Sacrifice (22 page)

M
aj-Britt was standing at her window and watching what was happening down in the parking area. She followed their conversation with interest, although of course she couldn't hear a single word they were saying. But each gesture and facial expression confirmed what she had suspected. That doctor
had
lied to her, but she still didn't understand why.

Ellinor had sat down on the sofa. Saba was standing by her feet and wagging her tail, and Ellinor patted her on the back. Neither of them had said a word since they had been left alone together. Maj-Britt was still dealing with the humiliation of having exposed her incapacity so completely to Ellinor. Not being able to go through even a simple doctor's examination. Ellinor had at least had the good taste not to comment on her obvious displeasure, nor had she tried to make things worse with sympathy or some idiotic claim that she understood how Maj-Britt felt. And that was lucky. Because if she had done that, Maj-Britt would have had to tell her to go to hell, and that was an expression she did not like to use.

Maj-Britt saw the car drive off, and the mother and child went to their door.

Ellinor still showed no sign of leaving. She had completed her duties but was still here; it was always
puzzling when she did that. But right now Maj-Britt had something else on her mind and didn't much care. It was Ellinor who broke the silence first, which was no surprise to either of them.

‘Why didn't you say anything about the blood in your urine?'

The mother and her child had gone inside and the main door swung closed behind them. Maj-Britt left the window and went over to the easy chair.

‘Why should I? It wouldn't have made it go away.'

There was silence for a while. Water was running through a pipe somewhere in the building, and from outside in the stairwell voices were heard and the sound of footsteps which grew louder and then faded away, only to cease abruptly when the door closed. She looked at Ellinor, who was lost in thought and picking distractedly at the cuticle of her right thumb. Maj-Britt was full of questions, and she knew that Ellinor had the answers. Thoughtfully she sank down in the easy chair.

‘How did you know this person, did you say?'

Ellinor abandoned her cuticle.

‘Her name is Monika, actually. If that's who you mean.'

Maj-Britt gave her a weary look.

‘Excuse me. How do you know
Monika
?'

She pronounced the name with the obvious distaste she felt, and she didn't even have to look at Ellinor to sense how much her remark annoyed her.

‘I actually think it was quite decent of her to come over.'

‘Of course. A fantastically noble human being.'

Ellinor gave a heavy sigh.

‘As I said, sometimes you might think a bit about who deserves your contempt and who doesn't.'

Maj-Britt snorted. And with that it was quiet again. But Maj-Britt knew that if she just waited long enough, Ellinor wouldn't be able to resist telling her. That was the closest thing to a weakness she had been able to find in this obstinate girl. The fact that she couldn't keep her mouth shut. At least not for long.

A few minutes passed.

‘I'm not the one who knows her, my mother does.'

Maj-Britt smiled to herself.

‘They met at a course a few weeks ago. They went there together in my mother's car.'

Ellinor got up and went over to the window. Maj-Britt listened with interest.

‘Do you remember I told you someone died a few weeks ago who lived across the way here?'

Maj-Britt nodded, though Ellinor couldn't see her.

‘His name was Mattias. He died on the way home from that course in a car crash. My mother was driving. She hit an elk.'

Maj-Britt stared into space. She could see the father and child outside in the playground in her mind's eye.

‘And your mother?'

‘Well, it's unbelievable, but she walked away without a scratch. She was in shock, of course, and she has such a guilty conscience because he died and she survived. She was driving, after all. And he had a child and everything.'

Maj-Britt thought some more, watching Ellinor's back as if it might give her some additional clues.

‘So that doctor, pardon me, Monika I mean, was she in the car too?'

Ellinor turned round. Stood there a moment and then went back to the sofa. She sat cross-legged and put the embroidered cushion on her lap. Then she suddenly looked at Maj-Britt and smiled. Maj-Britt was instantly on her guard. The little gap she had opened closed up like a clam.

‘What is it?'

Ellinor shrugged.

‘I suddenly realised that this is the first time we've talked to each other. I mean really talked. The first time you've started a conversation.'

