* * *
You saved yourself. He just happened to be there.
* * *
When Nadia loses her balance, just for a moment, Jack catches hold of her arm. Their eyes dance around each other. She clings tightly, tightly, tightly to those nine words, but barely manages to formulate any of her own: “It was you… on the bridge, when I… was that you?”
He nods mutely. She fumbles for more words.
“I don’t know what to… just give me a moment. I need to… I need to compose myself.”
She walks to her desk and sinks onto the chair. She’s spent ten years wondering who he was, and now she has no idea what to say. Where to start. Jack walks cautiously into the office after her, sees the photograph on the bookcase, the one Zara always adjusted when she was there. It’s a picture of Nadia and a group of children, at a big summer camp six months before. Nadia and the children are laughing and joking, and they’re all wearing matching T-shirts bearing the name of the charitable organization that funded the camp. It collects money to work with children like the ones in the picture, all of whom have lost a family member to suicide. It helps to know that you’re not alone when you’ve been left behind. You can’t carry the guilt and the shame and the unbearable silence on your own, and you shouldn’t have to, that’s why Nadia goes to the summer camp each year. To listen a lot, talk a little, and laugh as much as possible.
She doesn’t know it yet, but the charity has just received a donation to its bank account. From a woman with headphones who has resigned from her job, given away her fortune, and crossed a bridge. They’ll be able to hold those summer camps for many years to come.
* * *
Jack and Nadia sit on either side of the narrow desk, looking at each other. He smiles weakly, and after a while she does the same, simultaneously terrified and full of laughter. One day, in ten years’ time, perhaps they’ll tell someone that was how it felt. The first time.
74
The truth? The truth about all this? The truth is that this was a story about many different things, but most of all about idiots. Because we’re doing the best we can, we really are. We’re trying to be grown-up and love each other and understand how the hell you’re supposed to insert USB leads. We’re looking for something to cling on to, something to fight for, something to look forward to. We’re doing all we can to teach our children how to swim. We have all of this in common, yet most of us remain strangers, we never know what we do to each other, how your life is affected by mine.
Perhaps we hurried past each other in a crowd today, and neither of us noticed, and the fibers of your coat brushed against mine for a single moment and then we were gone. I don’t know who you are.
But when you get home this evening, when this day is over and the night takes us, allow yourself a deep breath. Because we made it through this day as well.
* * *
There’ll be another one along tomorrow.
IF YOU NEED SOMEONE
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:
Call 800-273-8255
Crisis Text Line:
Text “talk” to 741741
For information and support, whether it’s you yourself who needs it or someone close to you, take a look at:
zerosuicide.com
sprc.org
AUTHOR’S THANKS
J. Very few people have had the effect on my life that you have. The kindest, strangest, funniest, messiest, most complicated friend I’ve ever had. Almost twenty years have passed now, and I still think about you almost every day. I’m so sorry you couldn’t bear it any longer. I hate myself for not being able to save you.
Neda. Twelve years together, ten years married, two children, and a million rows about wet towels on the floor and feelings we’re still trying to find words for. I don’t know how you’ve managed to juggle two careers, yours and mine, but without you I wouldn’t be standing here now. I know I drive you crazy, but I’m crazy about you. Ducks fly together.
The monkey and the frog. I’m trying to be a good dad. I really am. But when you jumped in the car and asked, “What’s that smell? Are you eating candy?” I lied. Sorry.
Niklas Natt och Dag. I don’t know how many years we’ve been sharing an office. Eight? Nine? I can honestly say I’ve never known a genius, but you are the closest I’ve come. I’ve never had a brother, either.
Riad Haddouche, Junes Jaddid, and Erik Edlund. I don’t say it as often as I should. But I hope you know.
Mum and Dad, my sister, and Paul. Houshang, Parham, and Meri.
Vanja Vinter. Stubborn as hell since 2013, and the only person who’s worked with me throughout almost all my career. Editor, proofreader, extra pair of eyes, a whirlwind, and a really good friend for all of my stories. Thank you for always giving one hundred percent.
The Salomonsson Agency. Most of all, of course, my agent Tor Jonasson, who doesn’t always understand what the hell I’m playing at but always defends me just as doggedly. Marie Gyllenhammar, who has been like an extra member of the family when the machinery and circus spin too fast and I’m trying to find myself. Cecilia Imberg, who acted as an extra proofreader and linguistic adviser toward the end of this project. (In those instances where we disagreed about grammar, obviously you were right, but sometimes I make mistakes just for the hell of it.)
Bokförlaget Forum, my publishers in Sweden. In particular John Häggblom, Maria Burlin, Adam Dahlin, and Sara Lindegren.
Alex Schulman, who, when I was trying to make this book work, reminded me how it can feel when a text completely floors you. Christoffer Carlsson, who read and corrected and laughed. I owe you a beer. Maybe two. Marcus Leifby, my absolute first choice when I need to drink coffee and talk about Division 2 ice hockey and Vietnam War documentaries for six hours on a Tuesday.
All the publishers in other countries who publish my books, from Scandinavia to South Korea. In particular, I’d like to thank Peter Borland, Libby McGuire, Kevin Hanson, Ariele Fredman, Rita Silva, and everyone else who has stubbornly continued to have faith in me over at Atria Books/Simon & Schuster in the USA and Canada, and Judith Curr, who helped me to get there. You’ve become my second-home market.
Everyone who has translated my books, in particular Neil Smith. My cover designer, Nils Olsson. My favorite bookseller, Johan Zillén.
The psychologists and therapists who have worked with me in recent years. In particular, Bengt, who helped me get to grips with my panic attacks.
You. For reading this. Thank you for your time.
Finally: the authors Estelle refers to at various points in this story. In order of appearance, they are: Astrid Lindgren (page 248), J. M. Barrie (page 248), Charles Dickens (page 258), Joyce Carol Oates (page 258), Kahlil Gibran (page 259), William Shakespeare (page 281), Leo Tolstoy (page 304), and Bodil Malmsten (pages 305 and 313). If any of them has been misquoted, the fault is mine alone, or possibly my translator’s, but certainly not Estelle’s.
More from the Author
Things My Son Needs to Know About the World
Us Against You
The Deal of a Lifetime
Beartown
And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and…
Britt-Marie Was Here
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FREDRIK BACKMAN is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Man Called Ove, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry, Britt-Marie Was Here, Beartown, Us Against You, and two novellas, And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer and The Deal of a Lifetime, as well as one work of nonfiction, Things My Son Needs to Know about the World. His books are published in more than forty countries. He lives in Stockholm, Sweden, with his wife and two children. Connect with him on Facebook and Twitter @BackmanLand and on Instagram @Backmansk.
SimonandSchuster.com
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Fredrik-Backman
@AtriaBooks @AtriaBooks @AtriaBooks
Also by Fredrik Backman
FICTION
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A Man Called Ove
My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry
Britt-Marie Was Here
And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer
Beartown
The Deal of a Lifetime
Us Against You
NONFICTION
Things My Son Needs to Know about the World
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Fredrik Backman
Translation copyright © 2020 by Neil Smith
Originally published in Sweden in 2019 as Folk med Angest
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN 978-1-5011-6083-7
ISBN 978-1-5011-6085-1 (ebook)
Anxious People: A Novel Page 31