Faye hung up without waiting for Alice to answer. She knew her friend didn’t actually have an answer. That nothing she had said came as news to Alice, who probably wrestled with the same thoughts a thousand times each day. That was Alice’s problem. Not hers.
She was ready for war now.
Faye knew she had the best weapon in her arsenal—her femininity. It made men underestimate and objectify her, assume she was stupid. There was no way Jack could ever win this fight. She was smarter than him. Always had been. She had just allowed him, and herself, to forget that.
But now she was going to remind him. Remind them both.
To start with, she had to let him go on believing that things were the same as they used to be—that she was the same old, cowed Faye, hopelessly naïve and in love. That was the easy bit. She had played that role for so long that she knew it inside out.
But in the meantime she would secretly build up a business of her own, become rich and finally crush Jack. She didn’t yet know exactly how that was going to happen, and there were a number of practical difficulties to deal with before then. First and foremost, she needed somewhere to live. She couldn’t go on relying on Chris. She was too poor to live in the center of the city, but she couldn’t be too far away from Julienne’s preschool. And she also needed to be able to save up a bit of capital, get back in shape, update her knowledge of the financial world, and build up her own network. There were a thousand things to do. A thousand goals to achieve before Jack was ruined. She felt exhilarated.
“Have you got something I could write on?” she asked the bartender. “And a pen.”
He put a pen on the bar and pointed to a pile of napkins. Faye wrote a list of things she needed to sort out. When she was finished, she called Jack to negotiate peace. She didn’t have a problem with that, it was just an act. An opening move in a game of chess. She needed a ceasefire in order to be able to gather her forces and regroup.
She softened her voice and made sure it sounded rather fragile. The way he remembered it.
“I’ve been so sad,” she said. “That’s why I’ve been behaving so badly toward you. But I’m better now, I realize that you’re right about a lot of things. Can you forgive me?”
She took a sip of her beer. It was almost finished and she gestured to the bartender that she’d like another.
“Well, I understand that it’s been difficult for you,” Jack said with a mixture of surprise and pompous magnanimity.
Faye drank the last of her beer as the fresh glass was placed in front of her. She drew circles in its foamy head. Thought back to the time when Chris had drawn a heart in the condensation on the glass.
“It has been. But that’s no excuse. I’m going to pull myself together. For Julienne’s sake. And for yours. Your daughter’s mother shouldn’t behave in an unworthy fashion and keep nagging about money. I don’t know what got into me. I . . . I haven’t been myself lately.”
She fell silent, wondering if she might be overdoing it a bit. But Jack had merely heard her confirm what he had thought all along: that he was right, and she was wrong.
Jack wanted to see himself as the hero, the noble victor. She was offering him a chance to reaffirm that image of himself. The way everyone around him always did.
“That’s Okay. But try not to be so . . . difficult in future, that’s all,” Jack said.
When they had hung up Faye quickly finished her second glass and asked for a third. There was no longer anyone to raise any objections. She started to giggle, and couldn’t stop. Intoxicated by alcohol and freedom.
The red, two-story house dated back to the 1920s, and lay in an idyllic residential area in Enskede. Faye opened the green-painted gate, walked through the neatly tended garden, and rang the doorbell.
The woman who answered had high cheekbones, white hair pulled into a bun on top of her head, and was wearing a black collared top. Her posture was upright, almost militaristic. She held out a bony hand.
“Kerstin Tellermark. Come in,” she said, stepping aside.
Faye followed her through a hall lined with black-and-white photographs into a comfortably furnished living room. Old paintings of landscapes and maritime subjects adorned the brown wallpaper, there were a couple of rather saggy armchairs and a sofa by one wall, and an old piano in the corner.
“What a lovely room,” Faye said. And meant it.
“It’s a bit old-fashioned,” Kerstin replied apologetically, but Faye could see she was flattered. “Would you like some coffee?”
Faye shook her head.
“In that case . . . so it would be you and your daughter living here?”
“Yes, Julienne. She’s four.”
“Divorce?”
Faye nodded.
“The good sort?”
“No.”
Kerstin raised her eyebrows.
“Do you have a job?”
“Not yet. But I’m working on it. I . . . I studied at the School of Economics. I just need to get back on my feet first.”
Kerstin stood up and showed Faye up the stairs. The upper floor contained a smaller living room and two bedrooms. It was perfect, exactly what she was looking for.
“Five thousand kronor per month.”
“I’ll take it.”
—
Two days later Chris helped her to move in. Kerstin stood on the steps with her arms folded, looking on as they carried in the three boxes that contained everything Faye owned. She had sold most of the clothes from the apartment in one of the smarter second-hand boutiques on Karlavägen. All to get a bit of money.
She no longer wanted Jack to give her anything. She wanted to take it instead. It was more fun that way.
When Chris had gone, Kerstin knocked on the door. Faye was unpacking her clothes as she asked her to come in, but Kerstin stopped in the doorway.
“The daughter you mentioned, where is she?”