Maj-Britt looked away. She wasn't quite sure that this was a good sign, that she had actually started a conversation voluntarily. She hadn't even noticed it herself. She had done it without thinking, almost as if it had happened naturally. And of course Ellinor had noticed that, the change. For the moment Maj-Britt couldn't decide what it might lead to, whether it was good or bad. Whether it might be turned against her. But she knew that she wanted answers to her questions, so that she would have some sort of compensation if this whole conversation proved to be a mistake.

‘I asked whether she was in the car too.'

‘No, but she was supposed to be. She and Mattias traded places on the way home, and she rode with someone else instead. The last day of the course was delayed or something, and she was in a hurry to get home, and Mattias offered to stay.'

Maj-Britt took in the information and sorted it as best she could. Attempted to link it with the fact that the doctor had tried so firmly to deny that she knew the fatherless child. And the endless patience with which she had pushed the swing.

She and Mattias traded places on the way home
.

‘Did they know this Mattias before the course?'

Ellinor shook her head.

‘They were all strangers before the course started. That was the whole point.'

And with that Ellinor brought Maj-Britt's thoughts to a conclusion. She had added the one comment that was necessary to link the chain together into an understandable explanation.

‘I wonder how she feels, I mean Monika. If they hadn't traded places then she would have been dead now. I wonder how it feels to walk around knowing that.'

To think what a polite attempt at conversation could yield. Her little question had hit the bull's-eye and broken open a peephole right into the insides of that know-it-all doctor. But that was always where the sore points were. Desperately hidden away in the dark, but so easy to get to if you managed to aim the question in the right direction. The only thing that could not be explained was the lie itself. Why had she denied that she knew that child and the mother who had lost her husband because she was still alive?

Unless she had lied to them too.

T
he cemetery was apparently deserted. Monika stood filling a watering can and would soon rejoin her mother by the grave. It had taken Monika only five minutes to stop at the bank, rush in and put the money in Pernilla's account, but she had still arrived late, and as expected her mother had been angry. It had become even worse since she retired. She had all the time in the world to sit and wait. Now every minute had become crucial, and those that went to waste wrought great havoc in her empty calendar. She had never had a particularly large circle of friends, and since she had retired it had become even smaller. She had never met a new husband. Maybe she had never even been interested. Monika didn't know. They never talked about such things. Never talked about anything important at all. They would slip into the meaningless chatter they were used to as soon as they came near each other. They would skid about amongst all the words that never led anywhere and then inevitably slide back to where they started.

Today Monika had hardly been able to control herself when she was met by that peevish glare. With a brusque remark her mother had climbed into the car and then sat in silence during the ten minutes or so that the trip took. And Monika could feel her fury growing. She drove there and back like a cab driver,
always trying to adapt herself to her mother's sullen mood and never receiving a thank you, never even a comment that was anywhere near gratitude or appreciation. But the anger was new, it made its way along paths over which she had no control. Had she not been forced into this ferrying role, Mattias would still be alive and everything would be much simpler.

Much simpler.

She left the little fenced gravesite to return the watering can. Her mother was kneeling down, planting heather. Lavender, pink and white. Carefully selected plants.

Monika put down the can and watched her mother's hands gently clearing away some untidy leaves that had settled in the well-tended little flowerbed that surrounded the stone.

My beloved son.

Unconditionally loved and now unconditionally lost, but forever the central point around which everything revolved. A black hole that sucked in everything that could possibly still be alive. Day in and day out supplying new fuel for the attitude that no acceptance was possible, that subjugation was the only option, that everything was ruined and meaningless and would remain so.

A family destroyed.

Four minus two equals zero.

She heard herself saying the words.

‘Why did Pappa leave us?'

She saw how the stooped back in front of her flinched. How the hands stopped moving.

‘Why do you ask?'

Her heart was thudding in heavy, dull beats.

‘Because I want to know. Because I've always wondered but have never got round to asking until now.'

The fingers down by the gravestone regained their mobility and began pressing down the soil around the white heather.

‘What made you ask at this particular moment?'

She could hear when it broke. A dull rumble that grew stronger and stronger as the fury she had kept in check for so long tore loose and seized hold of her. The words clogged her mouth, jostling to be first, to escape and finally be spoken.

‘Does that matter? I don't know why I didn't ask twenty years ago, but that makes no difference, the answer is probably still the same, isn't it?'

Her mother stood up, carefully and meticulously folding up the newspaper she had been kneeling on.

