Lifetime

by Liza Marklund

  She laughed as she thought about it. She’d missed Anne. She passed an articulated lorry from Estonia and the car flew along the road. The landscape drifted past without her really noticing it – she’d seen it all her life, grown up in it. The flat brown fields around Mariefred and Åkers styckebruk, the water of Sörfjärden shimmering dully to the right as she passed Härad, then the forests as she approached Eskilstuna.

  She glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard: one minute to ten.

  Ellen would be back at nursery now, and Kalle would be having his first break at school.

  She turned on the radio to hear the news. The lead item brought her out in a sweat.

  ‘The parliamentary inquiry into prison sentences and the abolition of life sentencing is being shut down because the directives were impossible to follow, the Ministry of Justice has announced in a press release this morning. This means that life sentences will remain part of the judicial system in Sweden for the foreseeable future. This has provoked harsh criticism from the opposition …’

  No reference to the Evening Post, and no mention of what would happen to the people working on the project.

  She turned the radio off and the silence that followed was deafening. The rumble of the wheels on the tarmac echoed through the car, forming new words in the voice of the newsreader. She leaned over and turned the radio on again, twiddling the dial towards the end of the FM frequency. Mix Megapol had a strong signal around Eskilstuna on 107.3, and she found herself in the middle of a relentless series of adverts that ended with a cheery jingle declaring that the station mixed today’s hits with the best of yesterday’s. She turned up the volume to block out all the voices and thoughts – Anders Schyman, Anne Snapphane, the newsreader, Nina Hoffman and Sophia Fucking Bitch Grenborg …

  She turned off towards Kungsör to find fuel. It made sense to fill up. She indicated and turned off into a service station on Kungsgatan. She filled the tank with diesel and went in to pay. Then she went into the Ladies only to discover there was no toilet paper. With a groan she grabbed her bag to get out some tissues. As she rooted around in it her hand touched something soft and silky.

  The lacy push-up bra from Sophia Grenborg’s wardrobe.

  She put the garment in the washbasin, washed her hands, then sat down on the toilet seat again with it in her hands. The price tag was still attached. It had been bought in Paris: 169 euros.

  She remembered the photograph of the Eiffel Tower, and the children on the veranda on the island in the archipelago, Gällnö. Her chest felt tight and she could feel her anger boiling inside her. She pulled the penknife from her bag. The Evening Post – sharp and to the point. She cut Sophia Grenborg’s luxury bra to shreds, thin at first, then coarser and messier, until it was nothing but tattered fragments. She felt like crying but clenched her teeth, pulled out some more tissues, wetted them under the tap, wrapped them round the fragments of lace and flushed them away.

  There. Gone for ever, and good fucking riddance.

  She tried to feel pleased, put the penknife back into her bag and went out to the car. She headed off towards Arboga. She had to slow down as she ended up behind a recovery truck that was trundling along at sixty, almost driving her mad. Finally she overtook it and turned on to the E18 towards Örebro.

  What am I going to do if she’s there? What am I going to do if she’s standing there with Alexander?

  She wouldn’t do anything at all, she decided. She’d just take a look, then leave and call the police if she had to.

  Happy with her decision, she cruised through Örebro and eventually found the turning towards Garphyttan. The road became narrow and twisting again, in some places slippery with frost. The thermometer inside the car was hovering around zero and she drove very slowly.

  When she got to Garphyttan she turned right at a Co-op supermarket, following the road past detached houses on the right and thick forest on the left. She passed a recreation ground, with a football pitch and a running track, and then she was out in the countryside again.

  It started to snow, big, hesitant flakes that swirled in the air, unable to decide where to land. The forest was getting denser and darker. She turned on the radio for a bit of company but the only station she could get was P1, where a serious man was reading something literary about brown envelopes that were dissolving in damp and mould. She switched it off again.

  I’ll have to put up with silence. I’ve got to learn how to live with myself.

