She's Never Coming Back

by Hans Koppel

Apparently Ylva didn’t go home last night. Really? Wonder where she’s sleeping then? Hehe.

  Nour was trapped. There was nothing she could do. No matter how she looked at it, the result would simply add insult to injury and Mike was the loser.

  And in any case, Ylva would be home soon enough, ashamed and pleading.

  Never again. I promise.

  Nour sat down on the bed, flopped back and stared up at the ceiling.

  ‘Ylva Ylva Ylva Ylva …’ she muttered to herself.

  Most beautiful women didn’t seek attention, certainly not from men lower down the social, sexual or financial ladder. Ylva, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough. If there was a man there, she had her eye on him. The fact that that made it impossible for women to be friends with her didn’t bother her in the slightest.

  As was so often the case with flirts, the attraction was a game, not real. And in most cases, it went no further than flirting and a bit of petting. The only man that Nour knew for certain Ylva had slept with was Bill Åkerman.

  Nour didn’t know much about him except that he’d wasted all the money his rich mother had invested in his stupid projects. It was only once his mother died that Bill, against the odds, managed to get a luxury restaurant up and running.

  Nour was practically certain that Ylva was with him.

  15

  Mike cleared away the breakfast things, then took a shower. He closed his eyes and let the warm water stream over his face. The sound of the shower blocked out the rest of the world and made him realise that he couldn’t carry on living like this.

  He contemplated divorce, imagined that he would push it all through with extreme generosity in order to avoid any problems with custody. He thought he could get himself a second-floor flat with a balcony on the northside, with the water stretching out below. An every-second-week agreement? It had its advantages.

  He pictured a new and healthier lifestyle. He would be sociable, not just sit there quietly any more, nodding and smiling.

  Internet dating? There were plenty more fish in the sea.

  A sound outside the shower made him immediately turn off the water. He got out and opened the bathroom door.

  ‘Hello?’ he shouted.

  No reply.

  ‘Ylva?’

  Just the distant sound of Sanna’s cartoon.

  ‘Sanna!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did someone come in?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Has Mummy come back?’ Mike shouted at the top of his voice.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It just sounded like someone came in.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Mike dried himself and got dressed, went down to Sanna in the sitting room. Watched her as she dragged her eyes reluctantly from the screen and looked at him questioningly.

  ‘Thought we could go to Väla,’ he said, quickly.

  He hated the shopping centre, especially on a Saturday, but he was too restless to potter around at home, waiting for the homecoming queen.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes, before there are too many people.’

  ‘Can’t we wait until Mummy comes home?’

  ‘No, let’s go now.’

  The remote control was lying on the table. He picked it up.

  ‘Go and put some clothes on.’

  ‘But stop the film. I want to watch the rest when we get back.’

  Sanna jumped down from the sofa and ran to her room. Mike switched to teletext and skimmed over the various listings and headlines. Nothing interesting, he decided, and turned it off.

  He went out into the kitchen, took a piece of paper from Sanna’s play box and wrote CALL ME on it. He left the piece of paper in the middle of the table, where it was visible.

  Mike and Sanna left the house.

  Ylva sat on the bed and stared at the screen. She saw her husband and daughter get into the car and drive away.

  Ylva couldn’t see everything in detail, but their movements were familiar and it wasn’t difficult for her mind to fill in what her eyes couldn’t see. The normal movements, seen a thousand times before, nothing dramatic. The front door opened. Sanna ran over to the car. Stood waiting by the passenger door, having obviously been promised she could sit next to Mike. Mike locked the front door, turned off the car alarm from a distance. They got in. Mike helped to belt in his daughter. He shut the car door. The red backlights went on. The car reversed out, stopped a moment before accelerating forward. Left into Bäckavägen, then left again up Sundsliden.

  Ylva knew there was no point, but still screamed in loud desperation when she saw the top of the car pass by outside.

  They’d gone out. What did that mean? Who had Mike contacted? What did he think?

  It was quite easy to imagine what he was thinking. Maybe he couldn’t stand waiting. Or he was driving Sanna over to his mother’s as a precautionary measure. So that she wasn’t there for the fight that Mike thought was in the offing.

  Why didn’t he ring the police? Or had he phoned them and been told to wait?

  She will come home, just wait and see.

  The officer on duty that he’d spoken to would then put down the phone and roll his eyes at a colleague and pour another cup of coffee.

  Sanna had skipped down to the car as usual. She had no idea.

  It was harder to guess what Mike was feeling. One of his most distinguishing traits was the fear of losing control, even though at heart he was a crybaby. Mike was far more a victim of his gender than Ylva had ever been.

  He must at least have phoned the hospital. She would have done that. If nothing else, for tactical reasons, a means of reproach.

  I even phoned the hospital.

  A double martyr. Considerate and betrayed.

  ‘Why do you keep looking at your mobile?’

  Sanna sent her dad an accusing look.

  ‘I don’t.’ He smiled sheepishly.

  ‘You do, all the time.’

  ‘I’m just checking to see if Mummy’s called.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t really know.’

