Let the Old Dreams Die (37 page)

‘For God’s sake, Dolly…’

‘I don’t mean that. I mean: couldn’t you just as easily sell the stuff and give the money to…oh, Save the Children or something? The effect on the department stores would be the same, after all.’

‘The idea has been discussed. But think about it.’

I tried. I got nowhere, and I told her so.

‘Well,’ said Majken. ‘If we did that, we’d start to think in a different way. We’ve got a hundred thousand, right? Perhaps we should invest it so that it can grow a bit before we give it away. Who’s going to be in charge of the investment? Who’s going to be the cashier? Who’s in charge? One of us gets a ten-thousand-kronor electricity bill, shouldn’t we be able to…and then there’s…you see? It all turns into money. It would just end up like everything else.’

‘But it would be more like the right thing to do.’

‘Very possibly. But this isn’t about doing the right thing or doing good. This is about revenge, nothing else. Well, maybe a bit of fun along the way. It’s not meant to be pretty. And besides…’

‘Yes?’

‘We wouldn’t have our bonfire.’

We carried on arguing for a little while. I abandoned my attempts to get Majken to change her mind. I could see the point in what she was saying, even if it still seemed a bit…wasteful to me.

‘You’ll change your mind,’ she said. ‘When you’ve been up to Sigtuna with us and watched the fire burn.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Maybe.’

‘Back to work. Would you like to be involved in a slightly bigger event tomorrow? You and I could meet as well.’

‘What does “a slightly bigger event” involve?’

‘There are more of us. Various roles to play. Ragna will be there, and she’s…’ Majken laughed. ‘She’s the star, you could say. Do you want to come along?’

‘Tell me what to do.’

She told me.

Once again I had to resort to pen and paper, and this time there was a lot to note down. Times, places, movements. When Majken had gone through the whole plan, I had no choice but to say yes. I just had to be there to see if it worked.

We said, ‘See you tomorrow,’ and hung up.

I sat there for a long time staring at the piece of paper, shaking my head and laughing to myself.

Such ideas.

Then I did some cleaning. Partly because I couldn’t sit still, partly because it needed doing. If my account of these days is a bit messy, it’s because that’s how it was. Messy. It might seem clear and lucid when I’m talking about Majken, but in between there are…gaps.

For example, I had left some food out, and the apartment smelled horrible, to be honest. The home care service were due to call the following day, and there was no way I could let them see things in that state. I mean, we didn’t want to end up being monitored, ha ha.

So I cleaned. All afternoon and all evening. I cleaned in every single corner, underneath all the chairs. Cleaned the oven and polished the mirror until it no longer existed, it was merely an opening. Börje lay on the sofa watching me work. For once the television wasn’t on. It was like a…spur, I don’t know. A small amount of contact. I carried on until late in the evening.

With hindsight, of course, I understand why I cleaned like that. I was getting ready to move out, although I didn’t know it at the time.
My decision the following day was quite unexpected, and yet I had clearly prepared for it in my subconscious. By cleaning. I mean, you want to leave the place nice and tidy.

I don’t know. Time disappears from this part of my story too. I could well have gone on cleaning all night. I can see myself opening the kitchen drawers, emptying them, wiping them out. I can see myself scrubbing behind the radiators with a bottle brush. Yes. I must have been at it for a long time. Perhaps I didn’t sleep at all that night. Now I come to think of it, it was light outside when I was doing my last job, wiping down the phone with Ajax.

I made some sandwiches for Börje, put them on the coffee table with a glass of milk. Then I sat with him for quite a long time. If I’d been able to say to him, ‘Börje, I’m off now,’ would it have made any difference? Would he have said something, something along the lines of, ‘Dolly, I want you to know I’ve always…’?

I doubt it. And of course at the time I didn’t know I was leaving. I just knew I was going into town to take part in an ‘event’, and that the home care service would come round while I was out to give me a few hours’ respite.

But I just sat there beside him. Looked at the same spot on the wall as he was looking at. Perhaps I said something, perhaps I said, ‘Forgive me,’ perhaps—

Anyway. Let’s move on.

