The Drowning

It was those sorts of minor acts of revenge that made her life bearable – the only way she was able to ignore the fact that he kept trying to turn the girls against her, treated her like shit, and was fucking a bloody hairdresser.

Louise held the glass under the tap of the wine box and filled it to the brim. Then she raised her glass in a toast to her own reflection, visible in the stainless steel door of the fridge.

Erica couldn’t stop thinking about the letters. She wandered through the house for a while, until a dull pain started up in the small of her back, forcing her to sit down at the kitchen table. She reached for a notepad and a pen that were lying on the table and began hastily jotting down what she could remember from the letters she’d seen at Christian’s house. She had a good memory for text, so she was almost positive that she’d managed to recreate what the letters had said.

She read through what she’d written over and over again, and with each reading the short sentences seemed to sound more and more threatening. Who would have cause to feel such anger towards Christian? Erica shook her head as she sat there at the table. It was impossible to tell whether a woman or a man had written those letters. But there was something about the tone and the way in which the views were expressed that made her think she was reading a woman’s hatred. Not a man’s.

Hesitantly she reached for the cordless phone, then drew back her hand. Maybe she was just being silly. But after re-reading the words she’d jotted down on the notepad, she grabbed the phone and punched in the mobile number she knew by heart.

‘This is Gaby,’ said the publishing director, picking up the phone on the first ring.

‘Hi, it’s Erica.’

‘Erica!’ Gaby’s shrill voice went up another octave, prompting Erica to move the receiver away from her ear. ‘How’s it going, dearie? No babies yet? You do know that twins usually arrive early, don’t you?’ It sounded as if Gaby were running.

‘No, the babies aren’t here yet,’ said Erica, trying to restrain her annoyance. She didn’t understand why everybody was always telling her that twins were usually born early. If that was the case, she’d find out soon enough. ‘I’m actually calling you about Christian.’

‘Oh, how is he?’ asked Gaby. ‘I tried ringing him several times, but his little wife just told me he wasn’t home, which I don’t believe for a minute. It was so awful, the way he passed out like that. He has his first book-signings tomorrow, and we really ought to let them know if we need to cancel, which would be terribly unfortunate.’

‘I went to see him, and I’m sure he’ll be fine to attend the book-signings. You don’t have to worry about that,’ said Erica, preparing to bring up the real topic she wanted to discuss. She took in as deep a breath as her highly constricted lung capacity would allow and said, ‘There’s something I wanted to talk to you about …’

‘Sure, fire away.’

‘Have you received anything at the publishing house that might concern Christian?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Er, well, I was just wondering if you’d received any letters or emails about Christian, or addressed to him. Anything that sounded threatening?’

‘Hate mail?’

Erica was starting to feel more and more like a child tattling on a classmate, but it was too late to back out now.

‘Yes. The thing is that Christian has been getting threatening letters for the past year and a half, pretty much ever since he started writing his book. And I can tell that he’s upset, even though he refuses to admit it. I thought that maybe something might have been sent to the publishing house too.’

‘I can’t believe what you’re telling me, but no, we haven’t seen anything like that. Is there a name on the letters? Does Christian know who they’re from?’ Gaby stumbled over her words, and the sound of her high heels clacking on the pavement was gone, so she must have stopped.

‘They’re all anonymous, and I don’t think Christian has any idea who sent them. But you know how he is. I’m not sure he’d tell anyone even if he did know. If it hadn’t been for Sanna, I wouldn’t have heard a word about it. Or about the fact that he collapsed at the party on Wednesday because the card attached to a bouquet of flowers delivered to him seemed to be from the same person who wrote the letters.’

‘That sounds totally insane! Does this have anything to do with his book?’

‘I asked Christian the same question. But he told me very firmly that no one would be able to able to recognize themselves in what he’s written.’

‘Well, this is certainly dreadful. You must let me know if you find out anything else, all right?’

‘Yes, I’ll try,’ said Erica. ‘And please don’t tell Christian that I said anything about all this.’

