by Viveca Sten
She let out a sob. How could she have forgotten her computer, after everything that had happened?
Suddenly she longed for a cigarette, even though she really had decided to quit. There were probably a couple left in the pack at the bottom of her purse. She would keep her promise another day.
A notice informed her that this was a smoke-free environment, which meant she would have to go outside after all. Could she summon up the energy?
A sound from the other side of the wall made her jump. Could it be a door closing? Or was it just snow, sliding down off the roof? The receptionist had said no one else was staying in the apartments.
Jeanette listened carefully: silence. It must have been her imagination, nothing more.
The nausea overwhelmed her again, and her mouth was filled with an unpleasant, metallic taste.
The curtains were closed; she pushed one aside and saw that it was pitch-black out there. Even the thick white blanket of snow on the ground failed to lighten the darkness.
Slowly she lifted the window catch, almost as if someone had told her to open it. She could see the roof of the floor below about three feet down; it, too, was covered in thick snow.
She pushed the window open a little farther and shivered as an icy blast of wind came rushing in. She ignored it and tried to make out the sound of the sea. It was only about thirty yards away, just like at Grandma’s house. She remembered the ripple of the waves as they rushed toward the shore.
She had always loved the feeling of being far out in the archipelago, loved watching the sea, which was never still. Sometimes she would dream of the ocean, of slowly sinking to the bottom, falling asleep among swaying seaweed, surrounded by fish darting to and fro.
But she was never afraid, not at Grandma’s house.
Another gust of wind made her shiver again. She turned her head and looked out of the other window, which faced the entrance. The neighboring apartments were in darkness, and the round light above the main door made little impact on its surroundings. Beyond its globe lay only gloom and shadow.
CHAPTER 4
Nora Linde sat down on the glassed-in veranda at the Brand villa with a cup of coffee in her hand. She’d eaten too much as usual. Once she had loaded up her plate, it was too late. Everything was so delicious.
“Silent Night” was playing on the radio, but she could still hear the clink of dishes from the kitchen. The boys were bickering about who should do what. Nora decided to ignore them; they could sort it out for themselves. She gazed out the huge window and listened to the wind, howling around the house.
They had lit a fire in all the tiled stoves, which worked beautifully even though they dated from the nineteenth century. In a few hours the warmth spread through every room, steady and reliable, as long as you remembered to feed the stoves with wood on a regular basis.
Nora sipped her coffee. So far everything had gone very well, exceeding her expectations. She had managed to push aside all thoughts of work and the anxiety that was hanging over her, and the tension had gradually eased during the course of the day. She put down her cup with a sigh; she didn’t want to think about the bank right now.
Tomorrow they would set off for the Christmas service early in the morning, trudging through the snow. She was looking forward to it, even though Adam and Simon would no doubt complain—especially Adam, who preferred to stay in bed, like most teenagers. Once they were there, the boys would love it: the little chapel filled with flickering candlelight as friends and neighbors wished one another a merry Christmas.
“You look comfortable.”
Nora glanced up. Henrik was standing in the doorway, a brandy snifter in each hand. Something nut colored swirled around in the fine crystal glasses that had been in the display cabinet in the dining room for as long as Nora could remember.
“Armagnac—your favorite,” Henrik added with a smile. He handed her a glass and sat down opposite her in the wicker armchair. He crossed his legs and leaned back.
The alcohol gave off a strong, sweet smell. Nora took a sip and felt the sting on her palate, then came the warm aftertaste.
“Delicious,” she said. “Thank you.” She gazed out into the darkness, toward the sea.
“Mom!”
Simon bounded into the room and pointed eagerly at the Christmas tree in the corner of the dining room. They had moved the little mahogany sideboard that was normally there in order to make space.
“Is it time to open our presents?”
Nora pulled him close and ruffled his hair.
“Shall we wait a while longer?”
For a second he looked uncertain, but then he realized she was only teasing.
“How’s the kitchen?” Nora asked. “Tell me it doesn’t look like a bomb went off in there!”
He shook his head energetically, his blond hair flopping over his forehead. It would soon be time for a visit to the barber.
“It’s really, really tidy, I promise. Dad helped us.”
“OK, then.”
Nora let him go, and he rushed over to Henrik and gave him a hug.
“Go and fetch Adam, and we’ll get started,” Henrik said.
Simon dashed out of the room. Henrik reached out as if to stroke Nora’s cheek, but drew back his hand as the boys arrived a second later.
“So who’s opening the first present this year?” he said.
CHAPTER 5
Jeanette forced herself to breathe more slowly. She pulled on her jacket and hat, but hesitated with her hand resting on the door handle, once again listening for noises from outside. Nothing, but she couldn’t help shuddering.
It must have been her imagination. There was no one else staying in the apartments, that’s what the receptionist had said. By now the other hotel guests would be enjoying the splendid Christmas feast the receptionist had described with such enthusiasm.
Even though she knew it was pointless, she took one last look in the case where her MacBook should have been. Then she tried to picture the last time she had used it: this morning at the kitchen table, reading the Financial Times on the screen.
