by C S Duffy
‘We’ve all been there,’ Katja smiled.
‘Long as Johan’s behaving himself,’ Maddie grinned, and I’m fairly sure I kept my smile steady.
I was feeling so much better. Clearly I’d completely overreacted to what sounded like a fairly standard first meeting of Swedes. Well, until I’d found a dead body, obviously, but that was just a random awful thing. Everything was fine; it was just early days.
The fact Johan and I had got into a fight the night before meant absolutely nothing.
I’d been in a weird, grouchy mood all day. He’d been really quiet and it had been freaking me out, for no reason. I suppose I’ve just never been a big fan of silences, which is hardly his fault. I had just about convinced myself to stop being so ridiculous when I made a cup of tea to calm down and accidentally put this disgusting substance in it called filmmjölk. It’s basically runny yoghurt but comes in a carton pretty much identical to milk. Just a few weeks in and I’d already ruined untold cups of tea with the bastard gloop.
Johan looked up from unpacking the dishwasher and mildly asked me why I was putting filmmjölk in tea. I screamed and threw the carton at the wall where it spurted over the pristine white paint and I was so horrified that I turned on him, blaming him for his country’s failure to clearly bloody fucking label yoghurt.
‘It says filmmjölk there on the carton,’ he’d said, baffled, and I stormed into the living room, so claustrophobic I could have torn off my own skin.
‘I can’t breathe, there needs to be another room.’
‘I don’t know why you are so angry.’
‘Of course you don’t. You have no clue. Everything is easy for you —’
‘What is easy for me?’
‘You have a job and a bank account and a library card — you can understand everything that’s happening around you, you can talk to people —’
‘What? People will speak English if you just ask them —’
But there was no stopping me. ‘You know to pick your own salad when you order lunch and you only ever drink water so people don’t think you’re an alcoholic and you can find the onions —’
‘Ellie, calm down, you are becoming —’
‘Don’t tell me to calm down.’
‘Sorry,’ he’d muttered, backing away. I paced his tiny living room like some rabid animal.
‘Don’t tell me what to think or feel or know. Just because you signed me into this country like some bloody library book does not give you the right to —’
‘It was a government form, it means nothing.’
‘That’s not the point!’
‘Ellie, please can you —’
‘Stop saying please.’
‘I didn’t ask you to come here.’
He muttered the words under his breath, but they sliced through the air and pierced into me and suddenly I just wanted to sit down and cry. I stood there in the middle of the room, taking deep breaths to try to hold back the sobs, wondering if I should just pack my bags, get a hotel, book a flight to London.
‘Why can’t you find the onions?’
‘What?’
‘You said you can’t find onions.’
His voice was so sweet, so pleading, that I felt a flicker of a smile tug at me. ‘They’re in a separate section, around the corner from the other vegetables. Where I come from, they are smack dab in the middle of the vegetables.’
He reached out, brushed my fringe from my face and I took a deep, shaky breath.
‘That is where they should be.’
‘Yes it is.’
‘Well we will fix that. I will call the king tomorrow morning.’
I half laughed, half sobbed, and he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around me and I sank into him.
‘I don’t want you to be anywhere but here,’ he whispered into my hair.
‘He is behaving himself, right?’ Maddie asked again lightly, with a kind smile.
‘If someone was a cake virgin in this place, what should they order first?’ I blurted.
‘Oh the crazy caramel-marshmallow-brownie thing,’ Maddie said. ‘It’ll make your teeth fall right out your head, but you’ll be so happy you won’t care.’
I pushed my chair back and headed up to the counter.
‘Hey, I’m going to give you my number.’
Maddie was suddenly behind me. ‘It’s a head fuck, the whole settling in business,’ she said, her eyes searching mine. I nodded, taking the note she held out. ‘Especially when you’re one of us love refugees, you’re dealing with all the intense shit of suddenly moving in with someone after it being long distance, and you don’t even have your own mates around to let off steam to.’ She gestured towards the lively group around the table. ‘That’s what this little gang is about. Use us.’
