The Golden Cage

by Camilla Lackberg

  The bottle arrived in an ice bucket and Faye raised her glass to Chris.

  “To freedom,” she said, then realized it sounded more pompous than she had intended.

  The alcohol had reduced her ability to filter out banalities.

  But Chris looked her seriously in the eye.

  “Well, it only took you thirteen years to realize,” she said. “But now you’re free. Cheers! To Jack! May the Lord have mercy on him!”

  She giggled.

  “Do you think I can succeed?” Faye said, putting her glass down. “With Revenge?”

  “I think the first part, finding investors, will be the easy bit. Like you said, we’ve all been hurt. One way or another. We all want to get our own back, and can identify with your message. It’s a stroke of genius from a PR and marketing perspective. Vengeance sells.”

  Chris grinned and emptied her glass. A waiter hurried over to refill it. They were used to thirsty women here.

  “It’ll take a few years. Is that crazy? That I’m prepared to devote so much time to getting my revenge?”

  Faye felt a flicker of doubt.

  “No. Not when you think about what he’s done. Is your conscience starting to get at you?”

  Before Faye had time to answer, Chris went on, her glass raised halfway to her mouth, “Don’t forget that you helped build up Compare. Without you, Jack and Henrik would never have succeeded. Getting divorced is fine, it happens, but it’s not fine to leave your previous life partner and the mother of your child out on the street. Not after all you’ve done, and everything you’ve had to put up with. All the shit he put you through. And by that I don’t just mean after you split up.”

  “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

  “A man would never think the way you do. He’d press on without hesitation.”

  A figure appeared at the end of the table and Faye looked up. A guy in his mid-twenties met her gaze. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt and dark trousers. His arms were covered in tattoos. Close-cut hair, full lips. He was impossibly handsome. Like a young Jack.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but my friends and I are tired of standing at the bar being jostled by the other losers. We were wondering if we could seek asylum at your table? Or at least apply for a temporary visa?”

  A few feet away two more guys raised their hands in greeting.

  “Just one moment,” Chris said.

  “Sure, I’ll be over there,” he said, and went back to his friends.

  Chris laughed.

  “What do you say?” she asked.

  Faye shrugged.

  “Why not?”

  “Because only a few months ago you would have been embarrassed to sit here with three handsome young men.”

  “I was married then. Besides, men have always hung out with younger women without feeling embarrassed. It’s high time we learned to do the same, and—”

  She fell silent abruptly when she found herself looking directly into Alice’s eyes. She was sitting with a group of people a few tables away. When she saw that Faye had seen her she turned away at once.

  “Let them come, it’ll be fun,” she said, and drained her glass.

  She could feel Alice’s stare burning into her as she got her glass refilled, and noticed them sitting there whispering.

  Chris ordered two more bottles of cava and made room for the young men. All three were wide-eyed, pleasant, and clearly impressed. Faye couldn’t help thinking that this generation of men was very different from Jack’s. To them, successful women weren’t at all frightening. They treated them with friendly curiosity and asked about Chris’s work. They showed nothing but admiration for what she had achieved.

  She could understand the appeal of being surrounded by young, attractive people. It was intoxicating.

  The conversation flowed easily, if very much on a superficial level. Nothing seemed complicated to these young men, who hadn’t yet been weighed down by life. They flirted shamelessly. Faye’s cheeks flushed, from both the wine and their compliments. The whole time she felt Alice and her table keeping an eye on proceedings. There wasn’t enough Botox in the world to hide the looks of horror on their faces. The only question was whether they would be able to lower their eyebrows again afterward.

  Jack would be furious, yell at her, but he couldn’t hurt her. What she did was no longer any of his concern. Or who she did it with. The thought intoxicated her even more than the cava. And for the first time in many months she felt the stirrings of interest between her legs. She grabbed hold of the guy in the black T-shirt, the one who had approached them first, pulled him toward her, and kissed him. She started to get wet from the feel of his tongue against hers, his hands on her thighs. She kept her eyes on Alice the whole time.

  The kiss only lasted a few seconds. When their faces parted she nodded toward Alice, reached for her glass, and raised it in a toast. Alice stared back at her, then turned demonstratively toward the person on the other side of her.

  “What’s your name?” Faye laughed, focusing her attention on the guy in the black T-shirt.

  She could tell from his eyes that he wanted her, and when she glanced down she could see a bulge in his trousers. She had to stop herself from stroking his erection there and then, under the table at Riche. Instead she leaned toward him so he could get a better view of her cleavage. She knew her nipples were clearly visible, rock-hard against the fabric of the dress. Chris, as usual, had persuaded her not to wear a bra.

  “Robin,” he said, staring at her breasts. “My name’s Robin.”

  “I’m Faye. And I’m planning to go home with you tonight.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him again.

  * * *

  • • •

  Faye woke up with a thumping headache. Memories of the previous day flashed past as she stretched. Her hand bumped into a tattooed arm, hard with muscle. Faye got up from the bed, walked over to the window, and looked out. A parking lot and some apartment buildings. The sky was mottled and gray. Behind her the young man with the tattooed arm moved. Robert? Robin?

