He felt the anger taking over, and soon he would no longer be able to stop himself before he let it loose. She had set down the vase on the coffee table and now stood straightening up the roses as if they were going to be entered in a symmetry competition.
He turned and headed for the bathroom, feeling a great need to take a shower and wash off everything that had clung to him in the past day.
He checked the bathroom cabinet. No forgotten toothpaste. The wastebasket had been recently emptied and lined with a new plastic bag. There was washing in the machine, and he opened the lid to hang it up. Axel’s dark-blue sweatsuit, Eva’s black pullover. And then a pair of black lace panties that he had never seen before. He held them up between thumb and forefinger, disgusted at the thought of . . . God. So that’s the way she dressed when she was out with her lover. She had certainly never dressed like that for him.
He took two clothes-pegs and hung the panties up in the drying cabinet so that they would be the first thing she saw when she came into the bathroom, would know that he had discovered them. And start to worry why he didn’t comment on them.
He went back upstairs and into the bedroom. The bed was made and the bedspread in place. How could he ever sleep in that bed again?
He pulled out the top drawer in the chest of drawers where she kept her underwear, searched among the sensible panties that he usually saw her wearing. Then to the left, among her bras, another unknown piece of paraphernalia. A black lace bra with padding that he had never seen before. He heard her clattering in the kitchen, held up the bra, and was assaulted by the image of her and the other man together in the double bed behind him, how his feverish hands managed to undo the little clasp he saw before him and expose her breasts. He resisted the impulse to rush out to the kitchen and throw it right in her self-pitying face, forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He was just about to push the drawer back in when he caught sight of something else. A corner of something red. A diary with a lock but with the key hanging on a silver thread from the little heart-shaped lock. A diary? Since when had she spent time on something like that? The sounds from the kitchen assured him that she was still out there. He quickly opened the lock with the little key and started to page through the diary. Blank and not written in. Not a word on the white pages. He was just about to lock it again when something fell into his hand and he discovered hand-written words on the inside of the cover.
‘To my Beloved! I am with you. Everything will be fine. A book to fill with memories of all the wonderful things that await us.’
Then he looked down at his palm and didn’t want to believe what he saw.
Disgusting, and tied with a light-blue thread, was a light-blond lock of that bastard’s hair.
Almost thirteen thousand kronor per month. Just in living expenses. The papers lay in piles spread out on the kitchen table in front of her: mortgage, electric bills, insurance. She could handle the operating costs and the mortgage herself, but she would have to change her habits radically. A cheaper company car. Buy wholesale at discount stores. Write precise shopping lists and buy economy size.
She looked at the folder the real estate agent had given them when they bought the house. A colour picture of a smiling house on the cover. A dark spot right above the chimney. Henrik had spilled his wine when they celebrated the occasion at the Café Opera’s sidewalk restaurant on the way home.
Eight years ago.
Her father had asked her to call a surveyor to ascertain the value of the house, and then she could figure out how much she would have to borrow. She would certainly see to it that all the papers were in order the day her husband finally dared to confess his betrayal. In an hour she would be able to withdraw the money and tell him to go to hell.
Suddenly she thought she heard the sound of a key in the door. He wasn’t supposed to come home until the following day, so she must be hearing things. It occurred to her that this had happened often in the past few days, that she heard sounds she didn’t recognise. Last night when she was in the shower she could have sworn that she’d heard someone upstairs. The balcony door was open and for a moment she had been afraid. Pulled her robe tight around her and went upstairs, looking through all the rooms and the cupboards too, to make sure the house was empty. Axel was staying with her parents, so it wasn’t him. For the first time she had a chance to feel what it would be like in the future. Alone in the house. Fear of the dark would upset her. And the other evening she was so sure that someone was standing on the balcony looking at her through the dark windowpane. She had to conquer the fear that was trying to ensnare her, she had to be strong.
Then she heard the sound of the front door opening. Someone came into the hallway.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s only me.’
Henrik. Why in hell was he home early?
There could only be one explanation. He had decided to confess and couldn’t contain himself a minute longer so he could relieve his guilty conscience. Now here he came, running home a day early and she hadn’t managed to finish everything. She had put the magazine article about Linda in Simon’s mother’s mailbox yesterday, she must have read it by now, but she hadn’t yet heard any reaction from the day-care centre. No urgent call to set up another crisis meeting. And it would be two days from now before she could take out the money she would toss in his face.
He couldn’t tell her before that!
She got up and went towards the stairs. She had to collect herself and appear normal, like the understanding housewife she was. Ask him how he was, if he was feeling well, seem glad that he was home early. Not make it easy for him to blurt out what he intended to tell her.