5
It hadn’t taken me long to figure out that the island where Johan lived, Södermalm, was where the cool kids hung out. He was quite comically self conscious about it, swearing blind that he had lived there since long before the famous actors and vegans with funny hats moved in.
The day after I arrived, he’d taken the day off work and we’d gone for a massive walk so he could show me around. The whole place basically looked like the set of an art house film. The streets were wide and open, bordered by tenement-style blocks of flats in earthy tones of terracotta and mustard and olive, broken up by trees and well tended patches of grass. Pavement cafés were filled with ridiculously gorgeous people enjoying the sunshine, effortlessly stylish behind gigantic sunglasses. They were sipping crisp white wines, waving to friends who cycled by on gleaming black bikes with flowers and freshly baked bread in their baskets. It had struck me then that my days of nipping to the corner shop for a pint of milk in my well worn giraffe onsie were well over.
After wandering for hours, we’d ended up at the other end of Södermalm. We’d bought ice creams from a van and sat down in the grass next to a little beach, and I’d prayed that I wouldn’t end up with mine mostly all over my face as I normally did. I watched little kids splashing about in the water, kayakers paddling past, teenagers barbecuing on disposable grills, and Johan told me about the history of the island. His family have lived there forever, since it was known as kniv Söder because of all the knife gangs. Once upon a time Stockholmers from the main city were warned never to venture south of Slussen, the lock that connects Söder to the rest of the city.
‘The actress Greta Garbo lived just over there,’ Johan said, gesturing vaguely though some trees. ‘And every biography of her describes how she grew up in the slums of Stockholm. My father and grandfather worked in a button factory on Hornsgatan —’
I burst out laughing. He’d been painting a picture of urban deprivation and violence, then button factory made it sound so charming and picturesque, as though things might be tough but Tiny Tim would still save Christmas.
‘Yeah okay, but they were hard buttons,’ Johan grinned. ‘Tough buttons. Military buttons. In case we need to invade Russia.’ The idea of the Swedish army invading Russia with their ghetto buttons from knife-Söder had us both in stitches, and then we started snogging and some teenagers yelled at us to get a room.
Johan’s flat was just around the corner from the café, but I could never bloody remember the code to open the front door of the apartment building so stood on the doorstep for several minutes, staring at the keypad in frustration. He hadn’t got around to getting a key cut for me, so we passed his set between us, with whoever was most likely to get home first taking possession.
Just as I was about to admit defeat and text him, the door opened and I grabbed for it. Two people came out, a man and a woman, both in dark coloured suits. The woman was about my age, dark, with huge almond-shaped eyes that hinted at a Middle Eastern background and the man older, something of the fading rockstar about him. His suit was crumpled, and his dirty blond hair streaked liberally with grey.
I held the door open for them to pass, but it wasn’t until I had stepped into the lobby and w
as waiting for the creaky old concertina-doored lift that I clicked. They were detectives.
They’d come to the island that night, when Krister finally managed to get some service and dial 999 or whatever the Swedish equivalent was. I had given my statement to a younger officer in uniform, just a basic description of how I had come across the body, but the two plain clothed detectives had interviewed the others. I’d only been a few feet away when they talked to Johan. I’d tried to catch his eye over the woman’s shoulder, to send him a silent message of support, but he didn’t see me.
That would be it, I thought now, as the ancient lift cranked and grunted its way up to the top floor. He’d been tired and freaked out and frustrated at not being able to help. They were probably just following up to check some detail or other.
In the flat, Johan was was sitting slumped on the couch, staring in to space.
‘You okay?’ I asked, sitting on the couch next to him.
He glanced at me in surprise, as though just noticing I’d got home, even though I’d shouted to him as I kicked my shoes off.