Before the doorbell rang.
From then on, everything had happened so fast. She hadn’t had the chance to think. She’d had to get away, she couldn’t stay. She’d had to leave, right then. It was as if the apartment had been tainted by the visit.
She was still in shock, those harsh words ringing in her ears: I will not allow this.
Jeanette wasn’t quite sure what she’d been expecting, but certainly not those vicious sentences that came pouring out, like white-hot lava burning and consuming the truth.
You will regret it if you don’t back off—I can promise you that. I will crush you.
Somehow she had managed not to crumble in the face of the threat. She had snapped back angrily, in spite of the fact that she was weeping inside.
There’s a copy in my study, and Alice has one, too. It doesn’t matter what you do; I’m filing it on Monday.
Eventually the voice had become pleading, placatory, but that wasn’t why Jeannette had decided to tell the story; it was nothing to do with money or blackmail.
It was about the truth—she just wanted to get the truth out there.
They stood in the hallway; there was nothing more to say.
It was when Jeanette opened the front door that she saw the look, so full of hatred that her legs almost gave way. It frightened her more than everything else. She only just managed to close the door and turn the key before she sank to the floor with her back to the wall, hands shaking.
Speaking out had been a terrible mistake, but she had felt compelled, in so many different ways, after all those years together.
Jeanette ran a hand over her forehead. Why on earth had she revealed that Alice had a copy? The words had just come out of her mouth during the heated discussion. She needed to retrieve the USB stick as soon as she got back to Stockholm.
All at once she felt claustrophobic in the hotel room, as if the walls were
closing in on her.
Calm down, she thought. It’s fine, we all say things in the heat of the moment.
An unexpected wave of dizziness made her reach out and lean on the wall. Her stomach contracted, and the sour taste of bile filled her mouth.
It had been a long time since she’d eaten; she really ought to go over to the restaurant, even though she still felt ill and exhausted. A cigarette would perk her up, and then she could eat. She knew the nicotine would steady her jangled nerves as it spread through her body. It had provided solace on many occasions when she had been utterly worn out, and even helped her in dangerous situations in countries where she didn’t speak the language, but was able to communicate through a shared cigarette on the sly.
With trembling hands she slipped the pack into her pocket. She decided to leave her purse in her room; there was no need to take it with her.
Jeanette switched off the light and went out into the darkness.
CHAPTER 6
“Mom, this one’s for you!” Simon announced.
He was kneeling on the worn rug, its color barely distinguishable these days. It had belonged to Aunt Signe, the former owner of the house and Nora’s late neighbor. Signe used to sit on the veranda exactly as Nora was doing now, with her dog Kajsa at her feet. Nora could still hear Kajsa’s tail thumping on the floorboards.
Simon was beaming as he retrieved a small parcel pushed far under the tree.
“It’s from Dad,” he said, his cheeks glowing with a combination of excitement and the warmth in the room.
Nora put down the nutcrackers and the shell of a walnut she’d just cracked. Simon had been so looking forward to this Christmas Eve, and had hardly talked about anything else over the past few days. It was a long time since he’d been in such a good mood, and he had chattered away that morning when they sat down at the kitchen table to enjoy rice pudding with cinnamon and sugar.
He came over and handed Nora the present, pointing to the ornate writing on the label.
“To Nora. Merry Christmas from Henrik,” he read in his best voice before curling up beside her on the wicker sofa, so close that his legs were touching hers.
Nora contemplated the present. It was a flat, square package, beautifully wrapped in silver paper. She recognized the logo on the little sticker; it came from a well-known jeweler in an elegant shopping area of Stockholm. She had sometimes passed the store, but had never been inside.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Simon said excitedly. “It looks special!”
The fire crackled, its flames glowing behind the brass doors of the tiled stove. Adam, who was sitting in the other chair, leaned forward with interest. Seen in profile, he looked like a younger version of Henrik. He had also started to sound just like his father in his intonation, with the hint of a drawl in his voice.
Nora raised an eyebrow at her ex-husband. She’d only bought him a book, a novel about a vulnerable woman in Afghanistan. The choice had amused her, given the inequality of the workload within their marriage. The resentment hadn’t quite gone away.
“Open it, open it!” Simon insisted.
Henrik was watching her. As he put down his glass, she noticed that his hair had started to turn gray at the temples.
She weighed the package in her hand, lost in thought. They had agreed to celebrate Christmas together for the sake of the children, nothing more. However, there was no denying the fact that Henrik had made a huge effort; since their arrival on Sandhamn, Nora had hardly needed to lift a finger. Henrik had even done most of the food shopping.
He was a completely different person, at least in comparison with the man he had been during the last year of their marriage. Maybe it was because he’d recently split up with Marie, the woman he’d met while he and Nora were still married. They had moved in together right after the divorce.
That little stab of resentment made its presence felt once more.
The first notes of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” came from the music system, and the paraffin lamp on the ceiling flickered.
Carefully Nora undid the pretty silk ribbon, silver with gold threads running through it. She put it to one side and opened up the elegant wrapping paper to reveal a dark-red leather box.