  The landscape opened up and she drove past some farms in a village called Nytorp, then turned left and found herself on roads that reminded her of the forest tracks around Hälleforsnäs.

  After a kilometre or so she reached a junction where she had the choice of going right or left. She pulled the map from her bag and peered at her directions. She had to turn right here, then left almost at once and follow the road until it stopped.

  She tried to shrug off Anders Schyman’s reaction when he had handed the piece of paper back to her.

  She drove down the winding road for almost twenty minutes, passing a few cleared patches of woodland, without seeing a single person or a single house.

  You like your peace and quiet, don’t you, Yvonne?

  Finally she reached a turning circle that she had seen on the satellite picture, pulled to a stop and let out a gasp.

  A huge 4x4 was parked next to a barrier at the far end of the circle. She looked at the licence-plate: TKG 298.

  That’s her car, the Toyota Land Cruiser. She’s here! I knew it!

  Annika pulled up beside the SUV and turned the engine off, opened the car door and got out, her heart pounding. She went quickly to the Toyota and peered in through the windows. No child seats. No toys. No sweet papers on the floor as far as she could see.

  In the back of the vehicle a piece of grey fabric had been pulled across to conceal whatever was in there. She’d had something similar in her SUV before it went up in flames.

  She looked around, trying to get her bearings. Yvonne Nordin’s cottage should be a few hundred metres north of there.

  She must have heard the car approaching. There’s no point in trying to creep up on her.

  She zipped up her jacket, hoisted her bag on to her shoulder and dodged under the barrier.

  The forest was thick and dark, pressing in on her from both sides of the path. Annika tried to think of it as unthreatening, noting that it was mainly fir trees with a few birches. The moss was as thick and untouched as the carpet in the entrance hall of Sophia Grenborg’s apartment block. The treetops stretched up towards the steely grey sky. It had stopped snowing, but she could still smell snow in the air. In the hollows and behind rocks lay the remnants of earlier snowfall.

  The frozen mud crunched under her boots, even though she was trying to tread softly.

  A stream was burbling somewhere nearby and she peered through the trees but couldn’t see any water. Did she dare leave the path? Would she ever find it again? She had a terrible sense of direction: she could never find anything without a map.

  She decided to hang her bag on a branch beside the path as a marker. Then she stepped into the trees.

  If Alexander is here, he’d love playing by the stream. He’s probably built a dam where he can sail his boats.

  A minute or so later she found the water. It was trickling between the rocks and little chunks of ice, a constant, harmonious burble unimpeded by any dams or toy boats. She suppressed a sense of disappointment. She followed the water both up and downstream for a bit, but there were no signs of human activity.

  She found her way back to the gravel track, and a short while later she glimpsed a red façade through the trees. She slowed, finally coming to a halt behind a large fir tree. It was an old cottage, with windows on either side of the door and a double chimney. Smoke was coming out of one chimney and there were lights on in two of the windows, which had open, white-painted shutters. There was a large satellite dish on the roof. To the left of the house was an outbuilding,
which she had taken to be a barn on the satellite image. Now she could see it was more like a storeroom. Perhaps it had been a hen-house or workshop once upon a time. The little forest track ran past the house and disappeared off to the right. It was completely silent around her. Even the wind and the trees were holding their breath.

  Then she focused her attention and looked to see if there were any signs of a child’s presence. A sandpit, a bike, a plastic spade, anything at all. She took a couple of steps out from behind the tree, and at that moment a woman emerged from the outhouse with a couple of large suitcases. She caught sight of Annika, stopped and put the suitcases down.

  Annika’s first instinct was to run.

  She’s going to chop me up. She’ll hit me over the head and then cut off my hands.

  ‘Hello!’ the woman said cheerily. ‘Are you lost?’

  Annika gulped and stepped forward. ‘I’m afraid I must be,’ she said, walking up to the woman and holding out her hand. ‘My name’s Annika.’