‘Why would I not be okay?’ He turned properly to look at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
‘I just saw the police in the hallway.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Oh yes.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Johan, what did they want?’ My voice came out sharper than I intended.
‘Nothing,’ he said finally, with a shrug.
‘Just to check some details?’
He nodded. ‘About the last time we were at the cottage. Last summer.’
‘I don’t know why they’re bothering you with it, surely it could have washed up from anywhere. Can’t they tell by, I don’t know, the tides or something?’
He shrugged again. ‘I don’t know how they work.’
‘Yeah, well, I suppose they are just doing their jobs.’
‘I suppose they are.’
‘It’ll be nice when we can put it all behind us,’ I said, pulling his arm around me and snuggling into his chest. ‘I’m going to get my arse in gear tomorrow and start hustling contacts for some freelance gigs. I’ve been given a couple of names of British journalists based here to chat to, though apparently it’ll be a bit tricky until my number-thingy arrives —’
‘Personnnummer,’ he said quietly.
‘Right, yeah. But anyway, no reason not to make a start on introducing myself around anyway. I’ll rustle something up sooner or later, I always do.’
I felt him nod above my head. After a moment I realised he wasn’t going to say anything more, so I reached over him to grab the remote. We watched TV in silence for the rest of the evening.
6
He absolutely was not having an affair.
Then who do you think this woman was?
Somebody from his work, maybe? An old friend? A friend of his sister’s? She could be anyone. I have no idea.
It would be helpful if —
It would be helpful if you could trust the fact that I knew him better than anyone. I know it’s not fashionable any more, beleving in true love and soulmates and one being in two bodies. We’re all supposed to be so independent, so cold and practical about the person we share our lives with. Like choosing a partner for a science project at school. Who is the cleverest, who will do their fair share of the homework, what marks they got on their last three projects. Then we complain that there is no love, no wonder, no obsession. But it wasn’t like that for us. We were — we were more than that — He was not cheating.
You came to us to tell us about this woman.
Because maybe she knows something. Maybe she is the key to — if you could track her down, talk to her, get her to tell you —
Tell us what?
Tell you who killed him.
7
‘Of course I’m fine, it was just one of those mad things.’
I took a sip of my coffee and put the vintage tea cup back on the little table. I could feel my mum’s worry radiate silently from my phone. I was sitting at an outdoor table in front of a coffee shop near Johan’s flat. I’d ended up there most days since I’d arrived, eeking out a coffee as long as I could whilst people watching the beautiful people.
There was a gorgeous little square with a fountain opposite the coffee shop. Every other time I’d been here, the grass was liberally strewn with what looked like off-duty supermodels, reading and having picnics and blethering into phones. There was normally a succession of toddlers making kamikaze breaks for the fountain. Despite their skill at terrifying their parents, these were no ordinary toddlers. They wore tweed trousers with braces and flat caps, ghetto chic onsies in seventies prints, paisley gypsy dresses. Until I moved to Stockholm, I never thought I’d find myself thinking ooh I’d love that outfit, except for the nappy.
Today though, it was pouring. Proper cats and dogs, the rain a thick sheet bouncing off the pavement. I’d brought my coffee to my usual table outdoors under the canopy anyway. The streets were deserted and the window behind me steamed up, cutting me off from the bustling chatter of the coffee shop.
‘How can you be okay?’ Mum said I heard the tense note of fear in her voice and I bristled. ’A dead body! It must have been terrifying.’
‘It was more like a skeleton, to be honest,’ I said, just to be an arsehole.
I could hear the series of muffled thuds that signalled Mum was cleaning the kitchen. I could just picture her phone in the little sparkly holder she’d picked up at a discount shop on Lavender Hill, propped on the formica counter I’ve been on at her to update for years, as she dried dishes.
