In his bathroom mirror she saw a woman who was a stranger. A woman who had seduced a twenty-five-year-old, gone home with him to his flat and to bed. She still could not decide whether it had had the effect on her that she had imagined.
Everything seemed shut down inside her.
On the way up the stairs to his flat she became nervous. The courage of intoxication had vanished and for a moment she wanted to leave. But then she envisaged Henrik and Linda together and it made her feet continue through the door of the flat. As soon as she entered the hallway she pressed herself against him, just to conceal her inner imbalance, and his desire was so strong that they scarcely managed to get their clothes off. His frantic hands had fumbled over her body, and it occurred to her that perhaps he was a virgin, but she did her best to instil self-confidence in him, pretending to enjoy his clumsy attempts.
The street ended at an intersection, and she took out her mobile and rang for a taxi.
His name was Jonas and Hansson was the name on his door. That was all she knew, and she had no interest in knowing more. He had done his part and she had done hers.
It was like a void inside her, an inability to be touched. The only man who had touched her in fifteen years was Henrik, and now she had given herself to a total stranger.
And she couldn’t care less.
There was a light on in the entrance hall when she came home. She took out her purse, took out her wedding ring and slipped it back on her finger. As quietly as she could she hung up her coat and went into the kitchen. Everything was quiet. Axel’s plate was still on the table, and she could see that they had eaten spaghetti with meat sauce. A completely normal dinner. Henrik’s mobile lay on the kitchen counter. Not a single message. The call list showed no numbers, either received or called; it must have been erased. He thought he was smart, that bastard.
She went into Axel’s room. The moon-shaped night-light was on and the floor was covered with toys, but the bed was empty as usual. She sat down on the floor. An Action Man lay next to her on the carpet, with arms and legs stiffly extended. It lay there abandoned by his defenceless little hands – powerless to stop his life coming apart.
She looked at the toy she was holding in her hands. Who had given him this? The right hand was shaped to grip its weapons.
She stood up quickly. Henrik’s keyring was in his jacket pocket and she continued down to the cellar. The gun cabinet. Where he kept his hunting rifles. The only place in the house where she never went.
She found them under a red box of ammunition: a bundle of computer-printed letters with no envelopes. She only managed to read the first four lines. Pressure gripped her chest. She leafed rapidly through them and found at the bottom of the pile two folded lists from the Swedish Real Estate Agency. Properties T 22 and K 18. That bastard was looking for a new place to live, well aware that she could never afford to keep living in the house without him. He didn’t even have the courtesy to tell her that she would soon be forced to move out of her home.
Never in her life had she thought that anyone would treat her this way.
For the time being she couldn’t do anything to Henrik.
Linda, on the other hand, had no idea what was in store for her.
He ended up in the middle of rush-hour traffic. It usually took him eighteen minutes to drive to Karolinska, sometimes up to twenty-four, but this morning he made it only as far as the Bromma turn-off in the usual amount of time. He kept changing lanes, heading for Essinge, but that didn’t help either.
Dr Sahlstedt had said that it was probably best if he came at once.
But why hadn’t he told him to hurry?
Near Tomteboda there was a three-car pile-up, and after he managed to squeeze past the accident the traffic eased a bit. So many times he had driven this way. He wondered how many. And then the relief, despite his worry, that nobody was forcing him to count.
She had healed him.
And then the next thought. Forgive me, Anna. Forgive me.
The smell of fried bacon. It would forever be associated with that afternoon when she left him. He sensed the danger as soon as he came into the hall. It wasn’t only the smell of frying, there was something else in the air as well. The car had been parked in the driveway, so his father was home, and at this time of day his mother was always home too. He stood quite still with his coat on and wondered if anyone had heard him come in.
Not a sound to be heard. And yet he knew that they were there.
He stretched out his hands in front of him, but couldn’t make himself touch the jacket he was supposed to take off. He felt the compulsion growing stronger and headed for the bathroom to wash his hands.
‘Jonas!’
He stopped in mid-stride. It was his father shouting.
‘Yes?’
‘Come here.’
He swallowed.
‘I just have to wash my hands.’
‘Stop that foolishness right now and come here, I say!’
He had been drinking. And he was angry. He almost always was when he was drunk, but he usually only got drunk on weekends. Then you had to watch out, never knowing when he would explode. Or why.
The compulsion retreated. The fear of what was waiting out there in the kitchen took over instead. He pulled off his jacket and placed it on a chair. Everything was quiet again. Quietly he went towards the kitchen.
She was sitting at the table.
He stood leaning against the counter with a glass in his hand. Funny how water and alcohol could look so much alike.
On the kitchen table in front of her lay a man’s white shirt.
She turned her head and looked at him when he came in, and the expression on her face filled him with terror. He wanted to run to her and hold her, comfort her, protect her. Lay his head on her lap like he had done when he was little and she would stroke his hair and say that everything was going to be all right. So many times they had sought comfort in each other, united against his father’s unpredictable weekend rages.