  ‘Yvonne Nordin,’ the woman said, with a smile. She looked slightly surprised but not remotely worried. ‘Can I help you at all?’

  She was the woman from the passport photograph, no doubt about it. Average height, short, ash-blonde hair under a crocheted cap, warm and rather sad eyes.

  ‘I’m trying to find the quarry,’ Annika said. ‘The Lybacka Pits – they’re supposed to be somewhere round here, aren’t they? Is this the right way?’

  The woman laughed. ‘You’re not the first person to get that wrong,’ she said. ‘That little track is completely impossible to find. I’ve told the people in charge of the project that they have to improve their signage, but it’s like everything else. If you want anything doing, you have to do it yourself.’

  Annika couldn’t help laughing. ‘So I’ve driven too far?’

  ‘About four hundred metres. There’s a little red-painted post on the right, and the turning’s immediately after that.’

  ‘Thanks very much,’ Annika said, glancing around, unwilling to leave just yet. ‘You’ve got a nice place here,’ she said.

  Yvonne Nordin took a deep breath and closed her eyes in contentment. ‘I think it’s fantastic,’ she said. ‘I’ve only had it for a year, but I really love living here. When you’re in my profession you can work pretty much anywhere these days. It’s a great privilege.’

  Annika saw the opening and grabbed it. ‘How exciting,’ she said. ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I’m a consultant,’ she said. ‘I run a company that deals with investment and management. I have to spend a lot of time physically at the companies that employ me, like a sort of standin MD, but as soon as I get the chance I come out here to recharge my batteries.’

  ‘Doesn’t it get lonely?’ The question slipped out before she could stop it, and it sounded far too sharp.

  Yvonne Nordin looked at her in surprise, then nodded. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘sometimes.’ She smiled rather sadly. ‘My partner died last year, on Christmas Eve, actually. I haven’t got over it yet. The forest gives me some sort of solace. I don’t think I could have got through the past year without this place.’

  Annika felt shame rising in her chest, and couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘I’d ask you in for coffee,’ Yvonne said, ‘but I was just about to set off.’

  ‘Duty calls?’ Annika managed, looking at the suitcases.

  The woman chuckled. ‘Isn’t it silly that we always pack so much? All I really need are passports and tickets.’

  Annika hoisted her bag on to her shoulder and fought to suppress the burning sense of guilt inside her. ‘Have a good trip,’ she said, ‘and thanks for your help.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ Yvonne Nordin said. ‘Look in again some time.’

  Annika went back along the gravel track, past the point where she had gone into the forest to find the stream, ducked under the barrier and reached the car.

  It was incredibly cold now, and snow was falling again. She got into the Volvo, turned on the engine and the heater. She screwed her eyes shut and folded her arms over the steering-wheel.

  How embarrassing.

  She closed her eyes even tighter and the guilt rose into her throat, almost making her feel sick.

  Thank God I didn’t make even more of a fool of myself. Imagine, if I’d actually said anything …

  She could hear Anders Schyman’s words echoing in her head.

  Don’t start harassing innocent people, Annika. Think before you do anything.

  She swallowed hard, shame throbbing inside her.

  Sorry for being such a naïve fool. Sorry for stealing and wrecking and sabotaging things.

  All of a sudden she started to cry, the tears stinging her cheeks.

  Stop being so pathetic. You’ve got no reason to feel sorry for yourself.

  She shook herself, wiped the tears on her sleeve and put the car into gear. She headed back along the winding track and, after a few hundred metres, passed the red post that Yvonne Nordin had mentioned.

  I’ve got to get a grip on myself. I can’t go on like this.

  She drove on through the countryside. There was snow in the air and her stomach was rumbling. She hadn’t eaten anything since the roll at a quarter to eight that morning.

  She found a restaurant in Garphyttan and ordered the set lunch. It turned out to be a pizza and a soft drink.

  Annika got a bottle of mineral water and sat down at one of the window tables.