‘The police reckoned it was most likely a wild swimmer or ice skater,’ I added, though it occurred to me as I did that it hadn’t been the police who suggested that — Krister maybe? I had started to point out that wetsuits don’t decompose, certainly not so completely, then bit my tongue. What was the point? They were all in such shock. I remembered hearing Liv’s short, choked sobs and I wanted to tell her to try to breathe deeply, but I couldn’t quite get my mouth to form the words. ‘I suppose they’ll know more when they’ve done whatever tests they can do,’ I said to Mum. ‘It’s awful, though. Absolute tragedy.’
‘How horrible for you, love, when you’ve just arrived and everything.’
I heard a crash. She was either dumping dishes in the sink, or maybe putting plates back on the high shelf she can’t quite reach.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, a bit too shortly. ‘It was hardly my first crime scene. It wasn’t even necessarily a crime scene. It’s never exactly pleasant, but —’
‘You weren’t at work though, were you. It must have been a shock.’
‘I suppose,’ I muttered. I picked at the spicy cardamon bun I’d ordered but didn’t really have any appetite for. ‘I did have a bit of a wobble,’ I admitted reluctantly. ‘After I screamed and they all came running, we just stood there in a sort of huddle. Krister went off to find some mobile service to call the police, but none of the rest of us could move.’
That wasn’t entirely true. I’d not moved. I’d stood on the beach, exactly where I had been when I first saw it, and out of the corner of my eye I could see Johan, Liv and Mia huddled together behind me. The scraps of grey flesh that clung to the skeleton here and there weren’t the most appetising of sights; I supposed they hadn’t wanted to come any closer.
‘Anyway, Krister came back, and after a few minutes we heard the siren of the police speed boat approaching. My knees just gave way.’
‘You never were fond of boats,’ Mum said, and I grinned.
‘It was the oddest feeling. One minute standing up and the next — not.’
‘Must’ve been a bit romantic at least, collapsing into Johan’s arms?’
My chuckle caught in my throat and I was glad Mum couldn’t see my face. It absolutely wasn’t his fault. He had no way of knowing I was about to do a dying swan act, and Liv had just burst into tears. ‘It was actually one of his friends that caught me,’ I forced a grin. �
��Mia. Good thing the women are built to last here.’
‘Oh well that’s nice,’ said Mum, and I heard her close the cabinet doors. She’d start ironing next I predicted, and was rewarded with the squeak of the ironing board being opened. ‘You know what I always say, love, boys come and go but it’s your mates that catch you when you fall.’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe it’ll bond us.’
‘Mia, that’s Johan’s friend’s girlfriend, isn’t it? Is she nice?’
I thought of Mia wading into the sea to greet me, making an effort to talk to me long after Johan appeared to have forgotten I existed. ‘Yeah, she’s lovely. The other one’s a bit of a wet blanket, to be honest.’
‘She might shy.’
‘That’s not really an excuse for rudeness,’ I muttered.
‘No, of course not, it’s just —’ Mum hesitated, and I steeled myself. ‘You know you can always pop back any time,’ she said, her voice laced with hope. I was her only child and she’d nearly done her nut in when I’d wanted to go to university in Leeds once upon a time. In the end, I’d decided to stay in London anyway so I’d be available for work experience on the big national papers, but she’d not been any more subtle about her horror when I announced I was moving to Sweden to be with Johan.
Can’t he move here?
He’s got work.
You’ve got work.
I’m a journalist. I’m at work wherever my laptop is.
But how can you write for Swedish papers? You don’t speak Swedish.
Mum, there’s this thing called the internet —
I know, I just worry, love.
I know you do.
‘Listen, I’ve got to go. Johan will be waiting, he’s taking me to watch his team play football tonight.’
‘Oh you’ll enjoy that,’ Mum laughed, and the tension was broken. My aversion to football was well known. I’d even gone through a phase in my mid-twenties of announcing that forthwith I would exclusively shag rugby boys, but every one I’d met turned out to be a bit of a Hooray Henry which I couldn’t be doing with either.