‘Of course not. It’s just between you and me. I’ll keep an eye on any correspondence we receive that’s addressed to Christian. We’ll probably be getting a few things now that the book is in the shops.’

‘Great reviews, by the way,’ said Erica, to change the subject.

‘Yes, it’s just wonderful!’ exclaimed Gaby with such enthusiasm that again Erica had to move the receiver away from her ear. ‘I’ve already heard Christian’s name mentioned in connection with the prestigious August Prize. Not to mention that we’ve printed ten thousand hardbacks that are on their way to the booksellers at this very minute.’

‘That’s incredible,’ said Erica, her heart leaping with pride. She of all people knew how hard Christian had worked on that manuscript, and she was tremendously pleased that his efforts seemed about to bear fruit.

‘It certainly is,’ chirped Gaby. ‘Dearie, I can’t talk any more right now. I’ve got to make a little phone call.’

There was something in Gaby’s last remark that made Erica uneasy. She should have stopped to consider the situation before phoning the publisher. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to get so worked up. As if to confirm her misgivings, one of the twins gave her a hard kick in the ribs.

It was such a strange sensation to be happy. Anna had gradually come to accept the feeling, and she was even starting to get used to it. But it had been a long time since she’d felt this way. If ever.

‘Give it back!’ Belinda came racing after Lisen, Dan’s youngest daughter, who hid behind Anna with a shriek. In her hand she was clutching her older sister’s hairbrush.

‘I didn’t say you could borrow it! Give it back!’

‘Anna …’ Lisen pleaded, but Anna pulled the child around to face her, keeping a light hold on her shoulder.

‘If you took Belinda’s brush without asking, you’ll have to give it back.’

‘See, I told you so!’ said Belinda.

Anna gave her a warning look.

‘As for you, Belinda – you don’t really need to go chasing your little sister through the whole house.’

Belinda shrugged. ‘It’s her own fault if she takes my things.’

‘Just wait until little brother is here,’ said Lisen. ‘He’ll break everything you own!’

‘I’m going to be moving out soon, so it’s your stuff he’s going to be wrecking!’ said Belinda, sticking out her tongue.

‘Hey, come on now. Are you eighteen or five?’ said Anna, but she couldn’t help laughing. ‘And why are the two of you so sure that it’s going to be a boy?’

‘Because Mamma says that if somebody has as big a rear end as you do, it’s bound to be a boy.’

‘Shhh,’ said Belinda, glaring at her sister, who couldn’t really understand what she’d said wrong. ‘Sorry,’ Belinda added.

‘That’s okay.’ Anna smiled, but she did feel slightly insulted. So Dan’s ex-wife thought she had a big rear end? But not even that sort of remark – and she had to admit there was some truth to it, after all – could put a damper on her good mood. She’d been to hell and back; that was no exaggeration. And her kids had too. Emma and Adrian, in spite of everything they’d been through, were now two very confident and happy children. Sometimes she could hardly believe it was true.

4

‘You’ll behave yourself when our guests arrive, won’t you?’ said his mother, giving him a solemn look.

He nodded. He would never dream of behaving badly and embarrassing his mother. He wanted nothing more than to please her so that she would keep on loving him.

The doorbell rang, and his mother stood up abruptly. ‘They’re here.’ He heard the anticipation in her voice, a tone that made him uneasy. Sometimes his mother changed into someone else after he heard the sound of that little bell vibrating between the walls in her bedroom. But that might not happen this time.

‘Can I take your coat?’ He heard his father’s voice downstairs in the front hall, along with the murmuring of their guests.

‘Go on ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.’ His mother motioned towards him with her hand, and he breathed in the scent of her perfume. She sat down at her dressing table to fix her hair and put the last touches on her make-up as she admired herself in the mirror. He stayed where he was, watching her with fascination. A furrow appeared between her brows as their eyes met in the mirror.

‘Didn’t I tell you to go downstairs?’ she said sharply, and he felt the darkness take hold of him for a moment.