He looked at his father. He had those eyes he got when he had been drinking. When you knew he was someone nobody knew.
He took a swig from his glass.
‘Mamma has found a shirt with a little lipstick on it. That’s why she’s so mad.’
She had found out. In the midst of all the commotion over her reaction the words filled him with relief. Finally his father had been forced to confess. Now he would be free of his responsibility to protect her, be spared all the circumlocutions and lies that had come between them. Finally he would be hers again, totally, could stand on her side. As he had always done.
His father slammed down his glass on the counter and turned to his mother sitting at the kitchen table with her back to him.
‘What should I do, do you think? Eh? You never contribute anything! Just roam around here at home looking like a goddamn dishrag and complaining that there’s never enough money, that we never go on holiday or can afford anything. You’ll just have to go out and get a job yourself then, if it’s not enough!’
Jonas looked at his mother again and now he dared go over to her. He put his hand on her shoulder and she took it in hers.
Then he looked at his father. You bastard! We don’t need you any more. We never did.
He could see the change in his father’s eyes, which now belonged to a stranger. In the next instant his glass smashed against the tile above the cooker on the far wall.
‘And you, you sanctimonious little bastard. Standing there comforting her like you never knew a thing.’
A few seconds passed, then his mother let go of his hand.
‘If you only knew what he’s been doing so that you wouldn’t find out. He lies better than a con man, I don’t know where he comes up with it all. But he gets it from you, I can see, your family has always been a pack of liars.’
His father continued without mercy.
‘Why don’t you tell her now? Tell her what a stud I am. How all the women except for her will do anyth
ing so I’ll screw them. The one with the lipstick you’ve even met. So you saw it all for yourself.’
Two weeks later. He had been allowed to go along to the docks at Söderhamn. Was offered a chance to make a little extra money by helping out with a cleanup after a construction job where his father laid pipes. He was glad when they left, glad that they were going to spend two days together. Maybe he’d have a chance to talk to his father about how he felt, how he couldn’t lie any more. He waited all day for an opportunity that never came. Then he thought: tonight when we eat dinner at the hotel, then I’ll get my chance. She was already sitting in the dining room when they arrived, and before they even got their food his father had invited her over to their table. He ordered more and more beers. Jonas sat silently in shame at his father’s increasingly ridiculous behaviour. About an hour later he gave Jonas a few hundred-krona notes and sent him out on the town. He didn’t dare come back until around three in the morning. He needed to sleep. He was dead tired from the day’s work, and the next morning they had to get up at six thirty and go back. She was still there in the hotel room. Their clothes lay scattered on the floor, her fat right leg was sticking out from the covers, and neither of them noticed him come in. He spent the rest of the night on a sofa in the lobby, but something inside him had finally had enough. In the morning he couldn’t control all his pent-up rage any longer. For the first time he dared to refuse, and his father sat hungover in his underwear on the edge of the messy double bed and tried to beg for forgiveness. But Jonas was unyielding. This time he was going to tell him. He didn’t intend to lie any more. When his father recognised the firmness in his threat he collapsed with his face in his hands, and with his gut hanging over the edge of his shorts he sobbed and begged him not to do it.
And Jonas had once more been forced into betrayal.
His mother turned her head and looked at him. She didn’t say a word, but the question was crystal clear in her eyes. He lowered his eyes, couldn’t look at her. He squatted down beside her, lowered his head, his face close to her right leg. He prayed to God that she would touch him. Show him with a single sign that she forgave him. That she understood that he never wished her any harm. That he did it all for her sake.
‘Forgive me.’
A few seconds passed, maybe it was more.
Then she pushed the chair back and stood up. Without looking at either of them she left the kitchen.
And somewhere deep inside he already knew that she would never ever come back.
He parked the car right outside the main entrance of Karolinska in a no parking zone. If anyone gave him a parking ticket this time they would have themselves to blame.
The lift up to Anna’s ward had never moved so slowly. On every floor there was someone who had to get on or off, and the stress he felt gave him a taste of lead in his mouth.
The corridor was empty. He hurried to Anna’s door and had just put his hand on the door handle.
‘Jonas, wait!’
He turned towards the voice. A nurse he had only seen a few times before came rushing towards him.
‘Doctor Sahlstedt is coming. I think you should wait.’
He’d rather rot in hell. Nobody in the world could prevent him from going in to see her, he was going in this very instant.
He pulled open the door.
The bed was not visible from the doorway, but what he saw was enough.
A sudden inertia prevented him from entering the room. A passive moment, nothing that needed to be thought, done or felt.
A pause before everything would become clear.
He had an intense urge to close the door again, wishing he hadn’t seen that the room was illuminated by a candle fluttering in the gust of air from the door he had just opened, sending its light flickering across the wall.
A hand on his shoulder cut off all possibility of escape and brought him back to what the future held. He turned his head and looked into Dr Sahlstedt’s sad face. The unwelcome touch of the doctor’s hand forced him forward and the next instant he saw her.