The only things I took with me were the piece of paper with my instructions, and my handbag. My beloved handbag. As the subway trains are so often late, I was out in plenty of time, and in position half an hour before it was due to start. Before I was due to start it.

The envelope was where Majken had said it would be, taped to the bottom of a rubbish bin on the way out of the subway station. It contained only two security tags and a note: ‘Good luck! M.’

I suddenly felt nervous. I didn’t understand why Majken had given the most important aspect of the plan to me. OK, this Ragna
had more to do, but if I didn’t play my role correctly, there was a risk that the whole thing would go wrong.

Perhaps it was another test. Or…I laughed to myself. Perhaps it was a favour. After all, I was the only one who wouldn’t be doing something punishable by law.

I looked at the people passing by on the street. Lots of people. My anxiety subsided slightly. I thought that all these people, all these strangers are also involved in secret contexts unknown to me. They all have their roles to play in businesses, clubs, love and friendship. They all stand outside a closed door or an open door sometimes, palms sweating, not knowing how to begin.

I was not alone. And unlike most of them, I had a script to follow.

I had synchronised my watch with the speaking clock before I left the apartment, in accordance with Majken’s instructions. At nineteen minutes past eleven I began to walk towards the main entrance of the NK department store. I weaved my way through people who were rushing around in their lunch break and reached the door at exactly twenty past. Without hesitating I walked in through the magnetic security readers.

The alarm went off, triggered by the security tag in my pocket. I stopped for a moment to let the security guards see me. When one of them came over to me and said, ‘Excuse me,’ I turned to face him.

‘Why is the alarm going off?’ I asked.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘it appears you have something that…’

‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,’ I said, heading away from him into the store. ‘I’ve only just walked in.’

The guard followed me. The alarm carried on beeping. When I had lured him perhaps twenty metres into the store, the woman who must be Ragna came towards me. I bumped into her and she fell, slowly and deliberately, clutching her chest.

I carried on into the store with the security guard following me.
Ragna let out a scream, then lay there like a dead person. The other guard left his post to help her. All the shop assistants were looking in Ragna’s direction. The alarm was still going off.

Of course I couldn’t see what happened next by the doors. Nobody could see, because everyone’s attention was focused on Ragna. But I know that four women with big bags and boxes left the building at that moment. The items they were carrying would have set off the alarm, if it hadn’t already been going off, and no one had thought to turn it off amid the general hullabaloo.

I stopped by the escalators and let the guard catch up with me. I threw my hands wide open, then reached into my pockets where, much to my surprise I found the security tag and held it out to him.

‘What kind of stupid joke is this?’ I asked.

The alarm was switched off. The security guard took the tag, turning it over and over again as if he’d never seen anything like it.

‘Why have you got this?’

‘You tell me,’ I said. ‘Somebody must have put it in my pocket. What kind of a place is this, anyway?’

The guard stood there with the tag in his hand, wondering what to make of the situation. I walked back towards the doors.

The other guard and three shop assistants were gathered around Ragna, who was lying on her side looking in my direction. Our eyes met for a second, then two of the assistants helped her to her feet. I waited for a moment until the third assistant had given Ragna her big bag, then I walked out. The alarm went off again.

Ragna waved goodbye to the people who had helped her, then carried her bag out through the beeping magnetic barriers. My guard came hurrying towards me, still carrying the first security tag in his hand. I walked back into the store, put down my handbag and spread out my arms as if to say, ‘Go on, search me!’

The alarm was switched off, the other tag was found in my other pocket, and the two guards held a brief conference in subdued voices.
I waited, an irritated expression on my face. The sweat was pouring down my back. The conference ended with no agreement on what I could possibly be accused of. My guard shook his head and said, ‘OK, you’re free to leave’.

I almost pushed my luck by saying something about reporting them and so on, but decided to leave it. My guard already looked more than suspicious. So I left. This time the alarm remained silent. It struck me that I could probably have taken something with me. If the alarm went off again, would they have stopped me? Maybe, maybe not.

