She’d cried for ages that evening, and now she was going to meet him again.
She looked at the time: an hour and half to go.
She pushed off the bedspread, got up, sat down at her laptop, logged into the hotel network and surfed randomly around the Swedish news sites. The Evening Post was leading with earth-shattering news: ‘Ten fine wines to make your May Day party go with a swing’. And there was me thinking it depended on the people you were with, she thought.
Below the wine story there were two financial articles: the first expressed outrage at how careful with his money Ingvar Kamprad, the founder of Ikea, was; the second was horrified that this year’s Swedish Eurovision entry was using a private plane for a publicity tour. It wasn’t entirely clear which of these was most deplorable.
The other evening paper was running with ‘Pay-day shopping in the sun!’, then ‘How to escape the luxury gap’. She gave up and went into her Facebook page. It had been a while since she had last logged in. She had eight new messages, all of them from Polly Sandman, Suzette’s best friend back in Blackeberg. Most were long musings about life, death and love, but occasionally Polly wrote short messages or just wanted the answer to a specific question.
Annika worked through them from the top, which meant she read the most recent one first. It contained a short, blunt question: ‘Is the moon full at the same time all over the world?’
Annika blinked at the screen. She didn’t actually know. It couldn’t be, could it? Maybe it could. She made a mental note to find out.
The next message was a long story about a reality soap-star who became an astronaut.
The third consisted of three sentences: ‘Suzette’s mum has sold their flat. She’s thrown out all Suzette’s things. I don’t know where she’s moved to.’
Annika read the message twice and felt her throat tighten. Suzette meant nothing. She was in the process of being erased. Everything she had been, thought and liked was being wiped away, and nobody cared. The message was dated 16 April. I really must keep a closer eye on this inbox, she thought.
The following three messages all contained gloomy poems about missing friends.
The penultimate one was short, just two sentences: ‘I’ve had a really weird email. I think it’s from Suzette.’
Annika’s heart started to pound.
I think it’s from Suzette.
She glanced quickly at the bottom of the page: Polly Sandman was online. She clicked on Chat, which brought up Facebook’s own instant message facility, and typed ‘Hi, Polly, Annika Bengtzon here! What was the weird email you got? Why do you think it’s from Suzette?’
She sent the message, then stared at the screen. Rolle in Mellösa wanted to add her as a friend. It was a few seconds before she realized that Rolle in Mellösa was Roland Larsson, the boy who had had a crush on her at school, Jimmy Halenius’s cousin. She stared at the screen and wondered if he was serious. How many grown men voluntarily spent their free time on this sort of thing? On the other hand people spent their working lives helping fraudulent businessmen to avoid tax by registering companies in places like Gibraltar.
She clicked to accept Roland as her friend, then looked at the time. Maybe Polly wasn’t at her computer. Maybe it was just on in her room while she was out with her friends or something.
The chat-box pinged. ‘Do you believe in messages from the other side? In the olden days the dead used to speak through spirits. Maybe they use email these days.’ Annika replied briefly and bluntly: ‘Not a chance. What did she say?’
There was a short pause. Then: ‘The message was from Gunnar Larsson. There was nothing in it.’
Annika’s pulse slowed. What was this nonsense? ‘Gunnar Larsson?’ she wrote back. ‘Who’s he?’
The reply came quick as a flash. ‘That’s a secret.’
‘Polly,’ Annika wrote, deciding to be dramatic. ‘If this has anything to do with Suzette, you have to tell me. It could be a matter of life and death.’
It was several minutes before the reply arrived. ‘Gunnar Larsson was our maths teacher in year nine. He was so stupid and old that Suzette and I wanted to play a trick on him. We set up an email account for him, then sent dirty emails to some of the girls in the class. We don’t know exactly what happened, but Gunnar Larsson had to leave the school.’
Annika read the message twice. ‘He was fired because of the emails you sent?’ she asked.
‘Don’t know. He was only a supply teacher, so maybe he had to leave anyway. But we got really scared. We swore we’d never tell anyone about Gunnar Larsson’s emails.’
Annika’s heart speeded up again. ‘And now Mr Gunnar Larsson has got in touch?’
It was eight minutes before the answer came. Annika had time to chew off most of her thumbnail.
‘Only me and Suzette know the password to Mr Gunnar Larsson’s email. I have to go, we’re going out for dinner. Bye for now!’ She went offline.
Annika stared at the screen with a faint buzz in her ears. A blank email from a hotmail address? That it had come from hotmail meant the sender had had to know the password for the account. That it was empty suggested they were in a hurry. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it might be a sign of life.
She clicked to open Polly’s last message, which turned out to be the start of the story about the reality soap-star/astronaut.
Annika sat in front of her laptop for a minute or so. Then she wrote a short reply: ‘Here’s my mobile number. If Gunnar Larsson emails you again, I want you to call me.’
She typed her mobile number, sent the message and shut down her laptop. She’d have to hurry if she wanted a shower.