“With her dad. She’ll be coming later this week,” Faye said, holding a blouse up in front of her.
“He left you?”
“Yes.”
“Whose fault was it?”
“Whose fault?”
“It’s always someone’s fault.”
“In that case, it was his. He was sticking his cock into anything that moved, and I was too stupid to notice.”
Faye flinched when she realized what she’d said, but Kerstin merely nodded.
Faye hung her clothes in the wardrobe, vacuumed, made the bed, and lay down on it with her hands behind her head. She needed to find a way to support herself. Quickly. To start with, just to survive. To pay Kerstin her rent, to buy food, things that Julienne might need. But the work had to be flexible enough for her to be able to work on her business plan at the same time. She couldn’t work for someone who was constantly breathing down her neck.
Faye went over to the window. A blond man in his fifties was walking past with a large Rhodesian ridgeback, which seemed to respond to the name Hasse. The dog started, then strained at the leash, leaving the man struggling to keep his balance.
Faye looked on thoughtfully as they passed.
—
Kerstin had made beef patties with potatoes and gravy. There were dishes of lingonberry jam and pickled gherkins laid out on the circular dining table.
“This is lovely,” Faye said.
“Thanks.”
Kerstin served Faye another helping.
On the windowsill there was a photograph of Kerstin as a young woman. Her hair was brown, cut in a bob, and she was wearing a short white dress.
She saw that Faye was looking at it.
“London in the late sixties. I was an au pair for a family there, and was in love with an Englishman, Lord Kensington. They were good times.”
“Why didn’t you stay?”
“Because Lord Kensington’s mot
her, Lady Ursula, didn’t think it suitable for her only son to live with a Swedish au pair. A few years later he married a society girl called Mary.”
“How sad,” Faye said.
“It is what it is. I’m not complaining.”
“Have you been married?”
“Oh, yes. To Ragnar.”
Kerstin turned her head away. Tugged unconsciously at her collar.
Faye watched her, then looked around the room. She couldn’t see any pictures of Ragnar. Or of Ragnar and Kerstin together.
There was a clink of cutlery as Kerstin put her knife and fork down. She stood up and left the room, then returned with a photograph. She put it down on the table in front of Faye. It showed a bare-chested man in a pair of white shorts sitting on a sun-bed.
“Ragnar,” she said. “Palma, 1981.”
“Nice,” Faye said. “It must be hard to lose someone you’ve lived with for so long. How long has it been since he passed away?”
“Passed away?” Kerstin opened her eyes wide and looked at her uncomprehendingly. “No, no. Ragnar’s alive. The bastard’s in an old people’s home on Södermalm, slowly rotting away.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He had a stroke three years ago.”
“So you live alone?”
Kerstin nodded.
“Yes. But I’m happy,” she said, popping a potato in her mouth. “It’s nice and quiet. The only thing that disturbs my peace of mind is the fact that he’s still breathing.” She looked at the picture. Then she turned it upside down and said, “Help yourself to another patty. Good food’s a balm to the soul.”
Faye nodded and took the dish from her. It was the first time in ages that food actually tasted of anything.
Faye woke up early the next morning. She was met by the smell of freshly brewed coffee as she went down the creaking stairs.
Kerstin was already up. She was reading Dagens Nyheter, and beside her on the table was a folded copy of Dagens Industri. The photograph of Ragnar that had been on the kitchen table was gone.
“Good morning,” Kerstin said. “Help yourself to coffee.”
It was still dark outside, though spring had started its slow advance. Faye sat down at the table and reached for the copy of Dagens Industri. She read the editorial, then one of the comment pieces. She turned the page and found herself staring straight into Jack’s blue eyes. She started, and briefly considered moving on, but her eyes were automatically drawn to the headline. Fuel. She needed fuel.
ADELHEIM DENIES RUMORS OF INITIAL PUBLIC OFFERING, it read.
Kerstin must have noticed the change in her breathing, because she glanced up from her paper to look at Faye.
“Bad news?” she asked.
“No, it’s nothing. Just someone I used to know.”
In the article Jack said they weren’t planning to put Compare on the stock market. But he confirmed that the company’s head of finance, Ylva Lehndorf, would be leaving the business to work for the music giant Musify instead. Jack said it had been a mutual decision, and wished Ylva well in her career. Not a word about the fact that he was living with her. Presumably the paper knew that, but Dagens Industri was too polite to mix personal gossip with business.
He’s already started to change Ylva, Faye thought. The next step would probably be for her to stop working. Faye wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Should she enjoy the schadenfreude? Or feel sorry for her? In a way it would have been easier if she could have believed that Ylva was simply better than her. Smarter, stronger. But now Ylva had begun to subordinate herself. Which made her seem even more like Jack’s little whore. Bought off by his money and charm.
Faye scanned through the article a second time before moving on. She didn’t yet know what was going to come in useful, she had no clear plan. For the time being she was simply gathering information.
“What are you going to do today?” Kerstin asked.