Shamefaced, he bowed his head and headed for the murmur of voices in the front hall. He would behave himself. Mother wouldn’t have to be ashamed of him.

The cold air tore at his windpipe. He loved that feeling. Everybody thought he was crazy when he went out running in the middle of winter, but he preferred to put in his miles in the frosty weather rather than go out running in the oppressive heat of summer. And on weekends he made a point of running his route twice.

Kenneth cast an eye at his wristwatch. It held everything he needed to know to make the most of his run. It measured his pulse and counted the steps he took; it even kept track of the time from his last session.

His goal right now was to run in the Stockholm Marathon. He’d taken part twice before, and in the Copenhagen Marathon as well. He’d been running for twenty years, and if he had a choice, he’d prefer to die in the middle of a race, twenty or thirty years from now. Because the feeling he had when he ran, when his feet flew over the ground – rhythmically pounding at a steady pace that in the end seemed to merge with the beat of his heart – was like nothing else in the world. Even the fatigue, the numb sensation in his legs when the lactic acid built up, was something that he’d learned to appreciate more and more with each year that passed. He felt alive whenever he ran. That was the best way he could describe it.

As he drew close to home, he began slowing his pace. When he reached his front door, he jogged in place for a few moments and then held on to the railing to stretch out his thigh muscles. His breath formed a white cloud of ice crystals, and he felt strong and cleansed after running twelve miles at a relatively fast pace.

‘Is that you, Kenneth?’ He heard Lisbet’s voice from the guest room as the front door closed behind him.

‘Yes, it’s me, dear. I’m just going to take a quick shower, and then I’ll come and see you.’

He turned the tap until the water was steaming hot and then stood under the needle-like spray of the shower. This was practically the most pleasurable thing of all. It felt so good that it took a real effort for him to turn off the water. He shivered as he stepped out of the shower stall. The bathroom felt like an igloo in comparison.

‘Could you bring me the newspaper?’

‘Of course, love.’ Jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweater. He was ready. He stuck his bare feet into a pair of Crocs slippers that he’d bought last summer and went out to the letterbox. When he picked up the newspaper, he noticed a white envelope stuck in the bottom. He must have missed it yesterday. His stomach turned over at the sight of his name written in black ink. Not another one!

As soon as he was back inside, he tore open the envelope and pulled out the card inside. Standing in the front hall, he read what it said. The message was brief and strange.

Kenneth turned the card over to see if there was anything on the back. But there wasn’t. The only message was those two cryptic sentences.

‘What’s keeping you, Kenneth?’

Quickly he stuffed the note back in the envelope.

‘I was just checking on something. I’m coming now.’

He headed for her door, holding the newspaper in his hand. The white card with the elegant handwriting seemed to burn in his back pocket.

It was like a drug. Sanna had become dependent on the high it gave her to check his email, go through his pockets, and surreptitiously examine his phone bill. Every time she didn’t find anything, she felt her whole body relax. But that didn’t last long. Soon the anxiety would start building again, and with it the tension in her body, until all the logical arguments for why she should restrain herself ceased. Then she would sit down at the computer again. She entered Christian’s email address and password, which had been easy to crack. He used the same one every time. His birth date, so he would always remember it.

In reality, there was no reason for this feeling that kept tearing at her heart and clawing at her guts until all she wanted to do was scream. Christian had never done anything to give her cause to distrust him. During the years she’d been carrying on this surveillance of his correspondence, she had never once found the slightest trace of anything suspicious. He was an open book. And yet … Sometimes she had the feeling that he was somewhere else entirely, a place to which she was denied access. And why had he told her so little about his background? He’d said that his parents had died long ago, and she’d never had occasion to meet any of his other relatives, although surely he must have some. He didn’t seem to have any childhood friends either, and no old acquaintances had ever got in touch. It was almost as if he hadn’t existed at all until he met her and moved to Fjällbacka. She hadn’t even seen his flat in Göteborg when they first met. He’d gone there alone with the removal van to pick up his few belongings.