He was standing in the lobby with his back to the lifts, wearing the same suit as when she had bumped into him at the conference centre, the slightly shiny Italian one that fitted so well across his hips. She walked up behind him, breathing in the smell of his aftershave. He had showered, too, and shaved. ‘Hello,’ she said quietly.
He turned and ran his eyes over her. No direct sign of appreciation, but no attempt to distance himself either. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Shall we go?’
She walked past him and out onto the street. She was wearing her jeans and the old sweater, and had her bag with her, as usual. She had brought her best dress with her to Spain, a bright red, sleeveless thing she’d bought on impulse in the Christmas sales, but she’d had Niklas Linde in mind when she’d packed it, not Thomas. She had put it on earlier, but felt overdressed. As if she were trying too hard.
He had his hire car parked outside the hotel. He unlocked it by remote, then opened the passenger door for her.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘I’ve booked a table at a place just above here.’
‘Not in Istán?’
‘What?’ he said, clearly confused.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
He got in beside her, just as he had done hundreds of times before, fumbling with the key and checking the gears were in neutral, then pausing a moment before turning the key. Breathed out, tested the accelerator, looked in the rear-view mirror, and forgot to release the handbrake before pulling away.
He headed up towards Nueva Andalucía. She was looking straight ahead through the windscreen, intensely aware of his presence: long arms and legs, narrow fingers, broad shoulders. She shivered and wrapped her arms round herself.
‘The porter at the hotel recommended this place, and gave me directions,’ he said. ‘Apparently they specialize in grilled meat. I assumed you wouldn’t want fish or shellfish.’
She didn’t answer.
They swept past the bullfighting arena.
‘How are your articles going?’ he asked.
This was what they always did. Skirted around the important things. Said stuff that never meant anything. ‘Fine, thanks,’ she said. ‘Not enough time, a lazy photographer, too little preparation, but it’ll probably work out okay. How about you?’
He sighed. ‘This whole business, tryi
ng to coordinate economic legislation throughout Europe, is a much bigger task than I’d thought. I’m going to be on secondment to the department for a while. It feels good to be entrusted with something of this significance by the heads of the department.’
Why did he always have to tell her how fucking important and talented he was?
They sat in silence as the car climbed upwards. They were on a different road from the one she had driven along with Niklas Linde, so at least they weren’t on their way towards La Campana. The sun was low, colouring the walls red. Bougainvillaea tumbled over fences and rooftops, glowing like fire in the sunset.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘We have to try to make sure we get on well, you and I, for the children’s sake.’
He glanced at her, but said nothing.
‘I interviewed a guy yesterday,’ she went on. ‘He’s twenty-six years old and he’s locked up in a windowless concrete cell in Málaga. He’ll be lucky to get out before he’s thirty, and there was no need for him to end up there in the first place.’
Thomas didn’t respond, and turned into a large car park outside a place called El Picadero. ‘The porter told me this place used to be a ranch once upon a time,’ he said. ‘There were horses here until just a few years ago, in fact. I thought you might like it.’
The restaurant was a long, low building with flame-coloured tiles and a large covered terrace stretching the entire length of the front. Lanterns with candles were hanging under the roof.
‘Do you want to sit outside?’
She nodded.
They got a table for two at some distance from the door.
‘I’ve been doing some thinking as well,’ Thomas said, once they had sat down and ordered water and wine. He played with his napkin and shuffled his feet restlessly under the table, as he always had when he was worried or nervous about something. ‘It was wrong of me not to say anything about Sophia,’ he said. ‘You knew about it, and I wish you’d said something, but it wasn’t your fault that things turned out the way they did. Not exclusively, anyway.’
Annika looked at the tablecloth. She knew what he meant, and how hard it had been for him to say it. That was the closest she would get to an apology.
Evidently he hadn’t finished, because his feet were still shuffling about. ‘That’s why I think we should be honest.’
She nodded, agreeing.
‘So you can tell me …’
She blinked.
‘…if you were ever with anyone else.’
‘Never,’ she said. ‘Not with anyone, not once.’
The waiter arrived with their drinks. Thomas tasted the wine. Annika took a thirsty gulp of her mineral water.
‘How about afterwards?’ he said, when the waiter had disappeared.
The only man she had been with was Niklas Linde.
‘That policeman?’ Thomas said. ‘Or Halenius?’
The old fury poured out. She stood up, her chair jabbing into the diner behind her. ‘You’ve got a nerve!’ she said. ‘Cross-examining me about who I’ve slept with the moment you get a chance.’ I can walk back to the hotel, she found herself thinking. I can ask for directions. It can’t be more than five kilometres.
The other diners were looking at her curiously. The man she had rammed her chair into moved forward.
She was about to do it again: run away from confrontation and hide her head in the sand. She blushed and sat down. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘Those people over there are Swedish,’ he said, nodding towards a table by the entrance. ‘They would have heard you even if they’re deaf.’
‘Sorry,’ she repeated.
The waiter appeared beside them and asked if they were ready to order. They hurriedly picked up their menus. ‘Apparently the steak is what we should have,’ Thomas said. ‘It gets cooked at the table on a red-hot stone. It’s supposed to be really good.’
