Betrayal

by Karin Alvtegen

  She woke up when the bedroom door was thrown open. With a bang the handle made a deep dent in the soft plaster wall, and the sound made her sit up in sheer terror. He was standing on the threshold, and the expression on his face scared her.

  ‘God, what a fucking pig you are!’

  She glanced at the clock radio. Quarter past five. She had slept for over six hours.

  ‘What is it?’

  Careful now.

  He snorted.

  ‘What is it? Well, what the hell do you think it is? It never occurred to you that I ought to be the first to find out we’re getting a divorce and that you intend to throw me out of the house?’

  She stopped breathing.

  ‘How the fuck do you think it feels to find out from your parents? Standing there like a fucking idiot, not understanding a thing.’

  Her heart was pounding. Drop by drop the control was seeping out of her.

  ‘Why were you talking to them?’

  Her question was idiotic, she could hear that herself. He thought so, too, and shook his head in utter disgust.

  ‘Because they wondered when we were going to pick up Axel.’

  Shit. Everything was going to pieces.

  ‘What would it be like if you decided to cut off that umbilical cord one day? Living with you is like being fucking married to your parents too. They’re like a . . . like a fucking sticky slime that covers everything. Oh, they were so understanding!’

  He mimicked her mother’s voice and said:

  ‘Poor little Henrik, how ARE you?’

  His whole body showed the repugnance he felt.

  ‘How the hell can you go to them and blab about everything before you talk to me? But it’s obvious, because that’s what you’ve always done. Why should a little divorce make any difference? It’s their damned fault it turned out like this.’

  Her fury was instant.

  ‘My parents have always been willing to help us out. That’s a hell of a lot more than I can say about yours!’

  ‘At least they leave us in peace.’

  ‘You can say that again!’

  ‘It’s better than the way yours carry on. You’ve always put your parents ahead of me. As if they were the ones who were your real family.’

  ‘Well, they are.’

  ‘There, you see! Why don’t you go and have a kid with them, too, then? And move in with them. Then you can keep on fucking your lover as usual.’

  He slammed his fist into the door jamb and rushed out to the kitchen. She followed him. He was leaning over the counter and breathing hard, his chest heaving with the effort.

  How could he have the nerve?

  ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

  He turned his head and looked at her.

  ‘You can stop playing games now. He told me all about it.’

  ‘What fucking ‘he’ are you talking about?’

  A condescending smile slid across his face.

  ‘How can you be so pathetic? There’s a lot I could say about you, but I had no idea you were such a coward.’

  ‘You’re calling me a coward?’

  He didn’t reply. She realised that her remark had hit home and that she had the upper hand again. But for how long? What was she allowed to know and not know? She wasn’t allowed to know about Linda, who at the same time was her only defence for what she had done. But now her well-devised scheme had been shattered and ended up in disarray. Everything could be turned against her.

  ‘Who is this “he” and what did he say?’

  ‘Come off it, Eva. I’m telling you that I already know what you’re up to, so you can stop playing games. Did you think he was going to move in here after you threw me out?’

  ‘Who is this fucking ‘he’ you’re talking about?’

  With a sweep of his arm he knocked the fruit bowl to the floor. Apples and oranges rolled across the polished hardwood floor, scattering around the sharp ceramic shards.

  He headed for the bedroom.

  She followed.

  ‘Why don’t you answer instead of diverting your rage to something else? It wasn’t the fruit bowl’s fault that you don’t have an answer.’

  He pulled out the top drawer of the bureau and started rummaging round in her underwear.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That fine new diary that you’ve got.’

  ‘Do you want to take it back or what?’

  He stopped and stared at her.

  ‘All right, that’s enough! I put it out on the bed for you. I’ve already seen it and that disgusting lock of hair. How old is he, anyway? Did you exchange lockets too? How sweet if you went around with a little golden lock of hair round your neck from now on.’

  He held up the black lace bra and waved it in front of her face.

  ‘I presume he gets turned on when you wear this, although I can’t see why.’

  She stood mute. Had he completely lost his mind?

  He slammed the drawer shut and left the room. She caught up with him in the doorway to the living room, where he suddenly stopped.

  ‘You’re really sick in the head.’

  He sounded like he really meant what he said, and she followed his gaze. On the coffee table stood the vase with the green stalks in it. The roses themselves had vanished without a trace. Cut off and removed.

  Now it was her turn to snort.

  ‘That’s really going too far. You could have saved yourself the trouble, I didn’t want them anyway.’

  He turned his head and looked at her with an expression as if she were utterly mad.

  The phone rang. Neither of them made a move to answer it. It rang and rang, and they stood like statues, ignoring the phone.

  ‘Let it ring.’

  He turned at once and went to the phone in the kitchen. As if her words were a direct order to pick it up.

  ‘Yes, this is Henrik.’

  Then there was silence. It went on so long that she walked over to look in the doorway. He was standing completely still with his mouth open, staring into space with the receiver pressed to his ear.

  ‘How is she doing then? Which hospital is she in?’