‘Has something happened?'

‘What?'

‘I just wonder why you have such a disagreeable tone.'

Disagreeable tone? Disagreeable tone! Thirty-eight years old and she had finally worked up the courage to ask why she had never had a father, and the stress just might have affected her tone of voice a bit. And of course her mother's first reaction would be to accuse her of having a disagreeable tone.

‘Why don't you ask your father instead?'

She could feel her face growing hot.

‘Because I don't know him! Because I don't even know where the hell he lives now, and because you never once tried to help me get in touch with him. In fact, I remember how angry you got when I told you that I wrote him a letter.'

She had a hard time deciding what she was seeing
in her mother's eyes. She had never broached the topic before and had definitely never used this tone of voice. Not in any situation.

‘So it's my fault that he left us and never took any responsibility? Is that it? I'm the one who has to answer for it? Your father was an idiot who got me pregnant even though he didn't want any kids, and then when he did it again, it was the last straw for him. He disappeared while you were still in my womb. I already had Lasse, and being a single mother to two small children isn't always easy. But, of course, you wouldn't know anything about that since you don't have any.'

A rhythmic throbbing sound echoed over the cemetery, and it took Monika a moment before she recognised it was her own pulse she was hearing.

‘So that's why you never liked me? Because it was my fault that Pappa left?'

‘That's idiotic and you know it as well as I do.'

‘No, I don't know it!'

Her mother took a cemetery candle out of the pocket of her ample coat and angrily began picking off the plastic wrapper. But she didn't answer.

‘Why do we always have to come here to the grave? It's been twenty-three years since he died and the only thing we do together is drive here and light those damned candles.'

‘It's not my fault that you never have time. You're always working. Or out with your friends. You never have time for me.'

Always, always, whatever she did. Despite the anger that protected her at the moment, she felt the accusations go straight through her. Sparking the guilty conscience that her mother could play like a virtuoso.
And she was still not finished. Like the maestro she was she could sense the distinct nuance of change in Monika's face. And she wasn't going to waste her chance.

‘You didn't even grieve for him.'

At first Monika didn't understand the words.

You didn't even grieve for him
.

Like an echo the words ricocheted around trying to make themselves understood, and each time they were repeated something was shattered. Bit by bit everything came crashing down.

You didn't even grieve for him
.

Her mother's voice was muffled and she kept her eyes on the candle she was holding in her hand.

‘You just went on as if nothing had happened. If you only knew how I suffered, seeing the way you behaved. Almost as if you thought it was good that he was gone.'

There were no words left. Everything was empty. Her feet started to walk towards the car. All she felt was a genuine wish to get out of earshot.

There were woods on both sides and dusk was approaching. The car was parked by the side of a country road. She looked around nervously and didn't know where she was or how she had ended up there. She looked at her watch. In fifteen minutes she had promised to eat dinner at Pernilla's. She turned the car round, guessing that was the right direction to go.

You didn't even grieve for him
.

‘Could you change Daniella? I just have to make the gravy and then we'll be ready to eat.'

She wanted to go home. Home to her sleeping pills.
Lightning was flashing through her head and it was hard to put all the words she heard into context.

‘Could you do it?'

She gave a quick nod and lifted up Daniella. Carried her into the changing table over the bathtub and took off her nappy. Pernilla called from the kitchen.

‘You can put on her red pyjamas afterwards. They're hanging on one of the hooks.'

She turned her head and caught sight of the red pyjamas. Changed the nappy and did as Pernilla said. On the way back to the kitchen she passed the chest of drawers. The candle had burned down and his face lay in shadow behind the white urn. He said nothing when she passed by, left her in peace.

‘Please help yourself. I'm sure it's not as good as what you usually serve, I'm not very good at cooking. Mattias cooked most of the time.'

Daniella sat in her high chair and Pernilla put an unsalted biscuit on the mat in front of her. Monika looked at the food on the table. It was going to be impossible to eat anything, but she had to try.

They ate for a while in silence. Monika moved the food about on her plate and occasionally put a tiny bite in her mouth, but her body refused to swallow. Each time she tried it got more difficult.

‘Monika.'

