The Drowning

by Camilla Lackberg

  Erik swore. He knew that he should have changed his mailing address so that the bills were sent to his office instead. He couldn’t deny that he was a generous man when it came to anyone who happened to have the joy and the honour of sleeping with him. He swore again and stuck his feet in his shoes. He realized that, in spite of everything, Louise had won this round. And she knew it.

  ‘I’m going out to buy the evening paper,’ he shouted, and then slammed the door after him.

  Gravel flew in all directions as he roared off in his BMW, and his pulse didn’t slow until he had almost reached the village. If only he’d been smart enough to demand a prenuptial agreement. Then Louise would be nothing more than a bad memory by this time. But back then, they had been poor students, and when he brought up the subject a few years ago, she had merely laughed in his face. Now he refused to let her get away with half of everything that he’d built up, what he’d fought and slaved for. Never! He pounded his fist on the steering wheel but calmed down as he turned into the car park of the Konsum supermarket.

  It was Louise’s job to do the grocery shopping, so he moved quickly past the shelves stocked with food items. As he headed towards the stand holding newspapers, which was right next to the checkout counters, he came to an abrupt halt in mid-stride. Big, black type on the placards screamed at him: Rising-star author Christian Thydell fears for his life! And in smaller type: Collapsed during book launch party after receiving threatening letter!

  Erik had to force his feet to go closer. It felt as if he were trying to walk through deep water. He picked up a copy of GT and with trembling fingers leafed through the paper until he found the right page. When he finished reading the article, he dashed for the exit. He hadn’t even paid for the paper, and from somewhere far away he heard the clerk shouting at him. But he kept on running. He had to get home.

  ‘How the hell did the newspapers find out about this?’

  Patrik and Maja had been out buying groceries, and now Patrik flung a copy of GT on the table before he went on putting food away in the refrigerator. Maja had climbed up on a kitchen chair and was eagerly helping him unload the shopping bags.

  ‘Er …’ was all Erica could say.

  Patrik stopped what he was doing. He knew his wife well enough to be able to decipher what her reticence signified.

  ‘What did you do, Erica?’ He was holding a tub of Lätt & Lagom margarine in his hand as he looked her in the eye.

  ‘I think it must have leaked out because of me.’

  ‘How did that happen? Who did you talk to?’

  Now even Maja was aware of the tension in the kitchen. She sat on the chair, staring at her mother. Erica gulped and then told him. ‘Gaby.’

  ‘Gaby!’ Patrik nearly choked. ‘You told Gaby? You might as well have rung up GT yourself.’

  ‘I didn’t think that –’

  ‘No, I’m quite certain you didn’t. What does Christian say about all this?’ asked Patrik, pointing at the blaring headlines.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Erica. She felt her insides tie themselves in knots whenever she thought about how Christian would react.

  ‘As a police officer, I have to tell you that this is the worst thing that could have happened. This kind of attention will not only incite the person who sent those letters, but new letter-writers as well.’

  ‘Don’t yell at me. I know it was a dumb thing to do.’ Erica could feel the tears rising. She cried easily even under normal circumstances, and all the raging hormones of her pregnancy didn’t make things any better. ‘I just wasn’t thinking. I phoned Gaby to find out whether they’d received any threatening letters at the publishing house, and I knew instantly that it was stupid to tell her anything about it. But by then it was too late.’

  Patrik handed Erica a tissue and then put his arms around her, stroking her hair. He whispered in her ear:

  ‘Don’t be upset, sweetheart. I’m sorry I yelled. I know that you didn’t mean for this to happen. Hush now …’ He rocked her in his arms until her sobs began to fade.

  ‘I never thought that she would …’

  ‘I know, I know. But she’s a different sort of person than you are. And you need to learn that not everybody thinks the same way.’ He held her at arm’s length and looked at her.

  Erica dried her eyes on the tissue he’d given her.

  ‘What should I do now?’