  Suddenly nervous. His mother had had a bypass operation a few months ago. Maybe she had a relapse.

  Then he turned his head slowly and looked at her. Fixed his eyes on her with a look so full of loathing and hostility that it scared her. Without looking away he kept talking.

  ‘You can tell her yourself.’

  He held out the phone to her.

  ‘Who is it?’

  He didn’t answer. Just continued hating her and held out the phone.

  She went slowly over to him; there was a palpable sense of danger. He kept staring at her when she put the receiver to her ear.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘This is Kerstin Evertsson from Kortbacken pre-school.’

  Formal and impersonal. Someone she didn’t know. Or someone who preferred not to know her.

  ‘Yes, hi.’

  ‘I might as well get straight to the point. I’ve just told your husband that I know he and Linda Persson had a relationship which was terminated yesterday. I also told him that Åsa Sandström received an anonymous letter with a newspaper article about Linda and that you were the one who put it in her mailbox. Åsa saw you when you did it.’

  Good God, let me disappear. Let me not have to go through this.

  ‘Naturally I was obliged to call Linda and tell her this, even though I already knew all about the trial and everything else she had been through. But for Linda it was more than she could bear. She’s in intensive care at the Söder Hospital after slashing her wrists.’

  She briefly met Henrik’s black look before she glanced away.

  ‘I also think you should know that the parents’ group has collected money for flowers and that they will be asking Linda to continue working here if she pulls through.’

  She would never be ab
le to show herself in public again.

  ‘I have to confess that I don’t really know how we should resolve the rest. For Axel’s sake, of course, it’s obvious that he should keep his place here, but I have to say it feels extremely difficult to keep you as clients. I’ll leave the decision up to you.’

  Help me. Good God, help me.

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then it would be good if you got hold of Åsa Sandström, because she wants to talk with you. She wants an explanation for why you involved her in all this. Because now everyone understands who sent all those emails too, which you claimed were from Linda. Surely you must see that Åsa feels used and rightly so. She’s upset about this, to say the least.’

  She couldn’t breathe.

  This was intolerable.

  ‘As you can hear, I’m furious about what you’ve done, and I’d be lying if I said anything else. I can understand that it must have felt, well, I don’t know, bloody awful, when you realised that Henrik and Linda were having an affair, but that does not excuse what you’ve done. Here we work day after day to teach the children about right and wrong, and that one must always take responsibility for one’s actions. I thought I knew you, but obviously I don’t.’

  Shame was a snare, growing tighter with each syllable. She was annihilated, deprived of all honour. She had to get away. Away from Nacka. Away from Sweden. Away from any chance of meeting anyone who might recognise her and know what she had done.

  ‘Is she going to be all right?’

  ‘They don’t know yet.’

  She put down the receiver, forgetting to hang up. Henrik with his arms crossed. Hateful, hostile, and forever with right on his side.

  Down the stairs.

  Shoes. She remembered that you had to have shoes on when you went outside.

  Not Värmdövägen. She had to stay on the side streets.

  The houses surrounding her, the lamps lit in their windows, families just coming home, reunited after another work day. All of it just a decoration to punish her. Not for sale. Inaccessible. Henceforth you shall only look, never take part. You are banished from our community. Outlawed for all time, but remembered.

  As if through a dirty filter she saw a car approaching, and she reached back to pull up her hood. Not be seen. The hood wasn’t where it was supposed to be. She looked down and noticed that her jacket too was missing. The car passed by. She had to go further, had to get away.

  At first she didn’t notice the car creeping along next to her. Only noticed something white out of the corner of her eye. Then it drove past her and stopped. Someone got out.

  ‘Hi.’

  A surprised voice that sounded glad.

  Nobody could be glad to see her.

  She stopped. Something familiar about the figure whose face was dimly lit by a street light.

  ‘Imagine meeting you here, do you live around here?’

  Colourful pictures. The voice associated with abstract patterns.

  ‘How are you doing, anyway? Can I drive you somewhere?’

  Everything empty. And then this person, sounding so worried for her sake, who still lowered himself to talk to her. Then she saw Daniel’s parents walking towards her farther down the street. Each carrying a briefcase. On their way home from the bus. Soon they would see her. Flowers for Linda. They knew what she had done and had contributed money for flowers for Linda today. No side street to escape into.

  She went over to the passenger side and climbed in.

  Just take me away from here.

  Let me get out of meeting Daniel’s parents.

  What could possibly be worse?

  If only she hadn’t.

  So many ‘if only she hadn’t’s. So many that it was no longer possible to see when the first one occurred.

  They sat in complete silence. He didn’t ask where she wanted to go and she didn’t wonder where he was headed. Just leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. A silent zone where she was not subject to accusations.

  She didn’t open her eyes until the car stopped and the engine was turned off. A cul-de-sac. Some parked cars. Blocks of flats. She remembered the last time she was here.