Sanna ran her eyes over the messages in his inbox. A couple of emails from the publisher, several newspapers wanting interviews, some news from the local municipality having to do with his job at the library. That was all.

This time the feeling of relief was just as glorious as ever when she logged out of his account. Before turning off the computer, she did a routine scan of his web browser history, but there was nothing unusual. Christian had checked out the websites for the newspapers Expressen and Aftonbladet, as well as his publisher’s home page. He’d also looked at a new child’s car seat online.

But there was still the issue of the letters. He had insisted that he didn’t know who had sent those cryptic messages to him. Yet there was something in his tone of voice that contradicted his claim. Sanna couldn’t really put her finger on what it might be, and it was driving her nuts. What wasn’t he telling her? Who had sent those letters? Was it a woman who had once been his lover? Or someone who was his mistress now?

She clenched and unclenched her hands, forcing herself to breathe calmly. The temporary sense of relief had already vanished, and she tried in vain to convince herself that everything was as it should be. Reassurance. That was the only thing she desired. She just wanted to know that Christian loved her.

But deep inside she knew that he had never belonged to her. That he had always been searching for something else, someone else, during all the years they had lived together. She knew that he had never loved her. Not really. And one day he would find the person that he wanted to be with, the one he actually loved, and then she would be all alone.

Sanna wrapped her arms around herself for a moment as she sat on the desk chair. Then she got up. Christian’s mobile bill had arrived with the post yesterday. It would take her only a minute to peruse it.

Erica walked aimlessly through the house. This eternal waiting was going to drive her crazy. She’d finished writing her latest book, but she didn’t have the energy to start on a new project right now. And she couldn’t do much in the house without her back and joints protesting. She spent her time reading or watching TV. Or she did what she was doing now – wandering around the house out of sheer frustration. At least today was Saturday, and Patrik was home. He’d gone out with Maja for a short walk so she’d get some fresh air. Erica was counting the minutes until they returned.

When the doorbell rang, her heart nearly skipped a beat. Before she managed to respond, the door was thrown open, and Anna came into the front hall.

‘Are you practically going out of your mind too?’ she said, taking off her scarf and jacket.

‘How’d you guess?’ said Erica, suddenly feeling much more cheerful.

They went into the kitchen, and Anna set a steaming bag on the counter. ‘Freshly baked buns. Belinda did the baking.’

‘Really?’ said Erica, trying to picture Anna’s eldest stepdaughter wearing an apron and kneading dough with her black-painted fingernails.

‘She’s in love,’ said Anna, as if that explained everything. Which, in fact, it actually did.

‘Well, I can’t recall it ever having that sort of effect on me,’ said Erica, putting the buns on a plate.

‘Apparently he told her yesterday that he likes girls who are the domestic type.’ Anna raised one eyebrow and gave Erica a knowing look.

‘Oh, is that right?’

Anna laughed as she reached for one of the buns. ‘Hey, calm down, you don’t have to go over to his house and give him a thrashing. I’ve met the boy, and believe me, within a week Belinda is going to get tired of him and go back to her black-clad losers who play in obscure rock bands and don’t give a shit whether she’s the domestic type or not.’

‘Let’s hope so. But I have to say that these buns aren’t bad.’ Erica closed her eyes as she chewed. In her present condition, freshly baked buns was as close as she was going to get to an orgasm.

‘Well, the one advantage to how we look at the moment is that we can stuff ourselves with as many buns as we like,’ said Anna, taking a bite of her second one.

‘Sure, but we’ll have to pay for it later on,’ replied Erica, although she couldn’t help following her sister’s example by taking another bun. Belinda really seemed to have a natural talent for baking.

‘With twins, you’ll soon lose all that weight and more!’ laughed Anna.

‘You’re probably right.’ Erica found herself thinking about something else, and her sister seemed to guess what it was.

‘Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. Besides, you’re not alone this time. You have me to keep you company. We can move two armchairs next to each other in front of the TV and watch Oprah as we nurse the babies all day long.’

‘And take turns ordering takeaway for dinner when our husbands come home.’