  ‘You need to talk to Christian. Apologize and explain.’

  ‘But I can’t …’

  ‘Don’t argue. It’s the only solution.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Erica. ‘But I have to say, I’m dreading it. And I’m going to have a serious talk with Gaby.’

  ‘Above all, you need to stop and think next time before you say anything, and consider who you’re talking to. Gaby’s top priority is her publishing company, and the rest of you come second. That’s just the way it is.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I know that. You don’t need to harp on it.’ Erica glared at her husband.

  ‘We’ll leave it at that, then,’ said Patrik, and he went back to putting away the groceries.

  ‘Have you had a chance to take a closer look at the letters?’

  ‘No, I haven’t had a spare moment,’ said Patrik.

  ‘But you’ll do it, won’t you?’ Erica persisted.

  Patrik nodded as he started cutting up vegetables for dinner.

  ‘Sure, of course I will. But it would be easier if Christian were cooperating. Then I could have a look at the other letters too.’

  ‘So talk to him about it. Maybe you can persuade him.’

  ‘Then he’ll realize that you’re the one who told me about it.’

  ‘And I’ve hung him out to dry in one of Sweden’s biggest newspapers, so you’d better watch out, because he’s probably still wishing that I’d go to hell.’

  ‘It won’t be that bad.’

  ‘If I were in his shoes, I’d never speak to me again.’

  ‘Stop being so dramatic and pessimistic,’ said Patrik, lifting Maja on to the counter so she could sit there and see what he was doing. She loved to watch him cook and always wanted to ‘help out’. ‘Go over to see him tomorrow and explain what happened. Tell him it was never your intention for things to get out like this. Then I’ll have a talk with him and try to get him to cooperate with us.’ He handed Maja a slice of cucumber, which she instantly started gnawing on, using the few but very sharp teeth she had.

  ‘Tomorrow? Okay,’ sighed Erica.

  ‘Yes, tomorrow,’ said Patrik, bending down to give his wife a kiss on the lips.

  Ludvig found himself constantly casting glances at the side of the football pitch. It just wasn’t the same without his father.

  He had been to every practice session, no matter what the weather. Football was their thing. It was the reason their friendship had lasted, in spite of Ludvig’s determination to break free of his parents. Because they had actually been friends, he and his father. Of course they’d quarrelled now and then, just like all fathers and sons. But in spite of it, they had still remained friends.

  Ludvig closed his eyes, picturing his father in his mind. Wearing jeans and a woollen sweater with ‘Fjällbacka’ across the chest. It was the sweater he’d worn so often, to his wife’s regret. His hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes fixed on the ball. And on Ludvig. But he never yelled at his son – not like the other fathers who turned up at practice and football matches, spending their time screaming from the sidelines. ‘You better bloody well pull yourself together, Oscar!’ or ‘Damn it, get moving, Danne!’ Nothing like that. Not from his father. All he ever said was: ‘Good, Ludvig!’ ‘Great pass!’ ‘You show them, Ludde!’

  Out of the corner of his eye Ludvig saw that the ball was about to be passed to him, and he automatically kicked it onward. He no longer took any joy in playing football. But he still did his best, running hard and fighting to win in spite of the winter chill. He could have easily thrown in the towel and given up. Stayed away fr
om practice, saying to hell with it and the whole team. No one would have blamed him; everyone would have understood. Except his father. Giving up had never been an option for him.

  So here Ludvig was. One of the team. But all his joy was missing, and the sideline was empty. His father was gone. He knew that now. Father was gone.

  6

  He wasn’t allowed to ride in the caravan. And that was only the first of many disappointments during the so-called holiday. Nothing turned out the way he had hoped. The silence, broken only by harsh words, seemed even more oppressive when it didn’t have a whole house to move around in. Being on holiday felt like having more time for quarrels, more time for Mother’s outbursts. And Father seemed even smaller and greyer.