  With an effort of will she turned her head and looked at him. Took in his warm smile and lowered her eyes, let her gaze settle on his hands resting on the steering wheel. She remembered their clumsiness, his fumbling fingers running over her body; she was amazed that he had even dared.

  Again an ‘if only she hadn’t’.

  ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  She made a move to open the door. The exhaustion felt like an ache in her joints, a physical plea not to have to move.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to come in for a while?’

  She let her hand rest on the door handle as she searched for an answer. There was anticipation in his voice, and that was more than she could bear. She opened the car door and the cold that struck her reminded her that she had no jacket. Or money.

  She had nothing.

  ‘I have some pear cider at my place. Won’t you come in and have a glass? To be honest, you look like you could use it. Then I can drive you wherever you like later.’

  Wherever you like. Where was that? Was there such a place?

  If only she hadn’t.

  The whole past chain of events was linked by the ‘if only she hadn’t’s.

  But the first link in the chain was Henrik’s. The betrayal. His cowardice. The rage he had directed at her. His lack of consideration.

  Kerstin’s judgement echoed in her mind. One must always take responsibility for one’s actions. What did Kerstin know about how Henrik had acted towards her? What he had done to provoke her crime. The impotence she felt. But she would never get the chance to defend herself. Not before any of those who thought they had the right to judge her. The verdict had been handed down and the sentence passed.

  Pariah.

  But what about Henrik? Didn’t any part of the blame fall on him? Because he was the one who had prompted the whole chain of ‘what if she hadn’t’s.

  He got out of the car and she saw through the windscreen that he was walking towards her open door. When he got there he held out his hand to her.

  ‘Come on now. Just a glass of pear cider. That’s all.’

  So tired, through and through. All the way into her marrow. If only she could just follow along, not have to make any decisions.

  ‘Just a glass of pear cider?’

  He smiled and nodded.

  ‘Just a glass of pear cider.’

  She refused his outstretched hand and got out of the car, moving past him. He let his arm hover in the air a bit too long before he slowly let it drop, closed her door and fetched a plastic bag from the boot.

  ‘Come on.’

  He started towards the door of his building. Maybe she was angry when she refused his hand; she didn’t mean to seem unpleasant, she just didn’t want to give him any ideas, not a single hope of anything more than what they had agreed. A glass of pear cider. Nothing more. That’s what he had said and she had accepted.

  He turned on the light in the stairwell and showed her in with a gentlemanly gesture, inviting her to go first. He followed a few steps behind. She was filled by a slight uneasiness at his presence, well aware that he had her rear end in his view. She felt exposed and open to his eyes, which could look at whatever they liked. She leaned her back against the wall as he unlocked the door. Four locks.

  The last time. The nervousness she felt and how she had pressed herself against him to conceal it. How the images of Henrik and Linda had made her conquer her distaste.

  Five days ago.

  She stopped inside the door, heard him stick a key in one of the locks and turn it. And then the rattle of the keyring to lock the others and the rustle of the plastic bag he had taken out of the boot.

  And she suddenly recalled that he thought her name was Linda. That her camouflage back then had made her brave enough to fulfil
her intentions.

  If only she hadn’t.

  Yet another one.

  But now there was no reason why she should reveal her real name. It would just provoke questions that she didn’t want to answer.

  ‘Welcome. Welcome back, I should say.’

  She wasn’t back. The woman who stood before him was here for the first time.

  She looked down at her shoes as if it were an impossible task to bend down and take them off. He followed her gaze, knelt down and carefully pulled down the zippers on the inside of her ankles. He placed her hand on his shoulder so she could lean on him as he pulled off her shoes. He held her right foot in his hand for a moment too long, and she could suddenly hear his breathing. She couldn’t put up any resistance, just stood there with her hand on his shoulder and let him hold her right foot. She shouldn’t be here. She ought to leave. But where could she go? And how could she find the energy?

  He stood up, gently touched her elbow, led her into the little kitchen and sat her down on one of the chairs. She watched him take two steps over to the refrigerator and caught a glimpse of its contents when he opened it. All three shelves filled with recumbent cider bottles. He took out two, pulled his key chain out of his pocket, and opened them with a red bottle opener squeezed in between the keys. Then he stood with the bottles in his hands, cocked his head to one side and looked at her.

  ‘How are you doing, anyway?’

  She couldn’t say a word.

  ‘I don’t have a sofa, but you can sit on the bed in there instead. I mean if you want to be a bit more comfortable, that’s all. You look like you need a rest. I can sit on the floor.’

  ‘I’m fine here.’

  He sat down on the chair on the other side of the fold-down table, leaned forward and handed her one of the bottles of cider.

  ‘Cheers. Once again.’

  He smiled and she raised the bottle and drank.

  ‘That’s the kind you like, isn’t it?’

  She read the label on the bottle. Couldn’t tell if this one tasted either better or worse than those she had tasted before.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Imagine running into each other again like this. It’s really too wild to be just a coincidence, it almost feels like it means something, as if it was fate.’

  She couldn’t come up with any good answer but smiled a little so she wouldn’t seem rude.