Halfway down the stairs she saw it, even though he was hiding it behind his back, and all her intentions toppled like bowling pins. How could he be so tasteless? He had never bought flowers for her before. Now, of all times, he came home dragging red roses, now that he was going to confess that he had been unfaithful, that he wanted a divorce. What the hell was going on inside that head of his anyway? Did he expect her to be happy? Did he think a bunch of bloody roses would justify his betrayal and make her forgive him? I see, you have a relationship with our son’s day-care teacher and want a divorce, so that’s it. Awfully sweet of you to finally buy me a few flowers.
She took a deep breath.
‘I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow night.’
‘No, I know. I changed my mind.’
She could see how nervous he was. A foolish smile flitted across his face.
Damn it, you could at least take off your jacket.
‘Why aren’t you at work?’
Because I called in sick and now I’m spending my days sabotaging your future. Just the way you sabotaged mine.
‘My throat is a little sore.’
She went back upstairs. Continued on to the kitchen table and started gathering up the papers. She didn’t manage to put away everything before he appeared in the room.
‘What are you doing?’
There was fear in his voice. The anger she had got used to encountering seemed blown away. Confused, she realised that the Henrik she knew, the one she had lived with for fifteen years but who had been unapproachable lately, was back. He was standing here in the middle of the kitchen trying to reach her.
She looked up at him. A scared little boy with a bouquet of flowers that was much too big held out in front of him. So pitiful, so utterly helpless.
But one thing she knew for sure, even though many other things were confused just now, she definitely didn’t want his flowers.
‘Did someone send you flowers?’
‘No, they’re for you.’
He held the bouquet out to her. Accepting the flowers would signal a defeat, a tiny opening for an approach, which she certainly did not intend to give him. She could see that her hesitation annoyed him; for some reason he was doing all he could to appear friendly. She wondered what his plan was. Were they supposed to make up and be good friends again
and then he would drop the bomb?
She wasn’t going to make it that easy for him.
‘Shall I put them in water?’
She realised that she had no choice. That she would be acting far too disagreeably and would help him out by not accepting them.
She took down a vase and went over to him – saying thank you was beyond her. She took the bouquet and turned to the sink. Carefully she clipped off the ends of one rose after another and put them in the vase. He was still standing behind her; maybe he was preparing himself to disclose his confession. She had to stall him, only one more day, just until Linda’s past was revealed and she had a chance to get hold of the money. Her unresponsive behaviour would naturally strengthen his resolve that he was doing the right thing by leaving her, but that no longer mattered. So many times she had pursued him through the house in the past six months to get a conversation going. Now it was his turn to pursue her. And then neither of them would pursue the other. Ever. Not in this house or anywhere else.
‘I’ve missed you.’
Her hand stopped halfway between the sink and the vase. Of its own accord. As if just like the rest of her it didn’t understand at first what the words signified.
And then all at once she understood what this was all about.
The fear in his voice. The red roses. His silly but valiant attempt at reconciliation.
Something had happened during their trip.
Linda had left him and now he stood here terror-stricken, wanting his wife back. Not because he loved her, but because he had nothing else. That’s why he came home early. He and Linda had split up. That’s why she suddenly recognised him again, now that the strength he had gained from Linda’s infatuation had left him.
‘I’ve been thinking while I was away, as you told me to do, and I would like to beg your forgiveness for being so disagreeable lately. And then I got to thinking of that trip you booked to Iceland. I would very much like it if we went on it together.’
The new conditions set the ground rocking beneath her. She needed time to understand what this meant, how she should handle the situation.
‘I cancelled it.’
‘We can book another one. I can do it.’
He sounded almost desperate now, pleading. He’d do anything if she would only let him back in. And all at once she was forced to admit what she had managed to avoid thinking about. There had been something attractive about his attempt to free himself from her. Not his betrayal and his lies – for those she despised him more than she could describe – but because for the first time he had done something on his own, something that challenged her and her control over him. He had acted like a man, even if he had been a cowardly bastard. He had stopped being another child she had to take care of. And as she put the next rose in the vase she realised that the hatred and desire for revenge aroused by his infidelity was a reaction to the fact that she had actually seen something in him that she could look up to and respect.
His own will.
And now she could have him back.
But it was the old Henrik who stood here now, the Henrik she was used to. She had never in all these years permitted herself to question their relationship – a commitment was a commitment. She had never allowed herself to admit the contempt she felt for his weakness, that he let her control him. With his betrayal he had opened her eyes, and there was no turning back. He had degraded and deceived her; now he had suddenly changed his mind and wanted to come back.
She was the one who would have to make the decision.
And bear the blame forever.
The phone rang. She went over to it and answered, thankful for the respite.
‘Eva.’
‘Hi, I just wanted to see whether you’d got hold of the surveyor yet.’
She glanced quickly at Henrik, wondering whether he could hear what her father was saying.
He stood with his arms crossed, watching her intently. She couldn’t tell if he could hear anything.
‘I haven’t got to it yet, can I call you a little later?’
