica, 154 pounds. In the other corner, Maja, 13 pounds. With a firm grip Erica rolled the stroller over the threshold between the living room and the hall. A whole arm’s length, in, out. She wondered how anyone could sleep in a stroller that shook like there was an earthquake going on, but according to The Baby Book that was exactly what was needed. Give the baby plain and clear instructions that ‘now you’re going to sleep, Mamma has the situation under control.’ Fifteen minutes into the experiment, however, Erica wouldn’t exactly describe her situation as ‘under control.’ Although Maja, according to all calculations, should have been extremely tired, she screamed to high heaven, furious at being denied the pacifying warmth of her mother’s body. For a moment Erica was tempted to give up and sit down and nurse her daughter to sleep, but then she thought better of it. No matter how angry Maja was about the new regime, and how much her shrieks cut to Erica’s heart, Maja would be better served by a mother who felt happy and had the energy to take care of her. So she persevered. Each time Maja cried in protest, Erica firmly rolled the stroller back and forth. If Maja quieted down and seemed about to go to sleep, Erica would carefully stop the stroller. According to Anna Wahlgren, it was important to stop moving the stroller just before the baby fell asleep so she would do so under her own power. And hallelujah! Half an hour later, Maja was sound asleep in the stroller. Cautiously Erica wheeled her into the study, closed the door, and sat down on the sofa feeling blissful.
Her good humor held on, even when it was eight o’clock and Patrik still hadn’t come home. Erica hadn’t had the energy to go around and turn on the lamps, so as the twilight gradually turned to night, the house had grown ever darker. Now the only light came from the TV screen. She lazily watched one of the many reality shows that were on in the evening as she fed Maja once again. To her shame, she had to admit that she’d gotten hooked on far too many of these shows, and Patrik had taken to muttering about being inundated with petty intrigues and people greedy for media attention. His time watching sports programs had been considerably curtailed, but as long as he wasn’t the one who had to sit and nurse Maja all evening, he agreed to let Erica be the boss of the remote control. Now she turned up the volume, amazed at the girls willing to prance and preen for a vain and foolish young man trying to convince them that he was marriage material. It was obvious to all the TV viewers that he considered his participation in the program as a way to increase his pickup success at the trendiest clubs in Stockholm. Erica actually agreed with Patrik that the program was an intelligence-free zone, but once she started watching it she couldn’t stop.
A sound from the front door made her turn the volume back down. For an instant her old fear of the dark took over, but then she realized that it must be Patrik finally coming home.
‘You’ve sure got it dark in here,’ he said, turning on a couple of lamps before he went over to Erica and Maja. He leaned over and kissed Erica on the cheek, stroked Maja’s head gently, and then plopped down on the sofa.
‘I’m really sorry to be so late,’ he said. Despite Erica’s childish feelings earlier that day, her annoyance drained out of her at once.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘We managed fine, the two of us.’ She was still euphoric at getting some brief moments to herself when Maja was sleeping in the stroller in the study.
‘No chance of watching a little hockey, is there?’ Patrik cast a wistful glance at the TV, not having noticed Erica’s unusually good mood.
Erica just snorted in reply. What a dumb question.
‘That’s what I figured,’ he said, smiling, and stood up. ‘I’m going to make myself a couple of sandwiches. Would you like some?’
She shook her head. ‘I ate a while ago. But a cup of tea would be nice. She’ll probably have had her fill soon.’ As if Maja understood what Erica said, she let go and looked up in contentment. Erica gratefully straightened her clothes, set Maja in the bouncer, and went to join Patrik in the kitchen. He was at the stove stirring O’Boy cocoa powder into a saucepan of milk. She went to stand behind him, putting her arms round him to hug him tight. It felt so good, and she realized how little physical contact they’d had since Maja was born. She knew it was mostly her fault.
‘How was your day?’ she asked. That was something else she hadn’t done in a long time.
‘Terrible,’ he said, taking butter, cheese, and caviar out of the fridge.
‘I heard that you brought Kaj in,’ she said cautiously, unsure of how much Patrik would want to tell. She had decided not to say anything about the visits she’d had that day.
‘The gossip has spread like wildfire, I presume?’ said Patrik.
‘You could say that.’
‘So, what are people saying?’
‘That he must have had something to do with Sara’s death. Is it true?’
‘I don’t know.’ Patrik seemed tired as he poured the hot chocolate into a cup and fixed a couple of open sandwiches. He sat down facing Erica and began to dunk his cheese-and-caviar sandwich into the hot chocolate. After a while he went on: ‘But we didn’t bring him in because of Sara’s murder. There was another reason.’