  This was the first time he went along, but as he understood it, every year Mother and Father would take the caravan to the place with the peculiar name. Fjällbacka. The name meant ‘Mountain Hill’ in Swedish, but he saw no mountains and only a few hills. The ground was completely flat in the camping area where they parked the caravan, squeezed in among scores of other campers. He wasn’t sure that he liked it. But Father had explained that Mother’s family was from the area, and that was why she wanted to go there.

  But that was strange too, because he didn’t meet any relatives. During one of the arguments inside the cramped space of the caravan, he finally understood that someone called the Old Bitch lived here, and that she was what his mother meant by ‘family’. What a funny name that was. The Old Bitch. But it didn’t sound as if his mother cared much for her, because her voice got even harsher when she talked about the woman, and they never did see her. So why did they have to come to this place at all?

  Yet what he hated most about Fjällbacka and being on holiday was having to go swimming. He’d never swum in the sea before. At first he wasn’t sure what to think. But his mother admonished him. Said she refused to have a wimp for a son, and she told him to stop whining. So he took a deep breath and timidly waded into the frigid water, even though the feeling of cold and salt on his legs made him gasp for air. When the water reached up to his waist, he stopped. It was too cold, he couldn’t breathe. And he could feel something moving around his feet, touching the calves of his legs, something creeping and crawling over him. Mother waded out to him from shore, laughing, and then took his hand to lead him further out. All of a sudden he felt happy. She was holding his hand, and her laughter bounced off the surface of the water and off of him too. His feet now seemed to move of their own accord, as if they left the sandy bottom and were floating. At last he couldn’t feel anything solid under his feet, but that didn’t matter, because Mother had hold of him, she was carrying him, she loved him.

  Then she let go. He felt the palm of her hand slide over his, then her fingers slipped past his fingertips until not only his feet but his hands were fumbling with nothingness. Again he felt the cold pressing against his chest, and the water seemed to rise up. It reached his shoulders, his neck, and he raised his chin to prevent the water from reaching his mouth, but it rose too fast, and he couldn’t stop it. His mouth filled with salt and cold, which raced down his throat, and the water kept rising – over his cheeks, his eyes, and he felt the water close like a lid over his head, until all sound vanished and the only thing he heard was the roar of what was crawling and creeping.

  He flailed his arms, lashing out at whatever it was that wanted to pull him downward. But he was no match for the massive wave of water, and when he finally felt someone’s skin against his own, a hand on his arm, his first instinct was to defend himself. Then he was yanked upward, and the top of his head surfaced. The first breath was brutal and painful, then he greedily gasped for air. Mother had a tight grip on his arm, but that didn’t matter. Because the water was no longer trying to get him.

  He looked up at her, grateful that she had rescued him, that she hadn’t let him disappear. But what he saw in her eyes was contempt. Somehow he’d done something wrong, he had disappointed her again. If only he knew why.

  He had black and blue marks on his arm for days afterward.

  ‘Did you really have to drag me over here today?’ It was rare for Kenneth to let his annoyance show. He believed in staying calm and focused in every situation. But Lisbet had looked so sad when he told her that Erik had phoned and he’d have to go over to the office for a couple of hours even though it was Sunday. She hadn’t complained, and in a sense, that just made it worse. She knew how few hours they had left together. How important they were, how precious. And yet she offered no objections. Instead, he saw how she summoned the strength to be able to smile and say: ‘Of course you have to go. I’ll be fine.’

  He almost wished that she had got angry and screamed at him. Told him that it was about time for him to get his priorities straight. But she didn’t have it in her to do anything like that. He couldn’t recall a single occasion in their twenty-year marriage when she had raised her voice to him. Or to anyone else, for that matter. She had accepted all setbacks and sorrows with equanimity, and she’d even comforted him when he was the one to break down. Whenever he lacked the energy to carry on, she had mustered enough strength for both of them.