“I thought I might take a walk. Do you happen to know if there’s anywhere nearby where I could get some leaflets printed?”
“Leaflets?”
“I was thinking of setting up a small business.”
“Oh?”
Kerstin put the newspaper down and looked at Faye.
“Yes, a dog-sitting service. Everyone around here seems to have a dog. I thought I could walk them during the day while I’m figuring out what I’m going to do. To earn a bit of money quickly and easily. Then we’ll just have to see what I do after that. It would buy me a bit of time, though.”
Kerstin looked at her intently. Then she went back to her paper.
“Try the library in Dalen,” she said.
—
Faye printed twenty posters and pinned them up in strategic places around Enskede. She imagined what Alice and her friends would have said if they could see her. To her great joy she realized that she didn’t care. She couldn’t afford a gym membership, and spending her days walking dogs would give her exercise that would help her to lose weight. And at the same time she would earn money, something she desperately needed if she was to make any progress.
Chris would have given her a loan without a moment’s hesitation if she had asked. But Chris had done enough. Faye had to fend for herself now, to prove both to herself and everyone else that she could do it. And for the first time in many years she felt ready to fight. Her past had finally turned out to be an advantage, not just something that woke her in a cold sweat with Sebastian’s image fixed in her mind. She refused to think about her father. She still had that much power over herself.
She quickened her pace, stopped at a lamppost in front of a yellow villa, and pulled out the roll of tape she had bought at ICA.
Two girls of about the same age as Julienne were bouncing on a trampoline in the garden. They were laughing and yelping.
Faye stood and watched them for a while.
How many times would they be betrayed? Have their dreams crushed? Ahead of them lay a long string of beaded insults doled out by men. The experience of being sidelined, judged on their looks, the struggle to fit in, to please everyone—all the things that had humiliated women of all ages, in all countries, over the years.
And then it hit her like a flash of lightning. There was an army out there, waiting to be set loose. Most women—no matter how rich and successful they might be—had been betrayed by a man. Most of them had that one ex, that unfaithful bastard, that liar, deceiver, the one who broke their heart and stamped on it. That male boss who gave the promotion to a male colleague with worse qualifications and less competence. The comments, the wandering hands at the company’s Christmas party. Most women had their own war wounds. One way or another.
But they kept quiet. Gritted their teeth. Responded magnanimously, showing understanding and forgiveness. Comforted the children when he didn’t show up like he promised. Smoothed things over when he made patronizing remarks. Carried on inviting his parents to the children’s birthday parties even though they took his side in the divorce and kept singing the praises of his new partner. Because that’s what women did. They internalized their rage. Turned it against themselves. God forbid they should ever make a fuss or demand justice. Nice girls don’t fight. Nice girls don’t raise their voices. That’s something women were taught from an early age. Women soaked things up, smoothed things over, bore the responsibility for all relationships, swallowed their pride and subordinated themselves until they all but vanished.
Faye was hardly the first woman in the world to be humiliated by her husband, to be treated like an idiot, to be replaced by a younger model.
Enough of that now, she thought. Together we’re strong, and we’re not going to stay silent any longer.
Faye barely had time to get back inside the house before her mobile started to ring. That evening she heard from another four dog owners asking if she had time to take their dogs on. Her gut fe
eling had been right, there was a definite need for this service.
She could hear clattering from the kitchen downstairs. Faye had offered to cook dinner, but Kerstin insisted on doing it. But she had at least agreed to let Faye pay two thousand kronor into a shared grocery pot. That was a solution they were both happy with.
Faye opened her laptop, clicked to bring up Excel and made a simple schedule for her future activities. The very next day she had two walks booked. She was charging one hundred and twenty kronor per hour. When the spreadsheet was finished she registered a private company in her name. She had already decided on the name in readiness for the day when she turned the business into a corporation.
—
The rain was pouring down, creeping under her raincoat, getting in everywhere. Faye couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this wet. Zorro and Alfred were tugging at their leashes, the rain didn’t seem to bother them.
If anyone had told her a month ago that she’d be celebrating her birthday in the pouring rain with two golden retrievers she’d have thought they were mad.
But life was full of surprises. Faye of all people had learned that lesson.
Her routines had changed entirely over the past few weeks. She got up at five thirty every morning, showered, ate a breakfast consisting of a boiled egg with smoked fish roe, then headed out. The two dog walks per day had quickly become eight, and some of the dog owners were booking her for two walks a day. Kerstin had no objection to her volunteering to dog sit some evenings as well.
Faye sneezed. She was looking forward to getting home and sinking into a warm bath, like she did every evening after the last walk.
“Okay, that’ll have to do, boys,” she said as the skies opened up.
After handing the dogs back to their owner, Mrs. Lönnberg, Faye hurried home. Her feet hadn’t felt this tired in years.
She opened the door gently so as not to disturb Kerstin, who usually sat and read at this time of day, and went carefully up the stairs. When she reached the bathroom she discovered that the bath had already been run. There was a vase of handpicked flowers from the garden on the sink.
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