He fell silent again. Erica knew better than to pry, but she couldn’t help asking. In her mind’s eye she saw Charlotte’s listless gaze.
‘But is there anything to indicate that he may have had something to do with Sara’s death?’
Patrik dunked another sandwich in the chocolate and Erica tried not to watch. She hated this barbaric habit.
‘Yeah, there might well be. But we’ll have to wait and see. We can’t take the risk of narrowing our focus. There’s something else we have to look at too,’ he said, avoiding her eyes.
She stopped asking questions. Grunts of protest from the living room indicated that Maja was getting tired of sitting all alone. Patrik got up and brought in the bouncer, setting her gently down on the kitchen table. She gurgled gratefully and waved her hands and feet. The weariness in his face vanished, and his eyes took on that special gleam reserved for his daughter.
‘Is this Pappa’s little sweetie? Did Pappa’s little darling have a good day? Is she the sweetest girl in the whole world?’ he babbled with his face close to Maja’s. Then Maja’s face contorted, turned bright red, and after a couple of groans there came a ‘blap’ from the lower regions and a dense stink spread round the table. Erica got up automatically to deal with the situation
.
‘I’ll get it, you just sit,’ said Patrik, and Erica gratefully sank back onto the kitchen chair.
When Patrik came back with a newly changed Maja in her pajamas, she told him with great enthusiasm about the successful stroller trick and how she had gotten Maja to fall asleep.
Patrik looked skeptical. ‘She cried for forty-five minutes before she fell asleep? Is she really supposed to do that? On TV they said that if they cry, you’re supposed to give them the breast. Can it really be good for her to have to cry like that?’
His lack of enthusiasm and understanding made Erica furious. ‘Obviously the point is not for her to cry for forty-five minutes. It’ll taper off in a few days, and besides, if you don’t think it’s a good idea, then you can stay home and take care of her! You’re not the one who has to sit here nursing all day long. That must be why you don’t see any need to make any changes!’
Then she burst into tears and dashed upstairs to the bedroom. Patrik sat there at the kitchen table, feeling like an idiot. He should have thought before he opened his mouth.
24
Fjällbacka 1928
Two days later, her father came to Fjällbacka. She was sitting in the little room where she had found temporary shelter, waiting with her hands folded in her lap. When he came in, she saw that the gossip had been true. He looked terrible. His hair had thinned even more on top. A few years earlier, he’d been pleasantly plump, but now his figure was bordering on fat, and his breathing was erratic. His complexion was flushed bright red from the exertion, but just underneath was a gray tinge that refused to yield to the red. He didn’t look well.
He hesitated at the threshold with an expression of disbelief when he saw how small and dark the room was, but when he caught sight of Agnes he rushed forward to give her a big hug. She didn’t return the embrace, but kept her hands in her lap. He had betrayed her, and she could never forgive him.
August tried to get a reaction out of her but then gave up and released her. And yet he couldn’t help caressing her cheek. She flinched as if he’d slapped her.
‘Agnes, Agnes, my poor Agnes.’ He sat down on the chair next to her but refrained from touching her again. The sympathy on his face turned her stomach. It was too late for that now. Four years ago, she had needed him, yearned for paternal care and concern. Now it made no difference.
He began to speak, urgently, but she studiously avoided looking at him, and his words caught in his throat.
‘Agnes, I know that I was wrong and that nothing I can say will change that. But let me help you now that you’re in such terrible straits. Come back home, and let me take care of you. Things can be like they were before, everything can be like before. What has happened is horrible, but together we can put it all behind you.’
His voice rose and sank in imploring waves that shattered against the hard shell of her heart. His words felt like a reproach.
‘Dear Agnes, please come home. You can have anything you want.’
She saw out of the corner of her eye how his hands trembled, and his beseeching tone of voice gave her more satisfaction than she could have ever imagined. And she had imagined it; she had dreamed about it many times during the dark years that had passed.
She slowly turned to face him. August took this as a sign that she would accept his entreaties and eagerly tried to take her hands. Without expression she abruptly pulled them away.
‘I’m leaving for America on Friday,’ she said, enjoying the dismayed expression on August’s face.
‘A … aa … merica,’ August stammered, clearly horrified. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t this.
‘Anders had bought tickets for all of us. He dreamed about a future for us there. I intend to honor his wish and go there myself,’ she said dramatically, shifting her eyes away from her father to look out the window. She knew that her profile was beautiful in the backlight, and her black clothing emphasized the pallor she had so carefully guarded.