  Now he’d left her at home because he needed to go to work. He was going to waste a few precious hours they could have spent together, and he hated himself because he always came running whenever Erik snapped his fingers. He couldn’t understand why. It was a pattern that had been established so early on that by now it was practically part of his personality. And Lisbet was always the one who had to suffer for it.

  Erik didn’t even bother to answer his question. He just kept staring at the computer screen, as if he were in another world.

  ‘Was it really necessary for me to come in today?’ Kenneth repeated. ‘On a Sunday? Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?’

  Erik slowly turned to face Kenneth.

  ‘I have the utmost respect for your personal situation,’ he said at last. ‘But if we don’t take care of all the arrangements before the bidding this week, we might as well pack up the whole company. We all have to make sacrifices.’

  Kenneth silently wondered what sort of sacrifices Erik ever made. And nothing was as dire as Erik was predicting. He could have easily put together the documents on Monday. His claim that the company was on the verge of ruin was pure exaggeration. Most likely Erik merely needed a pretext to get out of the house. But why had he felt compelled to drag Kenneth over here too? The answer was obvious: because he could.

  Then they each returned to their respective tasks and worked in silence for a while. The office consisted of one large room, so there was no possibility of closing a door for some privacy. Kenneth cast a surreptitious glance at Erik. There was something different about him. It was hard to pinpoint, but Erik looked somehow less distinct, more worn out. His hair was not as perfectly combed as usual, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled. No, he was not himself today. Kenneth considered asking him if everything was okay at home, but he restrained himself. Instead he said as calmly as he could:

  ‘Did you see the news about Christian yesterday?’

  Erik gave a start. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How terrible. To be threatened like that by some nutcase,’ said Kenneth, his tone of voice casual, almost easygoing. But his heart was pounding hard.

  ‘Hmm …’ Erik kept his eyes on the computer screen. But he didn’t touch the keyboard or the mouse.

  ‘Did Christian mention anything about that to you?’ It was like trying to make himself stop picking at a scab. He didn’t want to talk about this topic, and Erik clearly didn’t want to discuss it either. Yet Kenneth couldn’t stop himself. ‘Did he?’

  ‘No, he never told me about any sort of threats,’ said Erik, beginning to sort through the documents on his desk. ‘But he’s been really preoccupied with his book, so we haven’t seen much of each other lately. And I suppose most people would prefer to keep something like that to themselves.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he talk to the police about it?’
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  ‘How do you know that Christian hasn’t already done that?’ Erik continued aimlessly riffling through the piles of documents.

  ‘True. That’s very true …’ Kenneth subsided into silence for a moment. ‘But what could the police do if the letters were anonymous? I mean, they could have come from any lunatic.’

  ‘How would I know?’ said Erik, swearing as he got a paper cut. ‘Shit!’ He sucked on the injured finger.

  ‘Do you think the threats are serious?’

  Erik sighed. ‘Why do we have to speculate about all this? I told you, I have no idea.’ His voice rose slightly, quavering on the last words. Kenneth looked at him in surprise. Erik really was not himself. Did it have something to do with the company?

  Kenneth had never trusted Erik. Had he done something stupid? He instantly dismissed the idea. He was much too familiar with the firm’s accounts; he would have noticed if Erik had decided to make any crazy moves financially. It was probably something to do with Louise. It was a mystery how those two had managed to stay together for so long. Everyone except Erik and Louise could see that the couple would do themselves a big favour if they said goodbye and went their separate ways. But it wasn’t Kenneth’s place to point this out. He had enough worries of his own.

  ‘I was just wondering,’ said Kenneth.

  He clicked open the Excel file with the latest monthly statements. But his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

  The dress still smelled of her. Christian pressed it to his nose, inhaling the microscopic traces of her perfume that were embedded in the fabric. Whenever he fell asleep with the scent in his nostrils, he could picture her quite clearly in his mind. The dark hair that reached to her waist and which she usually wore in a plait or gathered in a bun at the back of her neck. It could have looked old-fashioned or even spinsterish, but not on her.