  ‘Don’t you know where she is?’

  Sanna found that hard to understand and Mike felt the tears well up in his eyes.

  ‘All I know is that she’s out with her friends. That is to say, she was. They went out together yesterday. They were probably out late, so she stayed over with one of them.’

  ‘But she hasn’t phoned?’

  ‘Look!’ Mike said, and pointed out to the right.

  Sanna turned around and Mike swiftly wiped the corners of his eyes.

  ‘What?’ Sanna asked.

  ‘The bird, the big bird over there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Oh, it’s flown away.’

  ‘I didn’t see a bird.’

  ‘Didn’t you? It was a big one, maybe an eagle. Have you ever seen an eagle? They look like a flying door. Mummy will be home soon. I’m sure she’ll be there waiting for us, when we get back from Väla.’

  ‘I still think she could phone,’ Sanna said.

  16

  I can’t say that I’m sorry.

  Jörgen’s words had engraved themselves in Calle Collin’s mind. The worst thing was that they were spontaneous. Jörgen hadn’t said it to be mean, it was an instinctive reaction to the news that Anders Egerbladh had been murdered.

  Calle looked up the hammer murder on the Internet. After surfing for half an hour, he had the basic facts. Anders Egerbladh, who all the articles stated was thirty-six, had been beaten to death on Sista Styverns Trapp, a flight of wooden steps that went from Fjällgatan up to Stigbergsgatan. The murder weapon, a hammer, had been left at the scene of the crime, but had no fingerprints on it.

  The murder was described as bestial. The level of violence indicated an intense hate for the victim, and the police were working on the hypothesis that the victim and the killer knew each other. A bunch of flowers had been found at the scene, which was assumed to i
ndicate that the thirty-six-year-old had been on his way to visit a woman. And reading between the lines, a married woman.

  The best articles were written by a crime reporter from an evening paper where Calle Collin had once wasted six months of his professional life. He got the feeling that the reporter knew more than he was sharing with his readers. Calle didn’t know the journalist personally, but he did know one of the editors. If she put a word in for him, he might be able to talk to the reporter.

  Calle had worked as a temp on the paper’s women’s page, where all the articles were based on the first commandment of McCarthy feminism: that there was no difference between men and women, except that men are by nature evil and women are by nature good.

  Headlines and angles were pre-set and the editorial work consisted simply of putting together arguments that backed the claim and eliminating anything that might oppose it. Without so much as batting an eye, journalists on the page took to task anyone who dared to question their machinations in the name of the cause.

  The fact that many of those who were hounded, and whose lives and actions were scorned, were in fact good role models for equality was neither here nor there if they so much as hinted, in even a subclause, that they may have a different opinion.

  All in all, this meant that what were essentially important questions were often ridiculed, and those six months working at the supplement had instilled in Calle Collin a permanent distrust of public debate. The only positive thing about his time there was that he had got to know one of the editors, a wise woman with a big heart. When Calle had had enough after six months, she asked whether he would perhaps prefer to go down to the news desk.

  ‘If I was interested in news, I would’ve gone to a newspaper,’ Calle had replied.

  For a long time after, he was frequently quoted by the editorial team. Most people laughed, even agreed with him, but the arts editor was furious and had sworn that, as far as he could, he would make sure that Calle never set foot in the place again.

  Calle picked up the receiver and dialled the wise woman with the big heart.

  17

  The uglier a place was, the more people thronged there. The national parks were almost deserted, but every revolting shopping centre in the country was full to bursting with people with no taste, empty eyes and a fat wallet.

  And nowhere was worse or more repulsive than Väla shopping centre. And yet Mike went there at least once a week. Because you could get everything there, even free parking. Just load the car and drive home.

  Ylva was happy to wander round the same shops, weekend in and weekend out, and with a keen eye pick out the new things from the vast range of what was on offer. Mike, on the other hand, hurried through the indoor streets that had sprung up, terrified that the rubbish would stick to him.

  Sanna was somewhere in between. The pet shop was an attraction, as was the ice-cream stall and all the people.

  The hustle and bustle, sounds and impressions, were the highlight of the week for many.

  Ylva would lay her newly purchased finds out on the bed when she got home, as if they were prey or a trophy. Admiring her own skill. She’d tell Sanna what she’d bought, why she’d bought it and how the various new items of clothing could be combined with the ones she already had.

  Mike wondered whether it was some kind of training, whether that was how new consumers were generated.

  And he certainly didn’t have the peace of mind to wander round and pretend that nothing was wrong now.

  ‘So, what do you reckon, sweetheart? McDonald’s and then home?’

  ‘But we’ve just got here.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you hungry?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go round the shops a bit and then we can have a bite to eat. Okay?’

  Ylva still hadn’t called and a nagging worry was starting to keep his anger company.

  The thought that something might have happened, that there was a legitimate reason why she hadn’t phoned, was almost comforting. Being worried was easier than being frightened.

  But he was frightened, frightened of being dumped and written out of the plot.

  At least as a consoler – or, God forbid, a mourner – Mike would have a role to play.