She looked up. Felt herself immediately on guard despite her fatigue and confusion. It was a risk to be here. Now that she had already lost control.

‘I'd like to apologise.'

Monika sat quite still. Pernilla put down her knife
and fork and gave Daniella another biscuit before she went on.

‘I know that sometimes I've been pretty unpleasant when you've been here, but I just couldn't manage to be polite.'

Monika's mouth was dry and she had to swallow before she could get any words out.

‘You most certainly have not been unpleasant.'

‘Yes, I have been, but I've done the best I could. Sometimes it just gets so hard that I simply can't bear it.'

Monika put down her knife and fork too. The fewer things she needed to concentrate on the better. She had to try and pull herself together. Focus. Pernilla had just offered to apologise for something. She had to think of something to say.

‘You really don't need to apologise for anything.'

Pernilla looked down at her plate.

‘I just want you to know I appreciate that you can still stand to come here.'

Monika raised her water glass and took a little sip.

‘After my accident a lot of our friends disappeared. It seemed almost natural, they all just faded away. I always had pain in my back and we didn't have any money either, and most of our friends were still into scuba diving.'

Monika took another sip. It was almost possible to hide behind the water glass.

‘Now, after what's happened, I can finally admit that I feel a little disappointed that so few of them bothered to call. All of a sudden it was clear how lonely we've been.'

Pernilla looked at her and smiled, almost shyly.

‘So, what I'm trying to say is just that I'm glad we've got to know each other. You've really been a big help.'

Monika tried to take in what she was hearing. Sensed that this was what she had been striving for the whole time, and she ought to be happy now that she had finally received the proof of her success. Then why did she feel this way? She had to go home. Home to her sleeping pills. But first she had to go to the clinic with Maj-Britt's samples. When she was sure that everyone had gone home she would go in there and analyse them. Because she had promised. And you have to keep your promises.

She jumped when the telephone rang. Pernilla got up and went into the living room. Monika sneaked over to the rubbish bag under the sink and scraped off her plate with a piece of clingfilm that was lying on the top.

She could hear Pernilla answer the phone in the living room.

‘Pernilla.'

She hid the food underneath an empty milk carton.

‘Well, that's to be expected, I don't really know what you want me to say.'

Pernilla's voice had taken on a hard tone and she was silent for a long time. Monika went back to the table with her plate and used her fork to erase any traces left by the plastic wrap. Then Pernilla spoke again and the words made Monika's fear surge up through her confusion.

‘Honestly, I wish you wouldn't call me again. What happened happened, all of it, but I think it's a bit much to expect me to be consoling
you
.'

She was apparently interrupted but continued a few seconds later.

‘No, but that's how it feels. Goodbye.'

Silence. Everything was quiet. Only Monika's heart refused to adapt itself to the calm. Pernilla reappeared and went to sit down on her chair. At the same moment Monika's mobile rang. It wasn't her intention to answer it, as she began to fumble for the handbag by her feet, just to shut off the insistent ringing. She glanced at the display and saw Åse's name. Her hand shook as she managed to cancel the call. She could feel Pernilla watching her but answered before she could ask the question.

‘It was nothing important. Only my mother, but I can ring her later.'

Pernilla pushed away the plate in front of her even though it was still full of food.

‘It was that woman who drove the car that called me.'

Daniella dropped her biscuit on the floor and Monika gratefully leaned down to pick it up. So she could be out of sight for a second.

‘She was here a few days after the accident too. She came here wanting to apologise or whatever.'

Pernilla snorted.

‘I'd taken so many pills that I probably didn't really understand what was going on. I've thought about it quite a lot afterwards. I was sorry I didn't just tell her to go to hell. How the fuck can she think that I would forgive her?'

Suddenly, Pernilla was sitting at the other end of a tunnel. Monika stared at her face, which was surrounded by a surging, dark-grey mass. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again only to be met by the same image. And she wondered why the water was running, who had turned on the tap, why it was roaring like that.

‘What is it? Don't you feel well?'

She was breathing with quick, short breaths.

‘I'm all right, but I have to go now.'

‘But I've got dessert too.'

Monika got up from her chair.

‘I have to go now.'

Her movement made the tunnel disappear. The roaring was still there but she saw that the tap was turned off, so the sound must be coming from some other flat.