‘Sure. You’ll see. Everything’s going to be great.’ Anna licked her fingers and leaned back with a groan. ‘Ow, I think I ate too much.’ She propped her swollen feet up on the chair next to her and clasped her hands over her belly. ‘Have you talked to Christian?’

‘Yep. I was over there on Thursday.’ Erica followed Anna’s example and propped her feet on a chair too. Only one bun remained on the plate, and it was practically shouting at her. After a brief battle, she reached for it.

‘So what exactly happened?’

Erica hesitated for a moment, but she wasn’t used to keeping secrets from her sister, so in the end she told Anna everything about the letters and their menacing tone.

‘Wow, that’s horrible,’ said Anna, shaking her head. ‘I think it’s odd that he started getting them even before his book was published. It would have seemed more logical if they arrived after he attracted attention in the media. I mean, they seem to be from someone who’s a little cuckoo.’

‘I agree. It does sound like that. Christian refuses to take them seriously. At least that’s what he told me. But I could tell that Sanna was upset.’

‘I can believe it,’ said Anna, licking her index finger and then dabbing up the sugar left on the plate.

‘Today he has his first book-signings,’ said Erica, unable to keep a trace of pride out of her voice. In many ways she felt that she’d contributed to Christian’s success, and through him she was reliving her own debut as an author. Those first book-signings. That was a huge deal. Really huge.

‘That’s great. Where are they going to be held?’

‘First at the Böcker och Blad bookshop in Torp, then at Bokia in Uddevalla.’

‘I hope some people actually turn up. It would be depressing if he had to sit there all alone,’ said Anna.

Erica grimaced at the thought of her own first signing, at a bookshop in Stockholm. She’d sat there for a whole hour, trying to look unconcerned while all the customers walked past as if she didn’t exist.

‘There’s been so much PR about his book that I’m sure people will come – out of curiosity if nothing else,’ said Erica, hoping that she was right.

‘Well, it’s just lucky that the newspapers haven’t got word of those threatening letters,’ said Anna.

‘Yeah, you’re right about that,’ replied Erica, and then changed the subject. But the uneasy feeling in her chest refused to leave her.

5

They were going on holiday, and he could hardly wait. He wasn’t really sure what it entailed, but the word sounded so promising. Holiday. And they would be taking the caravan that was parked outside.

He was never allowed to play in it. A few times he’d tried to peek through the windows, to see what was behind the brown curtains. But he could never actually see anything, and the caravan was always locked. Now the door stood wide open, so as to ‘give it a proper airing out’, as Mother said, and a bunch of cushions had been put in the washing machine to rid them of the smell of winter.

Everything seemed so unreal, like a fairy-tale adventure. He wondered if he’d be permitted to sit inside the caravan as they drove, like travelling inside a little house on wheels, headed for something new and unfamiliar. But he didn’t dare ask. Mother had been in a strange mood lately. That sharp, fierce tone in her voice was clearly audible, and Father had been taking more frequent walks, whenever he wasn’t hiding behind his newspaper.

Sometimes he’d noticed her staring at him oddly. There was something different about the way she looked at him, and it frightened him, even taking him back to the darkness that he’d left behind.

‘Are you just going to stand there gaping, or were you thinking of helping me out?’ Mother had her hands on her hips.

He gave a start when he heard once again that harsh tone and ran over to her.

‘Take these and put them in the laundry room,’ she said, tossing some foul-smelling blankets at him with such force that he almost lost his footing.

‘Yes, Mother,’ he said, and hurried into the house.

If only he knew what he’d done wrong. He always obeyed his mother. Never talked back, behaved properly, and never got his clothes dirty. Yet it was as if sometimes she couldn’t bear to look at him.

He’d tried to ask his father about this. Mustered his courage on one of the few occasions when they were alone and asked him why Mother didn’t like him any more. For a moment Father had put aside the newspaper to reply curtly that he was being foolish and he didn’t want to hear talk of such things again. Mother would be terribly sad if she ever heard him say that. He should be grateful that he had a mother like her.