‘Sure.’
‘Good, I’ll do that. See you later.’
She hung up and put down the phone.
‘Who was that?’
‘Pappa.’
He was satisfied with that. Didn’t ask what he wanted.
She went back to the roses although they were already arranged in the vase; she had to have something to do to maintain the distance between them.
‘Janne says to say hello, by the way.’
She landed gratefully in this neutral topic of conversation.
‘Mm-hmm. How are they doing these days?’
‘They’re fine. He said he saw you at some lunch place a while back.’
‘Oh, he did?’
‘You didn’t seem to see him. He joked and wondered what sort of lamb meat you were out to lunch with.’
She picked up the vase and headed for the living room.
‘Lamb meat?’
‘Yes, you were eating lunch with some young man.’
‘I don’t remember that, when did he say it was?’
As far as she could recall, she hadn’t eaten lunch with anyone but her colleagues in a very long time. And they were definitely not lamb meat.
‘A week or so ago, maybe. I’m not sure.’
He had followed her into the living room.
‘It couldn’t have been me. He must be mistaken.’
He stood there a second in silence, and she pretended to arrange the bloody roses one more time. Then he finally left; she could hear his steps going down the stairs.
Her gaze fell on one of Axel’s toy cars, and she suddenly remembered that she forgot to tell him about the man at day-care, that Axel had spent the night and all day at her parents’ house. And she also realised that she had to be the one to pick him up; she had to keep Henrik away from her parents. At least until everything was ready. After that it wouldn’t matter.
The living room was warm and smelled stuffy; the sun was shining in and she opened the balcony door a bit before she went back to the kitchen and opened the dishwasher. Another task to hide behind for a while. She heard him come up the stairs, saw him out of the corner of her eye as he walked past the doorway and noticed with gratitude that he kept going towards the bedroom.
The confusion she felt was so complete that she had a hard time remembering where the china she was taking out of the dishwasher was supposed to go. She had thought she was in full control over events, but now all her assumptions had changed, all the bits of the puzzle had been tossed up in the air and had fallen in disarray. She would have to back up a few steps in her plan of action to regain control. What consequences would the article she had put in Simon’s mother’s mailbox have now? She no longer knew. She didn’t give a damn what happened to Linda, but perhaps her own actions would now work against her plan. She needed time to think.
She saw Henrik pass by the kitchen doorway again, on his way from the bedroom. This time without even looking at her. If she lay down on the bed and pretended to take a nap, she would have time to think in peace and quiet. She had stayed home from work because she had a sore throat, after all.
She went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. There was a red book lying on the bedspread with a little padlock on the side. And her black lace bra that she had humiliated herself by buying in another life. She sank down on the bed. What did he mean by this? Hadn’t he crossed the line now? She quickly put the bra back in the top drawer, couldn’t bear to look at it. Then she sat down on the bed again, took the book and weighed it in her hand. He knew quite well that she didn’t keep a diary, so why in the world had he bought this one? She unhooked the little padlock and opened the first page. Something fell out and landed in her lap. At first she didn’t see what it was, and when she did she couldn’t believe it was true. Once again it was clear that she didn’t know the man she had lived with for fifteen years. The Henrik she thought she knew would never in his life think of cu
tting off a lock of his hair, lovingly placing it in a diary in which he thought she ought to start writing. She read the words on the first page; she didn’t even recognise his handwriting.
‘To my Beloved! I am with you. Everything will be fine. A book to fill with memories of all the wonderful things that await us.’
Astonished, she read the lines again. Who was he, really? What other secret sides did he have that she hadn’t managed to discover or coax out during all their years together? All she knew was that what she held in her hand was an honest attempt on his part to show that he loved her. That he was ready to do whatever it took. Perhaps this was what he had realised over the past few days. That he really wanted to try again.
She suddenly felt tears welling up, and the rage and hatred that had been driving her forward in recent days yielded to a tremendous sorrow. The weariness that came over her when she relaxed a little was overwhelming. She crawled under the bedspread, exhausted. Maybe there was another possibility? But how could she ever forgive him? Ever trust him again? But what kind of mother would she be if she didn’t give him a real chance, for Axel’s sake? It wasn’t the fact that he had fallen in love with another woman that was unforgivable; considering the state of their marriage, it was even understandable. It was the wound from his betrayal and his lies that would never heal. The insulting fact that he never told her, explained, gave her a chance to react and take a stand. The fact that the person she thought stood closest to her could do her so wrong, all for his own benefit. How could she ever feel respect for him again?
She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes. Just to be able to sleep, close her eyes to it all, and then wake up from this nightmare with everything back to normal.
Perhaps only a few words from him would be sufficient. A few words, uttered sincerely and in complete honesty, perhaps that was all she needed to give him another chance. To be able to respect him as a man.
A sincere and honest: I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
Betrayal Page 19