Annika closed her menu without answering.
Thomas ordered a few starters, and carne a la Piedra.
The waiter disappeared.
‘The children,’ Annika said. ‘We have to put aside any disagreements. We have to be able to talk to each other without it always being so fucking volatile. For the children’s sake.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that too,’ he said. ‘How different things are now. We used to share the children, but now I’m the only one taking responsibility.’
‘No, Thomas,’ she said. ‘While we were married I looked after the children and you looked after your career. Not at the start, but once I was on leave you left me to it. Whereas now we’re sharing responsibility, the two of us.’
His astonishment was written across his face.
Annika stared at him. He’d started to get some grey hairs by his temples. The wrinkles around his eyes were more clearly defined than before. He’d put on weight as well. Maybe Sophia Fucking Bitch Grenborg baked cakes. Thomas had a weakness for cake.
Silence descended. A cricket started to chirrup in the grass alongside them. Others answered it from some distance away. A dog barked.
The waiter arrived with their starters, one plate of finely sliced ham, and another with cheese and walnuts.
‘I thought we could share them,’ Thomas said. ‘Have you tried this? Jamón ibérico bellota, the best in the world.’
They ate without talking. Annika wolfed down the ham, the cheese and endive salad with walnuts in a Gorgonzola cream. She drank water and, for once, a whole glass of wine.
The darkness was getting thicker, and soon formed a wall around them.
‘Have I told you what Ellen said the other day when we were on our way to her school?’ she asked. ‘ “When I get old, you’ll be dead, and then you’ll come back.” ’
Thomas laughed. ‘We have a daughter who believes in reincarnation.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I wonder if she had a previous life, and who she might have been?’
‘Mahatma Gandhi?’ Annika suggested.
‘Well, not Josef Stalin, anyway,’ Thomas said. ‘She’s far too scared of blood.’
They chuckled.
At that moment his mobile rang. He pulled it out of his inside pocket, peered at the screen, then stood up and turned his back on her.
‘Hi, Kalle,’ he said, walking out to the car park.
She watched him, deflated.
Their son was calling him, but he didn’t want the boy to know that he was having dinner with her because it would be too complicated to explain to Sophia.
She got up and threw her napkin onto her chair. There had to be some limit to the humiliation. She was expected to sit there and tell him who she was sleeping with, but he couldn’t even own up to the fact that they were having dinner together.
She’d made it a couple of metres into the car park when Thomas caught sight of her.
‘I miss you too, Kalle,’ he said. ‘Do you know who’s coming now? There’s someone here who I think would like to talk to you.’
She stopped mid-stride. He was standing four or five metres away, holding the phone out to her. She practically ran towards it. ‘Kalle?’ she said.
‘Mummy?’
Warmth welled inside her, bringing tears to her eyes. ‘Hi, Kalle, how are you?’
‘Mummy, guess what! I’ve lost a tooth!’
She laughed and stopped a tear with a finger just below her eyelashes. ‘Wow, another! How many is that now?’
‘Loads! Do you think the tooth fairy knows the way to Grev Turegatan?’
‘Leave it in a glass of water and you’ll see that it’s turned into a gold coin by tomorrow morning.’
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes?’
‘When are you coming home?’
‘Tomorrow. And I’ll see you on Monday when I pick you up from after-school club.’
‘I miss you, Mummy.’
‘And I miss you too. Is Ellen still up?’
‘She’s asleep – she’s just a baby.’
‘Well, you s
hould be asleep too. Sleep well, now. I love you.’
She waited for the words he usually said at the end of every phone-call: ‘I love you, Mummy, you’re the best mummy in the whole wooorld.’ They didn’t come.
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you going to marry Daddy again?’
She saw Thomas walking around the car park the way he did when he got nervous. He never could stand still. ‘No, darling, I’m not. Here comes Daddy, so you can say night-night to him as well.’ She passed the phone to Thomas and went back to her chair. It was completely dark now. The warmth of the day was still lingering, and the wind had died down. Thomas ended the call and put away his mobile.
The waiter removed their starters and came back with a frame on which he placed a red-hot stone slab. Then he laid out thin slices of marbled T-bone steak and vegetables, and three different sauces, and showed them how to melt fat directly on the stone, then fry the meat. It hissed and crackled, smoked and steamed.
Annika was enchanted by the flame burning beneath the frame, and the crackling from the stone.
‘I miss you sometimes,’ Thomas said.
She thought he was going to say something else, but he didn’t. ‘Why?’ she said eventually.
He put another slice of meat on the stone. ‘You never went with the flow. You always said what you thought. I was never very happy when I was discussing anything with you, but I always ended up wiser.’
Thomas fried and sliced the meat, fried and sliced.
She was still full from their starters.
The flame under the frame flickered and went out.
The waiter came and took their empty plates away.
Neither of them wanted dessert or coffee. Thomas picked up the bill and paid with a credit card she’d never seen before. He signed with his usual looping signature, and left a ten-euro note as a tip.
‘Is the state footing the bill for this?’ she asked.
The Long Shadow Page 30