  “What time is it?” he mumbled sleepily.

  “No idea,” Faye said. “But it’s probably time for me to get going.”

  She felt uncomfortable in this small apartment in Solna.

  “That’s a shame.”

  He stretched out on the black bedclothes and looked at her with puppy-dog eyes. Faye’s head was thudding out memories of last night. Hell, it had been a while since she’d had sex in a single bed in a cramped studio with all the usual accoutrements—glass table, black leather sofa, a yucca plant, and the obligatory collection of Absolut vodka bottles on a shelf on the wall. Young guys seemed able to withstand any changes in fashion.

  “Really?” she said, looking around for her clothes. “What are you going to do today?”

  “I thought I’d chill. Watch some soccer.”

  “Chill,” she mimicked, unable to stop herself. “Sadly this old lady hasn’t got time to chill today. I need to get home.”

  “You’re no old lady…” He smiled in a way that was simultaneously cute and sexy. “Can I have your number?”

  “Sorry, sweetie. It’s been a lot of fun. But me and men aren’t a good fit right now.”

  She heard how bitter she sounded. The previous evening had gone flat, her hangover was thudding against her skull and her tongue felt badly furred.

  He laughed and threw the pillow at her. She jumped out of the way.

  “You’re very sexy, you know that?” he said.

  He got up from the bed. Naked. His abs glistened as he turned to face her. She drank in the sight of him. She’d forgotten how quickly young men could recharge. The night was a blur, but she remembered losing count of the number of times he had taken her.

  He walked toward her and she bac
ked against the window with a smile. The glass felt cool on her backside. Robin kissed her. Pressed himself closer to her. She felt his erection against her thigh. Felt her body shouting for more. She sat on the windowsill. His face roamed over her body. Nipping, kissing, tickling. Her thighs, her crotch, her stomach. She groaned loudly, grabbed hold of his head, and pushed it down between her legs. Leaned back and allowed herself to simply enjoy it. Without feeling that she had to do anything in return. He was happy for the chance to satisfy her, taking pleasure from her pleasure. Which was something she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

  When she came she stroked the back of his neck and let out a loud laugh.

  This was a new phase of life, and it was her turn to enjoy it.

  Faye looked out of the window at the trees rushing past. She was sitting on the train to Västerås with a bundle of sketches in her bag. She had left Kerstin in charge of the dog-walking business, and was on her way to meet a company that designed packaging.

  Her products needed to be good, but there was something that was even more important if she was to be successful. Social media. It was all about reaching out, being visible in the torrent, going viral. And packaging was a simple way to create a must-have feel and make influencers advertise her products with their Instagram and Facebook accounts. The products needed to make the consumer feel special, and they needed to look good on pictures taken with phones.

  Faye had decided that the pots of skin-cream should be black, and the round lid adorned with an ornate, gold-colored letter R. But the packaging wasn’t only about the look of the jars. There had to be a story behind it all. All successful products these days had a story. Like Elizabeth Arden’s Eight Hour Cream. It didn’t matter whether she really had developed the cream to heal the leg of one of her injured horses, and that the wound healed in eight hours. The fact that customers wanted to believe the story was what counted. Everyone loved a good story. And Faye had one hell of a story.

  As the train swept through the Mälaren Valley she felt nothing but pure, unadulterated joy. This was what she had been longing for: the chance to build a company from the ground up. Jack had taken that dream away from her. And she hadn’t protested. When had he first been unfaithful to her? Had he ever been faithful? Even when she was sure he loved and desired her?

  She had spent a lot of time wondering why Jack had replaced her with Ylva, a career woman, when he had wanted Faye to be at home, but she had come to realize that it was the chase that interested men like Jack. They always wanted something new to play with.

  She had also realized that he liked having power. The power to turn her into someone that she wasn’t.

  She would never let a man own her again.

  It was raining when she emerged from the station. She found a taxi, jumped in, and gave the driver the address. Västerås was an awful lot bigger than Fjällbacka, but for some reason the people made her think of her hometown. She always used to fend off those memories whenever they popped up. But something had changed after the turbulence of the past few months. People from her childhood and teenage years often came into her mind. The look on her father’s face when something wasn’t the way he wanted. The clenched expression on Sebastian’s face. The accident that had affected the whole community. Her mom’s pale arms and loud crying. The way her classmates had looked at her afterward. Sympathetic. Curious. Intrusive.

  She had left all that behind. But would she ever be able to truly get away from it?

  The car pulled up while she was lost in her memories. The driver turned to look at her. His mouth was moving but Faye didn’t hear a word of what he was saying.

  “Sorry?”

  “Card or cash?”

  “Card,” she said, and dug in her handbag for her wallet.

  She got out of the taxi, and a beige industrial building rose up in front of her. The rain had eased slightly, but small, cold drops were still falling. She pulled the door open and stepped into the entrance hall. A female receptionist with permed red hair looked up at her.

