The Golden Cage

by Camilla Lackberg

  Faye opened her laptop, clicked to bring up Excel, and made a simple schedule for her future activities. The very next day she had two walks booked. She was charging one hundred and twenty kronor per hour. When the spreadsheet was finished she registered a private company in her name. She had already decided on the name in readiness for the day when she turned the business into a corporation.

  * * *

  • • •

  The rain was pouring down, creeping under her raincoat, getting in everywhere. Faye couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this wet. Zorro and Alfred were tugging at their leashes, the rain didn’t seem to bother them.

  If anyone had told her a month ago that she’d be celebrating her birthday in the pouring rain with two golden retrievers she’d have thought they were mad.

  But life was full of surprises. Faye of all people had learned that lesson.

  Her routines had changed entirely over the past few weeks. She got up at five-thirty every morning, showered, ate a breakfast consisting of a boiled egg with smoked fish roe, then headed out. The two dog walks per day had quickly become eight, and some of the dog owners were booking her for two walks a day. Kerstin had no objection to her volunteering to dog sit some evenings as well.

  Faye sneezed. She was looking forward to getting home and sinking into a warm bath, like she did every evening after the last walk.

  “Okay, that’ll have to do, boys,” she said as the skies opened up.

  After handing the dogs back to their owner, Mrs. Lönnberg, Faye hurried home. Her feet hadn’t felt this tired in years.

  She opened the door gently so as not to disturb Kerstin, who usually sat and read at this time of day, and went carefully up the stairs. When she reached the bathroom she discovered that the bath had already been run. There was a vase of handpicked flowers from the garden on the sink.

  Kerstin appeared behind her.

  “Thank you,” Faye whispered.

  “I thought you might need it,” she said. “There’s…I got you a little something. A present. It’s on the kitchen table.”

  “How did you know?”

  “That it’s your birthday? It’s in the rental agreement. I may be old, but I’m not blind. Now get yourself in that bath.”

  When Faye got out of the bath her stomach was howling with hunger. She crept down the stairs, opened the fridge and took out some boiled eggs, sliced them, and spread fish roe over them. She sat down at the kitchen table with her crispbread sandwiches on a side plate and opened the green parcel.

  It was a pair of black Nikes.

  Tears welled up in Faye’s eyes.

  She put the shoes on and walked around the living room. They felt soft, perfectly molded to her feet. She stopped outside Kerstin’s bedroom door. There was a crack of light beneath it, so she knocked.

  Kerstin was lying in bed with a book. Faye sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted her feet so Kerstin could see the shoes.

  “They’re perfect—thank you!”

  Kerstin closed her book and rested it on her stomach.

  “Have I told you how I met Ragnar?”

  Faye shook her head.

  “I was his secretary. He was married. Ten years older than me, a company director, a millionaire, with a smile that made me feel faint. He took me out for fancy lunches, gave me flowers, deluged me with compliments.”

  She paused. Ran one hand over the covers.

  “I fell in love. So did he. In the end he left his wife, she took the children and moved out of their house. And I moved in. I gave up my job. Spent my days playing tennis, running the household, looking after Ragnar. We went traveling each summer, Spain, Greece. One year we went to the United States. Four years passed. Five. Six. I didn’t even have the sense to feel ashamed of what I’d done to his ex-wife. I didn’t have the courage to protest when I saw the way he treated her and their children. On the contrary, I was happy not to have to share his attention with them. I persuaded myself that they deserved it. That they had never loved him like I did.”

  She ran her tongue across her bottom lip.

  “All the rest of it…that sort of crept up on me. The darkness. The violence. The first few times I thought they were isolated incidents. He came up with excuses. Explanations. And I was only too happy to accept them. But gradually it increased. And I couldn’t get out. Don’t ask me why—I can’t explain it to myself, let alone anyone else.”

  Kerstin coughed behind a clenched hand.

  “I didn’t have the courage to walk out,” she went on. Her voice was simultaneously weak and strong. “Even though I grew to hate him with every fiber of my body. I could live with the affairs. That was nothing compared to the beatings my body was taking. To what he took from me. We…I was expecting a child. But he beat me up and I miscarried. Since then I’ve wished him dead. Every waking second I dream about him dying. Stopping breathing. When he had the stroke, at first I wasn’t going to call an ambulance. I sat and looked at him lying there on the floor rolling about. His eyes were pleading for help. I enjoyed seeing him so weak, in need of my help. I was thinking of letting him lie there, but one of the neighbors had seen we were home and rang the bell. I had to go and answer, and in the end I had to call an ambulance. I played the role of shocked wife well, but when they were lifting Ragnar into the ambulance I could see in his eyes that he understood. And that he’d kill me if he ever got well again.”

  Faye didn’t know if Kerstin was expecting her to be shocked, but nothing about male brutality surprised her anymore.

  Kerstin adjusted a stray lock of white hair.

  “I know who you are,” she said. “And I understand what’s happened. You were married to Jack Adelheim.”

  Faye nodded.