The room clean and tidy. Only the bed with Anna, the white sheets tucked in. The probes and tubes gone and all the machines rolled out to patients who still needed them.
Dr Sahlstedt went over to her.
‘She had an embolism around four o’clock.’
Around four o’clock.
When he had been lying with his lips against Linda’s skin.
‘There was nothing we could do.’
He had lain there naked with all the desire he had saved up for Anna and himself given away to another woman.
He went over and sank down on the edge of the bed but couldn’t bring himself to touch her. His hands were incontrovertible proof.
‘Shall I leave you alone for a moment?’
He didn’t answer, but he heard Dr Sahlstedt’s steps cross the floor and the door shut.
Her hands crossed on her breast. The claw-like left hand trying to clutch the other. On her throat a white compress over the hole left by the respirator tube.
* * *
For a single evening he had left her alone, and then she seized her chance. She must have understood. Somehow she must have known that he was with another woman, and this was her punishment. For two years and five months she had lain here biding her time, waiting for the right moment when her revenge would hit him hardest. She had left him, once and for all, and she had chosen the moment with care.
He would never be forgiven. Her punishment was to never forgive him. The rest of his life he would have to live with the knowledge that she never ever forgave him for what he did.
He stood up and looked at the body in the bed. So much time he had spent winning her love. And all he had in return was her betrayal.
He could swear that he saw a smile on her lips. She lay there thinking that she had won, that she got her revenge. As if all he had done for her was not enough to absolve the guilt.
‘I don’t need you. Do you hear that, you whore? I’ve met a real woman, a woman who loves me for who I am and not like you . . . like you . . . who can only feel love as a game, as something to amuse oneself with as long as there’s nothing more interesting going on.’
The sudden rage he felt surged through him and he spat out the words. He had to get her to react, make her understand that she had no more power over him, that she had not succeeded.
The door opened behind him and he turned around. Dr Sahlstedt came back, this time accompanied by the Monster Psychotherapist. They stopped abruptly inside the doorway and looked at him expectantly.
‘How are you doing?’
It was the woman with the piercing eyes who was speaking to him. She had on the same red jumper and stupid plastic necklace as the day before. The three neon pens in her breast pocket left him completely unmoved.
He smiled at her.
‘Let me tell you something. That necklace you’re wearing. You know, it’s probably the ugliest fucking necklace I’ve ever seen.’
Dr Sahlstedt stared at him. Yvonne Palmgren wasn’t so easily startled. She took a couple of steps to the foot of the bed.
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
He smiled again.
‘Are you?’
He turned to the bed table and blew out the candle.
‘She does have a brother somewhere in Australia, but I don’t know how much grief he’s going to feel. So far, at least, he hasn’t made an appearance. I don’t know of anyone else who will care.’
Dr Sahlstedt came over to him and again placed an unwelcome hand on his shoulder.
‘Jonas. We know that this comes as a shock for you but . . .’
He took a step back to avoid the doctor’s touch.
‘You can do what you like with the body. She has nothing to do with me any longer.’
The other two in the room exchanged a brief glance.
‘Jonas, we have to . . .’
‘I don’t have to do anything. You wanted me to let go and move on. Well, that�
�s what I’m doing.’
Without looking at the body in the bed he threw out his hand in their direction.
‘Do whatever the hell you like.’
He went towards the door. He felt like he was floating. As if his feet weren’t really touching the plastic mat they were walking on.
‘Jonas! Wait a minute!’
They couldn’t stop him. Nothing could stop him. He was going to get out of here and never come back. He was going to eradicate the memory of all the minutes, hours, days he had wasted in his all-consuming yearning.
Outside, life was waiting.
The only thing she had achieved with her ingenious revenge was to give him back his freedom. The guilt was under control.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
One betrayal paid back with another.
He was free.
Now he was all Hers.
All he had to do now was go home and wait for Her to call.
Maybe she had slept for an hour or so when the clock radio went on, she didn’t know. She had spent the hours of dawn in a half-slumber, something inside her prevented her from sleeping properly, she had to be on guard. Asleep she was defenceless.
She reached out her arm and put off the alarm, got up and pulled on her robe. He lay there on the other side of the double bed, motionless and with his eyes closed; whether he was asleep or not it was impossible to tell. The distaste she felt made her wide awake. All feelings directed inward, in towards the dark. The fatigue could not reach her.
Nothing could reach her.
She leaned forward and slid her hands under Axel’s sleeping body. She carefully lifted him up, carried him from the room and pushed the bedroom door shut.
She sank down in the sofa in the living room and looked at his sleeping face. So innocent, so completely free of guilt. She closed her eyes and forced back the pain prompted by his closeness. He was the only one who made her feel vulnerable, and there was no room for weakness now. In some way she had to defend herself against the feelings he awakened in her. Shield herself. If she allowed herself to give in she was lost, a victim, poor Axel’s rejected mamma who had lost control over her life. Sometime in the future he would understand that she did it all for his sake. That she was the one who took responsibility and tried to protect him, not like his father.
Betrayal Page 8
