The Drowning (11 page)

This was the first time he went along, but as he understood it, every year Mother and Father would take the caravan to the place with the peculiar name. Fjällbacka. The name meant ‘Mountain Hill’ in Swedish, but he saw no mountains and only a few hills. The ground was completely flat in the camping area where they parked the caravan, squeezed in among scores of other campers. He wasn’t sure that he liked it. But Father had explained that Mother’s family was from the area, and that was why she wanted to go there.

But that was strange too, because he didn’t meet any relatives. During one of the arguments inside the cramped space of the caravan, he finally understood that someone called the Old Bitch lived here, and that she was what his mother meant by ‘family’. What a funny name that was. The Old Bitch. But it didn’t sound as if his mother cared much for her, because her voice got even harsher when she talked about the woman, and they never did see her. So why did they have to come to this place at all?

Yet what he hated most about Fjällbacka and being on holiday was having to go swimming. He’d never swum in the sea before. At first he wasn’t sure what to think. But his mother admonished him. Said she refused to have a wimp for a son, and she told him to stop whining. So he took a deep breath and timidly waded into the frigid water, even though the feeling of cold and salt on his legs made him gasp for air. When the water reached up to his waist, he stopped. It was too cold, he couldn’t breathe. And he could feel something moving around his feet, touching the calves of his legs, something creeping and crawling over him. Mother waded out to him from shore, laughing, and then took his hand to lead him further out. All of a sudden he felt happy. She was holding his hand, and her laughter bounced off the surface of the water and off of him too. His feet now seemed to move of their own accord, as if they left the sandy bottom and were floating. At last he couldn’t feel anything solid under his feet, but that didn’t matter, because Mother had hold of him, she was carrying him, she loved him.

Then she let go. He felt the palm of her hand slide over his, then her fingers slipped past his fingertips until not only his feet but his hands were fumbling with nothingness. Again he felt the cold pressing against his chest, and the water seemed to rise up. It reached his shoulders, his neck, and he raised his chin to prevent the water from reaching his mouth, but it rose too fast, and he couldn’t stop it. His mouth filled with salt and cold, which raced down his throat, and the water kept rising – over his cheeks, his eyes, and he felt the water close like a lid over his head, until all sound vanished and the only thing he heard was the roar of what was crawling and creeping.

He flailed his arms, lashing out at whatever it was that wanted to pull him downward. But he was no match for the massive wave of water, and when he finally felt someone’s skin against his own, a hand on his arm, his first instinct was to defend himself. Then he was yanked upward, and the top of his head surfaced. The first breath was brutal and painful, then he greedily gasped for air. Mother had a tight grip on his arm, but that didn’t matter. Because the water was no longer trying to get him.

He looked up at her, grateful that she had rescued him, that she hadn’t let him disappear. But what he saw in her eyes was contempt. Somehow he’d done something wrong, he had disappointed her again. If only he knew why.

He had black and blue marks on his arm for days afterward.

‘Did you really have to drag me over here today?’ It was rare for Kenneth to let his annoyance show. He believed in staying calm and focused in every situation. But Lisbet had looked so sad when he told her that Erik had phoned and he’d have to go over to the office for a couple of hours even though it was Sunday. She hadn’t complained, and in a sense, that just made it worse. She knew how few hours they had left together. How important they were, how precious. And yet she offered no objections. Instead, he saw how she summoned the strength to be able to smile and say: ‘Of course you have to go. I’ll be fine.’

He almost wished that she had got angry and screamed at him. Told him that it was about time for him to get his priorities straight. But she didn’t have it in her to do anything like that. He couldn’t recall a single occasion in their twenty-year marriage when she had raised her voice to him. Or to anyone else, for that matter. She had accepted all setbacks and sorrows with equanimity, and she’d even comforted him when he was the one to break down. Whenever he lacked the energy to carry on, she had mustered enough strength for both of them.

Now he’d left her at home because he needed to go to
work. He was going to waste a few precious hours they could have spent together, and he hated himself because he always came running whenever Erik snapped his fingers. He couldn’t understand why. It was a pattern that had been established so early on that by now it was practically part of his personality. And Lisbet was always the one who had to suffer for it.

Erik didn’t even bother to answer his question. He just kept staring at the computer screen, as if he were in another world.

‘Was it really necessary for me to come in today?’ Kenneth repeated. ‘On a Sunday? Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?’

Erik slowly turned to face Kenneth.

‘I have the utmost respect for your personal situation,’ he said at last. ‘But if we don’t take care of all the arrangements before the bidding this week, we might as well pack up the whole company. We all have to make sacrifices.’

Kenneth silently wondered what sort of sacrifices Erik ever made. And nothing was as dire as Erik was predicting. He could have easily put together the documents on Monday. His claim that the company was on the verge of ruin was pure exaggeration. Most likely Erik merely needed a pretext to get out of the house. But why had he felt compelled to drag Kenneth over here too? The answer was obvious: because he could.

Then they each returned to their respective tasks and worked in silence for a while. The office consisted of one large room, so there was no possibility of closing a door for some privacy. Kenneth cast a surreptitious glance at Erik. There was something different about him. It was hard to pinpoint, but Erik looked somehow less distinct, more worn out. His hair was not as perfectly combed as usual, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled. No, he was not
himself today. Kenneth considered asking him if everything was okay at home, but he restrained himself. Instead he said as calmly as he could:

‘Did you see the news about Christian yesterday?’

Erik gave a start. ‘Yes.’

‘How terrible. To be threatened like that by some nutcase,’ said Kenneth, his tone of voice casual, almost easygoing. But his heart was pounding hard.