  There was a large factory opposite, Haldex Garphyttan AB, and she looked out at its car park.

  So many cars. So many people who own those cars, washing them and getting them serviced, living their lives in Garphyttan without me having the faintest clue about it …

  She was on the point of bursting into tears again, but pulled herself together.

  I should follow Anne’s example. I ought to ask for forgiveness.

  Without thinking, she pulled out her mobile and saw that she had one missed call. Number withheld, so it was probably the paper.

  She gathered her thoughts, then dialled a number she hadn’t thought about for six months, a number she had dialled at least twice a day before then, but had since tried to erase from her memory.

  ‘Hello, this is Anne Snapphane …’

  ‘Hello,’ Annika said. ‘It’s me.’

  A short silence.

  ‘Hello, Annika. It’s good to hear from you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Annika said. ‘I’ve been behaving like an idiot too.’

  Anne put the phone down and said, ‘Can I call you back?’ into another receiver, then was on the line again. ‘You don’t have to say you’re sorry,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve got so many people I need to apologize to,’ Annika said. ‘I crash on like a steamroller without thinking about anyone but myself. Thomas is right. I shape my view of the world so that it fits me and my own criteria. And I completely ignore everything else.’

  ‘You give a damn,’ Anne said, ‘and sometimes you go just a bit too far.’

  Annika laughed, a small, joyless sound. ‘That’s probably the understatement of the day. I exploit people, I steal and I lie. I refuse to admit when I’m wrong.’

  ‘Everyone gets things wrong,’ Anne said. ‘Everyone makes mistakes. You’re not the only person on the planet who does that. And that’s a good thing to try to remember.’

  ‘I know,’ Annika whispered, looking at the pizza oven. A flour-dusted cook with a beer-belly and bright red hair was sprinkling oregano over her Capricciosa.

  ‘Where are you?’

  She laughed again. ‘In a pizzeria in Garphyttan. My lunch is on its way.’

  ‘Where the hell is Garphyttan?’

  ‘You don’t want to know, and you don’t want to know what it looks like.’

  ‘Don’t say any more. Textured wallpaper, flouncy, flowery curtains that are all shiny on one side.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘What are you doing there?’

  ‘Mak
ing a fool of myself, as usual. Could you bear to hear about it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The pizza arrived in front of her, she mimed, ‘Thank you,’ to the red-haired cook, who evidently doubled as waiter.

  ‘I behaved like a real cow towards Thomas. I’ve sabotaged his work and I went through the wardrobes in his new home, really mean.’

  ‘Really mean,’ Anne agreed. ‘And really nasty.’

  ‘And I’ve been poking about in the background of a murdered police officer, and I’ve been absolutely convinced that there’s evidence, patterns that no one else has noticed. I’ve been assuming I was better and smarter than everyone else.’

  ‘You do have a tendency to think the world is full of idiots,’ Anne said. ‘That’s just part of who you are.’

  Annika sighed and rolled the pizza into a long sausage, then picked up one end and took a bite. Fat ran out of the other end, making a little trickle that spread across the tablecloth. ‘I know,’ she said, with her mouth full. ‘I’ve done so many stupid things. I’ve made a fool of myself in front of my boss, and a police officer called Nina, but I’ll just have to live with that.’

  Not to mention what I’ve done to Thomas.

  ‘Schyman must have seen most of your bad sides before now,’ Anne said.

  ‘Now he thinks I’m starting to go mad as well, but that doesn’t really matter. I’m just sullen and stubborn, and I always have to be proved right.’

  ‘But at least you’re starting to get a bit of self-awareness,’ Anne said. ‘That should make life easier for you.’

  Annika swallowed the mouthful of pizza. ‘I’ve been very unfair to you,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, well,’ Anne said. ‘I’ll survive. I’m just happy you’re prepared to get a grip on yourself and your life. Maybe you should go and talk to someone. What do you think?’