  Sanna chewed slowly and surveyed the world around her with big eyes, and in here that meant overweight families, dirty tables and stressed staff.

  Mike had finished his food and was bouncing his foot nervously under the table.

  ‘You enjoying that?’

  He smiled at his daughter and did his best to hide the fact that he would happily pay a substantial part of his salary if he could leave the place immediately. McDonald’s was their last stop. They had been to the pet shop, browsed through the DVDs in the bookshop and looked for cheap jewellery in the accessories shop.

  Sanna nodded, took a bite of a fry. Everything was slow. Mike had finished before his daughter had even picked the cucumber out of her burger.

  ‘If you concentrate on your burger, then maybe we could take the fries with us,’ he said and forced a smile.

  ‘Are we in a hurry?’

  ‘What? Um, no. We’re not in a hurry.’

  Sanna chewed her deep-fried potato thoughtfully as two little boys at the next table squabbled over the toys they’d got with their happy meal.

  Mike resigned himself to the fact that he had at least another half-hour of torture ahead of him.

  He got his mobile out from the inside pocket of his jacket, checked the screen to make sure that he hadn’t missed any calls and tried Ylva again. Straight to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message. He dialled the house and let it ring about six times before ending the call.

  He looked at his daughter and then held the phone up with the exaggerated explanation of a parent.

  ‘I have to make a phone call,’ he said. ‘I’ll be standing just over there where I can see you. Okay?’

  ‘Can’t you ring from here?’ Sanna asked.

  ‘There’s someone I need to talk to.’

  ‘But you just phoned someone.’

  ‘That was someone else. I don’t want there to be a lot of noise in the background. Just sit where you are, I’ll be right outside.’

  He went to the door, waved over at his daughter and dialled Nour’s number.

  ‘Hi, it’s Mike.’

  ‘Hi, has she shown up yet?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t. At least, I don’t think so. I’m at Väla with Sanna, but I left a note to say she should call. And she hasn’t. And there’s no answer on her mobile or at home. Have you heard anything?’

  ‘Well … I … Nothing much, no, but I’ll carry on. I’ll let you know if I do hear anything.’

  ‘Okay, thanks. And, Nour, listen …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, if she is … you know, if she has done something stupid, well, I’d still like to hear from her. It doesn’t feel right like this. I’m getting worried.’

  Nour rang the restaurant that was owned by Ylva’s ex-lover. It was just after one and she guessed that they would be open. She said who she was and asked to speak to Bill Åkerman. Luckily he was there, which lowered the chances that he’d spent the night with Ylva or knew where she was, but Nour wanted to make sure.

  ‘Hello.’

  His voice was aggressive, just like his personality.

  ‘Hello, my name is Nour. I work with Ylva Zetterberg.’

  Bill waited for her to finish and to say more.

  ‘I’ve seen you a couple of times,’ Nour continued. ‘But I don’t think you know who I am.’

  ‘I know who you are.’

  His voice was cold and businesslike, there was no hint of invitation or intimacy. But Nour still felt flattered in a way. She wondered whether Bill’s success with women was simply due to social ineptitude. Or was it disinterest? Bill didn’t care, which aroused a competitive spirit in women who were normally spoilt for attention.

  ‘I’m sorry to call you like this, but it
’s kind of urgent. Ylva’s disappeared. She didn’t go home last night. Her husband’s called me a couple of times and asked if I maybe know where she is.’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘So she wasn’t with you?’

  ‘Why the hell would she be?’

  ‘I know that you—’

  ‘That was a hundred years ago. Was there anything else?’

  ‘No.’

  Bill hung up. Nour sat with the telephone in her hand. Her immediate impulse was to go to the restaurant and apologise. She didn’t feel good, like an old gossip sniffing out scandal.

  Ylva would be furious when she found out that Nour had phoned Bill.

  Nour was ashamed. She had let herself be drawn in by Mike’s anxiety. Instead of reassuring him, she had taken his hysteria a step further.

  Did Mike even know that his wife had had an affair with Bill? Nour wasn’t certain.

  If Ylva didn’t turn up soon, Mike would ring her again to find out who she’d spoken to. She couldn’t really say that the only person she’d contacted was Bill. Nour had to phone a few other people, so she could say that she had. Despite the fact that she already knew that none of them would have any idea where Ylva might be. The phone calls would only reinforce the image of Nour as some hysterical gossipmonger.

  Nour felt her irritation growing. How come she should be tidying up after Ylva? She wasn’t the one who’d fucked around.

  18

  Sanna saved the longest fries until last.

  ‘Look,’ she said, holding one up in front of her.

  ‘Wow, that’s a long one,’ Mike said.

  He glanced over quickly and then looked back at the road. He stayed in lane on the roundabout and out on to the motorway.

  ‘I’ve had longer ones,’ Sanna said, world weary. ‘One was super long.’

  ‘Longer than that?’ Mike exclaimed.

  ‘Much longer. Double as long.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, maybe not double.’

  ‘But very long?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sanna happily stuffed the fry in her mouth.