  Kerstin picked at the bedspread. Then she looked up at Faye.

  “I’ve figured out that you’re up to something. I’ve seen you with your notebooks, your lists and sketches for the future. Let me know what I can do, and I’ll help you any way I can.”

  Faye made herself more comfortable on the bed. Leaned back against the headboard and looked at her new landlady. What Kerstin had told her was terrible, but it came as no surprise; Faye had already guessed as much. The fact that Kerstin was a fellow sufferer was beyond doubt, but could she trust her? Faye knew she was going to have to rely on other people’s help, and she had made up her mind to trust the sisterhood. Though she wasn’t so naïve as to believe she could trust every woman, in the older woman’s voice she recognized the same darkness as her own. So she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then explained how she was thinking of crushing Jack.

  The plan had taken shape during all those hours of dog walking, where she was able to plot her strategy calmly and methodically.

  Kerstin listened and nodded, occasionally smiling.

  “I’m good at organization. I could be quite useful,” she said.

  Calm. Matter-of-fact. Then she picked up her book and carried on reading. Faye took that as a signal to leave the room.

  Things had started to move. There was no way back. And she was no longer alone.

  Faye developed her activities with Kerstin’s help. The months flew by and the business grew. They brought in two women as part-time employees, expanded the area they operated in, and rearranged the basement so they could have dogs stay overnight.

  Kerstin helped Faye with the administrative side of things, and anything she didn’t know after so many years as a housewife she looked up on the internet. She was a marvel of efficiency, and with her help the figures were soon in the black. It took time to build up the capital that Faye needed, she had set herself a target of two hundred thousand, but forced herself to be patient. It would just have to take as long as it took.

  Of course there was no way she could build up enough capital merely through walking dogs, but she invested every spare krona. She r
ead the financial papers and followed all the major news media to keep herself up-to-date, and was able to use that knowledge in her investments. She had a natural gift for finance, but didn’t take any great risks. She stuck at a level where her capital was slowly but surely growing larger.

  She had lost thirty pounds since Jack said he wanted a divorce. Not because she cared anymore, but she knew Jack’s weak points. Men’s weak points. Getting thin was a necessary step to achieving the goal she had set herself.

  Her old clothes were now too loose, and Kerstin had made a couple of extra holes in her belt to keep her jeans up. Faye just laughed when Kerstin said she deserved some new clothes. Not a chance. Two hundred thousand. Until then she wasn’t going to waste money on anything that wasn’t essential.

  Since Faye had moved in with Kerstin she was allowed to have Julienne every other week, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that Ylva Lehndorf had grown fed up with playing happy families over on Lidingö. And Faye already knew that Jack had no interest in having Julienne more than was strictly necessary. Making it difficult for Faye to see her daughter had merely been another way to hurt Faye. Jack called more and more often to ask if she could look after Julienne.

  Kerstin was delighted to have a child in the house. She did everything Julienne asked, and was more than happy to drop her off at preschool in the morning.

  Faye and Kerstin shared responsibility for Julienne, like a little family. Whenever Faye wondered if Julienne was taking up too much of her time, Kerstin would look at her as if she were mad.

  “Your daughter is the little girl I’ve always dreamed of, and I’m so happy I don’t have to be on my own anymore,” she said, gesturing in the direction of the living room where Julienne was sprawled on the floor drawing. “She’s a miracle, an angel, and I’m already dreading the day when you move out.”

  Faye was surprised to realize that she felt the same.

  * * *

  • • •

  The August sun was shining on Faye and Chris as they walked past the Enskede soccer field with three dogs: a miniature schnauzer and two golden retrievers. To their mutual surprise, Chris was holding the leash of the schnauzer, Ludde. Faye knew that Chris had always hated animals.

  “I could actually imagine getting one of these,” Chris said. “Then I wouldn’t have to chase after a man to share my life with.”

  “That’s not such a bad idea. Now that I’ve got something to compare them with, I have to say that I prefer dogs to men any day of the week.”

  “Speaking of Neanderthals, how’s it all going? You’re looking almost indecently happy.”

  Faye met her gaze. “I am.”

  “It’s so good, seeing you like this. I realize that you don’t want to spend the rest of your life dog-walking, but the past few months without that idiot have done you so much good.”

  Faye looked on as one of Mrs. Lönnberg’s retrievers peed against a lamppost.

  “I’ve got a business proposal for you,” she said. “An investment opportunity.”

  “Really? Let’s hear it!”

  “Not here. Not like this.”

  She nodded toward the dribbling dog that was now frantically trying to hump the schnauzer. She jerked the leash to separate them.

  “Have you got time for dinner this weekend? I’d like to show you my business plan.”

  “Sure. On one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “That we go out together afterward. Drink some wine, spend time together, talking, flirting with guys. I’ll book a table. My treat. All you have to do is turn up with your business plan and that beautiful smile I’ve missed so much. Ideally with that body of yours squeezed into something super tight. If you haven’t got anything suitable you’re welcome to borrow one of my outfits. I’ll send some things over later. It’s time for you to shake the dust off. You’ll soon need a can opener to get between your legs. You know it can seal up if you don’t use it for a long time, don’t you?”