  “Welcome,” she said, but it sounded more like “please, get me out of here.” She had been busy filing her nails when Faye walked in.

  “Thanks—I’m here to see Louise Widerström Bergh.”

  The receptionist nodded. Tapped at her computer.

  “Please, have a seat.” She gestured toward some seats over by the window. “Coffee?”

  Faye shook her head. There was a stack of magazines on the windowsill behind the sofa. She picked up a three-week-old celebrity magazine and leafed through it. There was an article announcing that John Descentis had broken up with his girlfriend. Faye studied the picture. It was the same woman he had been with at Riche, Suzanne Lund, apparently. The article claimed she was both a model and a singer.

  “I’m not easy to live with,” John explained in a quote. No, but who the hell is? Faye thought, remembering their desperate, pointless fuck in the cinema. How grubby and sordid it had been. That had been all she thought she deserved at the time. Now, in hindsight, she wished she’d told Jack about it, to rub his nose in it. She had been on the brink of telling him several times but never had. Largely for fear of being met with complete indifference.

  She heard footsteps in the corridor. A woman in a blouse and suit trousers came toward her. She exuded a cool demeanor as she looked Faye up and down.

  “Louise Widerström Bergh,” she said, and held out a limp, slightly moist hand.

  “Faye. Faye Adelheim.”

  The moment they walked into her office Faye’s phone rang.

  It was Jack. He probably wanted to shout at her about her behavior in Riche. She dismissed the call and took out her sketches. She was no good at drawing herself, but Chris was helping until they could afford to bring in a professional. Louise settled down behind the desk as Faye sank into the visitor’s chair.

  “This shouldn’t be a problem,” Louise said, putting on a pair of reading glasses. “A little something to keep yourself busy?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Well, obviously I know who you are. I’m assuming this is for a party or something?”

  Faye took a deep breath.

  “I want thirty thousand of each of the three designs I’ve got sketched out here. Can you manage that, or should I look for someone else?”

  Louise pursed her lips.

  “Thirty thousand? Of these? I assume you can guarantee the order? The market for this type of product is already oversaturated, and obviously we can’t afford to spend money on goods we don’t end up getting paid for, as I’m sure you can appreciate. Of course if you were still married it would be a completely different matter. Jack Adelheim would be an excellent guarantor, but as I understand that you’re now separated…”

  “You haven’t read the description of the concept? The one I emailed you? Don’t you appreciate the unique aspects of what I’m going to be bringing to a very demanding market?”

  Faye felt frustration burning her throat.

  Louise Widerström Bergh snorted and took her glasses off. She shot Faye a patronizing smile.

  “Yes, but like I said, I thought we were looking at some sort of themed party. Obviously I know the sort of life you Östermalm wives lead, and that isn’t the reality for the rest of us. To be honest, I think the idea of launching a brand based on some sort of girl power suggests that you’ve got your head in the clouds. People in Stockholm are the only ones who can afford that sort of thing, out here in the rest of the country we let women be women and men be men. No, I’m not going to risk putting this packaging into production only to have to chase you for payment.”

  She started to laugh, and Faye stood up. Her temples were throbbing.

  “I’ve got the capital to pay upfront for the whole order. You could have had the money in your account tomorrow. And if this goes the way I think it will, this could have turned out to be
a good, ongoing source of income for your company. Maybe it could have paid for a couple of extra holidays for you and your family. Or a nice summerhouse by the water. Or whatever it is you dream about. But I’ll be taking my business elsewhere. And paying for someone else’s holiday cottage or Christmas break in the Maldives. And believe me, I’ll ask them to send you a postcard.”

  She turned on her heel and walked out. She could feel Louise’s stare burning into her back.

  * * *

  • • •

  She had missed twenty calls from Jack, but Faye waited until the train had pulled out of Västerås before she called him. After a long “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” harangue he launched into a diatribe about how inappropriate it was to be seen socializing with people on benefits.

  “What are you so angry about?” Faye asked when he stopped to take a breath.

  Anger and frustration at the failed meeting were still in her system.

  Outside, the landscape was sweeping past faster and faster. Jack’s anger didn’t prompt any reaction in her at all. She shut her eyes and remembered her night with Robin. Against her better judgment she had ended up giving him her number, and had already received five text messages telling her all the things he wanted to do with her. Jack’s voice broke through her fantasies and she opened her eyes in irritation. He was going on and on in a shrill, whiny voice. Like a child who had lost his favorite toy.

  “Sitting in Riche making out with some boy who could have been your son. In public. That sort of shit rebounds onto me.”

  “Oh, you mean Robin? He’s twenty-five. I’m thirty-two. I’d have to have had him when I was seven. You like numbers, Jack, so how about this one: there’s a bigger age gap between you and Ylva Lehndorf than between me and Robin.”

  “For fuck’s sake, that’s not the same thing at all!”

  “Why not? I’m genuinely curious now.”