‘Hmm …’ Erik kept his eyes on the computer screen. But he didn’t touch the keyboard or the mouse.

‘Did Christian mention anything about that to you?’ It was like trying to make himself stop picking at a scab. He didn’t want to talk about this topic, and Erik clearly didn’t want to discuss it either. Yet Kenneth couldn’t stop himself. ‘Did he?’

‘No, he never told me about any sort of threats,’ said Erik, beginning to sort through the documents on his desk. ‘But he’s been really preoccupied with his book, so we haven’t seen much of each other lately. And I suppose most people would prefer to keep something like that to themselves.’

‘Shouldn’t he talk to the police about it?’

‘How do you know that Christian hasn’t already done that?’ Erik continued aimlessly riffling through the piles of documents.

‘True. That’s very true …’ Kenneth subsided into silence for a moment. ‘But what could the police do if the letters were anonymous? I mean, they could have come from any lunatic.’

‘How would I know?’ said Erik, swearing as he got a paper cut. ‘Shit!’ He sucked on the injured finger.

‘Do you think the threats are serious?’

Erik sighed. ‘Why do we have to speculate about all this? I told you, I have no idea.’ His voice rose slightly, quavering on the last words. Kenneth looked at him in
surprise. Erik really was not himself. Did it have something to do with the company?

Kenneth had never trusted Erik. Had he done something stupid? He instantly dismissed the idea. He was much too familiar with the firm’s accounts; he would have noticed if Erik had decided to make any crazy moves financially. It was probably something to do with Louise. It was a mystery how those two had managed to stay together for so long. Everyone except Erik and Louise could see that the couple would do themselves a big favour if they said goodbye and went their separate ways. But it wasn’t Kenneth’s place to point this out. He had enough worries of his own.

‘I was just wondering,’ said Kenneth.

He clicked open the Excel file with the latest monthly statements. But his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

The dress still smelled of her. Christian pressed it to his nose, inhaling the microscopic traces of her perfume that were embedded in the fabric. Whenever he fell asleep with the scent in his nostrils, he could picture her quite clearly in his mind. The dark hair that reached to her waist and which she usually wore in a plait or gathered in a bun at the back of her neck. It could have looked old-fashioned or even spinsterish, but not on her.

She had moved like a dancer, although she had abandoned her career as a dancer long ago. She claimed that she hadn’t been ambitious enough. Not because of lack of talent, but she hadn’t had the determination required always to put dance first, to sacrifice love and time and laughter and friends. She had loved life too much.

So she’d stopped dancing. But when they met, and right up until the end, she’d still had the lithe rhythm of a dancer in her body. He could sit and stare at her for
hours. Watch her walking around the house, cleaning up and humming while her feet moved so gracefully that she looked like she was floating.

Again he pressed the dress to his face. How refreshing and cool the fabric felt against his feverishly hot skin, catching on the unshaven stubble of his cheek. The last time she had worn the dress was on Midsummer Eve. The blue of the dress had mirrored the colour of her eyes, and the dark plait hanging down her back had gleamed as brightly as the lustrous fabric.

It was a fabulous evening. One of the few Midsummers that had offered glorious sunshine, and they’d sat outside in the yard, eating herring and boiled new potatoes. They had cooked the meal together. The baby was lying in the pram, with the mosquito netting firmly in place so that no insects could get in. The child was well protected.

The baby’s name fluttered past, and he gave a start, as if he’d jabbed his hand on something sharp. He forced himself to think about the frosty beer glasses and the friends who had raised those glasses in a toast, in honour of summer and love and the two of them. He thought about the strawberries that she brought out in a big bowl. Remembered how she had sat at the kitchen table, cleaning them, and how he had teased her because of the mess she’d made and the fact that every third or fourth strawberry had ended up in her mouth instead of in the bowl. The serving bowl that would later be presented to their guests, along with whipped cream topped with a sprinkling of sugar, just the way she’d been taught by her grandmother. She’d responded to his teasing with a laugh, then pulled him close and kissed him with lips that tasted of ripe berries.

He began to sob as he sat there holding the dress in his hands. He couldn’t help it. Little dark spots appeared on the material from his tears, which he quickly wiped
away on the sleeve of his shirt, not wanting to soil the dress, refusing to ruin what little he had left.

Christian carefully put the dress back in the suitcase. It was all that remained of them. The only thing he could bear to keep. He closed up the suitcase and pushed it back in the corner. He didn’t want Sanna to find it. His stomach turned over at the mere thought of her opening it, looking inside, and touching the dress. He knew it was wrong, but he had chosen Sanna for only one reason: the fact that she was completely different in appearance. She didn’t have lips that tasted of strawberries, and she didn’t move like a dancer.

But it turned out not to be enough. The past had still caught up with him. Just as malevolently as it had caught up with her, wearing that blue dress. And now he could see no way out.

‘Could you watch Leo for a while?’ Paula was looking at her mother, Rita, but then she cast an even more hopeful glance at Mellberg. Soon after their son’s birth, both she and Johanna had realized that Rita’s new boyfriend was the perfect babysitter. Mellberg was totally incapable of saying no.

‘Well, we were actually about to …’ Rita began, but Mellberg jumped in and said eagerly:

‘No problem. We’ll be happy to take care of the little fellow. The two of you should just go off and do whatever you were planning to do.’

Rita sighed in resignation, but she couldn’t resist casting a look of appreciation at this man – a diamond in the rough, and that was putting it mildly – whom she’d chosen to live with. She knew that many people regarded him as a boor, an unkempt and brash sort of man. But from the very beginning she’d seen other qualities in him, qualities that she as a woman should be able to encourage.