  Chris grinned and Faye couldn’t help smiling. A night out with Chris sounded like something she’d be more than happy to go along with. At last she felt like starting to live again.

  When Jack called, at the last minute as usual, to ask if she could have Julienne for the weekend, Faye said no for the first time. She hated to lose a moment with her daughter, but she had to think long term.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m going out with Chris.”

  “But Ylva and I are going away, we’ve booked a suite at the Yacht Hotel in Sandhamn.”

  “Good job, they do an excellent children’s buffet there.”

  “But…”

  “No buts, Jack. I’m sorry, but you can’t call on Friday morning to ask something like this. Have a good time in Sandhamn.”

  She hung up before he had time to protest.

  * * *

  • • •

  At Teatergrillen the maître d’ gave her a friendly nod and showed her to the table. Faye felt people’s eyes on her back as she strode through the room. She was wearing high heels and a short black dress that clung to her waist. All borrowed from Chris. She was wearing her hair down. It had been years since she felt this attractive.

  Chris stood up and gave a theatrical round of applause. The old blokes with their buttoned jackets and bulging waistlines stared at them as they gorged themselves on duck liver and oysters.

  “Hell, you look good.”

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” Faye said, running one hand over Chris’s silvery sequined dress.

  “Chanel,” Chris said, sitting down. “Seeing as we’re planning to mix business with pleasure, why don’t we get down to work? Because I’m planning to get drunk later and I don’t want to get dragged into any of your crazy ideas when I’m under the influence. I’m not good at making sensible decisions after too much drink. Entertaining decisions, sure, but not always very sensible.”

  Faye sat down opposite Chris on the curved, red velvet banquette.

  A waiter filled Faye’s glass as she fished out the sheet of paper containing her business plan.

  “Here,” she said, pushing it across the table.

  Chris picked it up and read the single word that was written on it: Revenge. She burst out laughing.

  “What…?”

  “Do you remember saying you wanted to offer me a job? You said I understood women. I’ve spent the past few months analyzing women’s needs and desires. And do you know what almost all of them want? Revenge. For all our sisters who have been broken down by idiots, all the unfaithful husbands who have cast us off for a younger model. All the men, all the guys who have exploited us, patronized us, and deceived us.”

  Chris looked highly amused.

  “And how are you going to get your revenge?” she said, sipping her champagne.

  She looked smart and expensive. A lethal combination.

  “I’m going to show Jack that I’m smarter than he is, and take over his company. And I’m going to do it by building up an empire. Together with other women. Have you ever thought about how many fantastic female entrepreneurs we’ve got in this country, women who own department stores, PR companies, financial businesses? There are far too few of them, but they’re out there and they’re starting to get noticed. I’m going to create a business model where I own fifty-one percent of the company and have forty-nine percent to sell to investors. I’m going to bring in forty-nine businesswomen and let them each have one percent of the company. I’m going to seek out each and every one of them, tell my story, listen to theirs—and get them to invest. Social media will play a crucial role. Every girl with a blog or an Instagram account is going to post links to Revenge, because they’ll all want me to succeed. Getting this to go viral is going to be a piece of cake.”

  “So what is it you’re going to be selling?”

&nbs
p; Chris gestured to the waiter to top up their champagne. She’d emptied her glass in three mouthfuls. A group of businessmen in the next booth had started casting covetous glances at them, and Chris turned her back on them.

  “Hair-care products and perfume,” Faye said.

  Chris nodded slowly, but still looked skeptical.

  “Tough market,” she said dryly. “Oversaturated. The competition’s brutal. And it’s a business that requires a lot of investment and capital, mostly for marketing and PR. It’s a huge risk.”

  “Yes. I understand that. It could end up being a complete disaster. But I don’t think it will. And what I want to ask is if you’ll be my first one-percent investor.”

  “How much will it cost me?”

  “One hundred thousand kronor.”

  “Where do I sign?”

  Chris held her glass up for the waiter, who filled it to the brim. Faye held hers up as well. She knew Chris would get it. The first, and easiest, single percentage share was sold. Now there were only forty-eight hard ones to go.

  When they’d finished eating they asked the maître d’ to get them a table at Riche. They were ushered through the kitchen, a shortcut that only a few initiates knew about. Bright light, the chef’s orders warming under heat lamps, the sound of crockery and people dashing about.

  As usual Riche was packed. Chris ordered a bottle of cava. By then they were too drunk to need champagne. That would be a waste of money, and Faye actually preferred cava and prosecco to champagne anyway. In a blind tasting she might well not have been able to tell the difference.

  There was a swaying, intoxicated wall of flesh over by the bar. Most of them were a few years older than her. It was hardly surprising that Riche was known as the divorce ditch. It was a meat market for middle-aged divorcees, where the size of men’s wallets mattered more than the size of their cocks. And where women who’d had far too much Botox clung desperately to the delusion that they could pass for twenty in the right lighting.