I would like to have tried.

From NK I walked slowly down to the meeting point on Biblioteksgatan. The fear, which I had kept well hidden while I was in the store, began to subside, replaced by the usual sense of relief, but greater than usual. It felt as if my entire rib cage was filled with helium, my hands as light as birds. I laughed, applauded myself. I had played my role to perfection. Majken would be pleased with me.

From a distance it looked quite funny: five women of a certain age gathered around a silver VW Beetle with the bonnet open. Just the way men sometimes stand, discussing carburettors and points. All it needed was for one of them to start kicking the tyres.

As I got closer I could see that the engine had been replaced by NK bags. Then I remembered that the engine is at the back in a Beetle, and the boot is at the front. I recognised Ragna and the first woman, the one who gave me the nightdress in exchange for the Armani bag.

So here they were. Shoplifters united. Gathered around a silver Beetle full of stolen goods. A woman I hadn’t seen before turned towards me as I approached. I realised straightaway that it was Majken.

How should I describe her?

Let me put it like this: there are two ways of ageing. In some cases, age distorts the appearance, the face we had when we were twenty or thirty. It puffs up, becomes wrinkled or slack. When you see a face like that, you can just about imagine what the person once looked like, but now she is spoiled, ruined.

In other cases people look as if they were always meant to be that age and to have that appearance, however old they might be. There are wrinkles and grey hair, but it’s
just as it should be
, if you know what I mean.

As you have perhaps worked out, Majken belonged to the latter category. She wasn’t exactly beautiful in the classical sense. Her hair was peppered with black and white, swept back. A square face with prominent cheekbones, a bit like one of those Inuit. An Eskimo. I don’t know; I thought she looked like someone who had spent her whole life living on a little island. Although she hadn’t, of course.

She was tall, the tallest of the group, as tall as me. There was nothing sweet about her. When she caught sight of me her thin lips broke into a smile, and she came to meet me.

‘Dolores!’ she said. ‘Welcome to the gang!’

We hugged briefly and I could feel that her limbs lacked any sign of an old woman’s frailty. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black; her nose was big, curved like a beak. Oh, now I’ve got it. Sorry, but I’ve been trying to find this picture, and it’s just come to me.

The way you picture those women in Greek tragedies: Antigone, Medea, do you know what I mean? No. Well. But that’s what she looked like, anyway. She introduced me to the others. I don’t need to make up any names.

Well, what did you expect?

Of course Ragna isn’t called Ragna, what do you take me for? Did you think I was going to give you a list?

Majken was called Majken, but I assume you know that by this
stage. It doesn’t matter anymore. She has gone to her rest among her mothers, to misrepresent the Greeks. Mis-rep-re-sent. Good grief, what do you learn at the police academy these days, ha ha. To misquote, to create a variation.

I only had nine years’ basic education. I wish I’d been able to go on to some form of further education, but—

Anyway. Let’s move on.

We left the others and drove out of the city. I didn’t ask where we were going. There was a remarkable self-assurance about Majken; it was in her movements, in the absence of questioning glances. I leaned back in my seat and let myself be carried along.

I said before that I am strong, I’ve always been strong. Perhaps you can understand that there is a certain amount of relief in handing over the tiller to someone else. But this too demands strength, in fact. The strength to know that you will apply the brakes, bring things to a halt when necessary. Then you can stretch yourself to your limits. Of course you can be utterly weak too, simply give yourself up with no will of your own, but that’s something else altogether.

Oh, all this is just talk. My life hasn’t given me the opportunity to know anything about stretching myself to my limits. But I know a thing or two about survival. About gritting your teeth and carrying on.

Anyway, I enjoyed sitting there in Majken’s car, enjoyed, in purely practical terms, the fact that someone else was driving me somewhere, and that there was a purpose to our trip. The heater wasn’t working so my legs were a bit cold. Just as I started to become aware of it, Majken asked, ‘Are your legs cold? There’s a blanket in the back seat.’