People had been tiptoeing around her for two days. A small room had been offered by one of her neighbors, with the promise that she could stay as long as she liked. All the talking behind her back, all the contempt they had previously directed at her, all that had been swept away with the smoke. The women brought her food and clothing. Everything she wore now was either borrowed or a gift. She had nothing of her own left.
Anders’s cutter mates at the quarry had also come by. Dressed in their Sunday best and newly scrubbed, they stood with their caps in hand and looked at the floor. They shook her hand and mumbled some words about Anders.
Agnes couldn’t wait until she could get away from this patched, threadbare crowd. She longed to go aboard the boat that would take her to freedom. She wanted to let the sea air blow away the filth and decay that lay like a membrane over her skin. For a couple more days she had to tolerate their sympathy, and then she would set off and never look back. But first there was what she wanted to get from the bloated, red-faced man sitting next to her, this man who had abandoned her so cruelly four years ago. Now she would see to it that he paid, and paid dearly, for each and every one of the four years that had passed.
Her father continued to stammer, still in shock over her news. ‘But, but, how will you make a living over there?’ he asked with concern, wiping sweat from his brow with a little handkerchief that he pulled out of his pocket.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied with a melodramatic sigh, allowing a worried shadow to glide across her face, lingering long enough for her father to notice.
‘Won’t you change your mind, my heart? Come stay with your old father instead.’
She shook her head, waiting for him to offer another suggestion. In that respect he did not disappoint her. Men were so easy to see through.
‘Won’t you at least let me help you, then? Some money to get you started, and an allowance so you can manage? Couldn’t I do that much for you? Otherwise I’ll worry to death about you, all alone and so far away.’
Agnes pretended to ponder the idea for a moment, and August hastened to add, ‘And surely I can see to it that you have a better ticket for the crossing. A private stateroom in first class. That sounds a little better than travelling squeezed in with a bunch of other people.’
She nodded graciously and said after a pause, ‘Well yes, I suppose I could let you do that. You can give me the money tomorrow. After the funeral,’ she added, and August flinched at the word.
He tentatively tried to find the right words. ‘The boys,’ he began in a trembling voice, ‘did they look like our side of the family?’
They had been the spitting image of Anders, but in a stony voice Agnes said, ‘They looked just like the pictures of you when you were little. Small copies of you. And they often asked why they didn’t have a grandfather like the other children.’ She watched her words twisting like a knife in his breast. All lies, but the more his conscience weighed on him, the more he would fill her purse.
With tears in his eyes her father got up to take his leave. In the doorway he turned round to look at Agnes one last time. She decided to throw him a little scrap and nodded graciously. As she predicted, that small gesture made him happy, and he gave her a smile with his eyes shining.
With hatred Agnes watched him go. She would allow someone to betray her only once. After that there were no second chances.
Patrik sat in the car and tried to focus on the first task of the day: he needed to follow up as soon as possible on the call he had made yesterday evening. But he was having a hard time forgetting the stupid thing he’d said to Erica last night. He couldn’t imagine that it could be so difficult. He’d always believed that raising a child was easy. Well, maybe a lot of work, but not as anxiety-ridden as it had been during the past two months. He sighed, feeling dejected.
Only when he parked outside the brown-and-white blocks of flats by the southern road into Fjällbacka was he finally able to concentrate. The flat he was heading for was in the first block, second stairwell, and he took the stai
rs up to the first floor. The sign on the door said ‘Svensson & Kallin.’ He knocked cautiously. He knew that the couple living in the flat had a young child, and these days he was painfully aware of how unwelcome a stranger would be if he woke the kid. A young man about twenty-five opened the door. Although it was already nine thirty he looked sulky, as if he’d just gotten up.
‘Mia, it’s for you.’
He stepped aside without greeting Patrik and shuffled into a small room off the hall. Patrik looked into the room, which was probably intended as a guest room, but now it was set up as a game room, with a computer, several joysticks, and piles of games strewn across a desk. Some sort of hyper-violent killing game was running on the computer. The young man, who Patrik assumed was either Svensson or Kallin, started playing as if he had entered another world.
The kitchen was to the left down the hall, and Patrik stepped inside after depositing his shoes by the front door.
‘Come in, I’m feeding Liam.’
The little boy sat in a white high chair, being fed porridge and some sort of fruit purée. Patrik waved to him and was rewarded with a mushy smile.
The Stonecutter: A Novel (Pegasus Crime) Page 30