Simon couldn’t contain himself.
“What is it? Open it, Mom!”
Nora lifted the lid. Nestled on a green velvet cushion was a pendant made of white gold, with a small diamond in the center. Beside it glinted a slender chain.
“Wow,” she whispered, not quite daring to meet Henrik’s eyes. This was way too much, way too expensive.
“It’s so pretty.” Simon breathed in her ear.
Henrik gave her a warm smile.
“To new beginnings,” he said, raising his glass in a toast.
CHAPTER 7
It was strangely desolate when Jeanette stepped out into the cold, like an uninhabited moonscape. She pulled up the hood of her jacket and buried her chin in her scarf as she tried to make out where she was putting her feet. The apartments were on a slope with a series of short flights of steps leading down, and she didn’t want to slip and fall. However, it was hard to see properly. Why didn’t they provide better lighting?
As she rounded the corner of the building, the wind struck her full on. It was a struggle to stay upright in the fierce gusts; the snow lashed her face, and the storm howled in her ears. She hadn’t realized how much the weather had deteriorated while she was resting; the force of the gale almost took her breath away.
The cleared path she had followed earlier had vanished, leaving only a uniform whiteness. With one hand covering her mouth for protection, she began to fight her way through the snowdrifts. Tiny ice crystals stung her cheeks like arrows, and even though she was breathing through her nose, the cold air seared her lungs as she inhaled. She sank deep into the snow with every step; it found its way into her boots, and in seconds her feet were sodden.
Everything looked so different now. Shadows and distances were distorted; nothing made sense.
She was so tired, and her body felt heavy and clumsy. She couldn’t catch her breath.
Through the blizzard she could see the pontoons by the gas station tugging at their moorings; she could almost hear the chains groaning under the strain. Huge, foaming waves came crashing in over the jetties. Farther away, maybe fifty yards, she spotted a lone streetlamp illuminating a snow-covered clump of trees.
I’ll try and make it that far, she thought. Then I can have a little rest.
She reached the lamppost with some difficulty, even though it was a comparatively short distance. She rested her head against the cold metal, utterly exhausted.
Just give me a few minutes.
Jeanette reached into her pocket for her cigarettes, but it was impossible to get ahold of the pack with her gloves on. Turning her back to the wind, she managed to remove one glove and take out the pack and her lighter. She cupped her shaking hand around the flame, but it kept going out, time after time. After a couple of minutes, she was frozen stiff; the whole thing was pointless. She put her glove back on and looked around.
The trees were so dense that they blocked her view of the Sailors Restaurant. She had to move closer to the water in order to see the warm glow of its windows.
She was feeling even worse now, with a burning pain in her belly. She pressed her hands to her stomach, trying to fight the waves of nausea washing over her. She swallowed hard, over and over again.
I should have stayed indoors. Why on earth did I venture out in this weather?
Tears welled up, but immediately froze on her cold skin; the eyelashes on one eye stuck together. She tried to rub it, but her icy glove just made the situation worse.
Then the dizziness overcame her, along with the nausea. She groped for the lamppost for support, trying to grab it with hands that refused to obey her.
What’s the matter with me? Why do I feel so weak?
It was as if her body had lost its ability to move under her direction;
she felt a prickling sensation in her arms and legs, and her skin began to itch.
She was enveloped in a thick mist, and she couldn’t orient herself. The hotel reception wasn’t far away; she couldn’t possibly have lost her bearings. And yet the distance seemed endless, almost insurmountable. She had covered this same route only a few hours earlier; why couldn’t she find her way now?
The blizzard was whirling inside her head as well as all around her. Jeanette tried to focus, to fix her gaze on the building she knew lay in front of her, but however hard she blinked, her field of vision remained blurred. Everything was a grainy mess.
There was virtually no feeling in her feet by now, and her fingers were no more than stiff lumps inside her gloves. She had to get into the warmth; nothing else mattered.
But which was closer—the apartment or the hotel?
A fresh wave of nausea rose up from her stomach. She just had time to think, What’s happening to me? before she began to retch violently. Sour bile came up, black against the white, steaming as it spattered the snow. She felt sudden warmth in her panties and realized she’d wet herself.
“Help me,” she tried to call out, but her voice was just a hoarse croaking sound deep in her throat.
Was that a shadow in the darkness? Someone was laughing at her.
Jeanette dropped to her knees; she couldn’t stay on her feet any longer.
“Please,” she whispered to the blurred figure.
The wind carried another scornful laugh.
She couldn’t possibly get up, so she began to crawl forward through the snow.
Then everything went black.
CHAPTER 8
Nora turned the key and locked the front door for the night. The storm was still howling all around the house, and from time to time the old wooden rafters creaked in protest.
She was glad to be indoors; this wasn’t the weather for man nor beast to be outside. If it kept snowing like this, getting to the chapel in the morning would be a challenge.
One final glance into the kitchen revealed a forgotten carton of milk on the drainboard; no doubt Adam had helped himself to a drink before heading off to bed. Putting it back in the refrigerator, she hoped he hadn’t swigged it straight out of the container.
