The Gilded Cage

by Camilla Lackberg

  Just like last time, she would start exercising straight after the delivery, but she would also follow a strict diet once she’d stopped breastfeeding. She wouldn’t let herself be sucked into the baby-bubble, and would prioritize Jack and their marriage instead. Their son would be a fresh start, for their relationship and for her as a woman and a wife.

  She helped herself to another portion and carried the dish to the table.

  An hour later the door opened and Faye felt anticipation fluttering in her stomach. She called out to Jack and he looked into the kitchen. Faye stood up and walked towards him. Soon that little worry-line between his eyes would be gone.

  ‘I’ve got some wonderful news to tell you, darling,’ she said. ‘Come and sit down.’

  Jack sighed. ‘I’m tired, can’t it wait until …’

  ‘No, come along.’

  Faye couldn’t wait.

  Jack raised his eyebrows but sat down at the kitchen table. She knew he’d be happy when she told him, and ignored the harassed look on his face.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  Faye smiled at him.

  ‘I’m pregnant, darling. We’re going to have another child.’

  His expression didn’t change.

  ‘It could be a boy,’ she said. ‘You’ve always wanted to have a son as well.’

  Faye stroked her stomach and smiled again. He had always loved her smile, said it was infectious. But now he just rubbed his face wearily with his hand.

  ‘What is it?’ Faye said.

  The lump in her throat was back.

  ‘Now isn’t a good time, Faye. I don’t want another child.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  What was it with him? Why wasn’t he happy?

  ‘I just think that Julienne is enough.’

  ‘But …’

  Her voice was barely audible. She didn’t recognize the look in Jack’s eyes.

  ‘It’s not appropriate. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to … well, you know …’

  Faye shook her head.

  ‘You want … you want me to have an abortion?’

  Jack nodded. ‘Yes, I know it’s a nuisance, but it simply isn’t appropriate.’

  She wanted to throw herself at him. Shake him. But she knew it was her fault. She had caught him by surprise, she needed to let it sink in.

  Jack stood up.

  ‘OK?’ he said.

  Faye swallowed the lump. He fought so hard for her and Julienne. Did she really have any right to demand more?

  ‘Yes, I understand,’ she said.

  Jack’s face softened. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ he said.

  On the way to the bedroom he stopped and turned round.

  ‘I’ll call my doctor tomorrow so we can get it done as soon as possible.’

  The bedroom door closed and Faye leapt to her feet. She hurried into the bathroom and yanked the toilet-lid up. The spaghetti and meat sauce came back up, the taste of tomatoes mingling with the bitter taste of bile. She flushed it away, then rested her head on the cold porcelain and let the tears come.

  Stockholm/Barcelona, September 2001

  I had been sleeping like a log for more than twenty-four hours when I was woken by the shrill sound of the phone. It was Axel. When I heard his broken voice tell me what had happened, that Viktor had died in a fire started by a cigarette in bed, the tears came. I sobbed so hard that my whole body shook.

  I had been forced to do what I had done, there hadn’t been any choice, but the price was high. The price was always high.

  After the call I lay in bed with my knees pulled up to my chest. I concentrated on breathing. In, out.

  Viktor’s words were still ringing in my ears. ‘I know who you are. The question is, does he know …’ Viktor would never have been able to keep quiet. If he had lived, Faye would have had to die.

  A few days later large raindrops started to fall outside the window. It was liberating. The rain washed away the stifling heat that had been draped over Stockholm like a blanket of humidity.

  Chris had gone away. Her parents had invited them to their apartment in Mallorca and I was on my own in Stockholm again. When I sent her a short text to tell her about Viktor she offered to come home, but I assured her I was OK.

  I buried myself in micro-economics, macro-economics, statistics and financial analysis. College was the only thing that mattered. Succeeding, being the best. It was all down to me, no one else could do the work for me. And I had made up my mind. I was going to create a whole new life for myself. Run a business, travel business-class, earn more money than I needed, have a handsome husband (Jack), nice, well-behaved children; I’d own houses and apartments in interesting places I’d read about and seen in films. I wanted it all. I was going to have it all.

  My phone, charging beside the bed, rang. Probably Chris, calling to update me on her exploits in Spain. I lay on the bed and checked the screen before I pressed answer. It was a number my phone didn’t recognize.

  ‘Yes, hello?’

  ‘Hi!’

  ‘Who is this?’ I said, although I recognized the voice at once.

  ‘It’s Jack. Jack Adelheim.’

  I closed my eyes. Didn’t want to sound too keen.

  ‘Oh, hi …’ I said hesitantly.

  ‘Am I disturbing you?’

  He sounded excited. Happy. I could hear music in the background.

  ‘Not at all. What’s on your mind?’

  I was making an effort to sound nonchalant, and rolled onto my back.

  ‘I was thinking of asking if you’d like to go somewhere. Tonight. I need to get away from Henrik.’

  ‘Sure. Which bar do you want to meet at?’

  ‘Bar? No, I mean go away somewhere.’

  I laughed. He was crazy.

  ‘Go away somewhere?’

  ‘Yes, for a couple of days. We’ll be back on Sunday. Pack a few clothes and meet me at Central Station, and we’ll go to Barcelona.’

  ‘OK.’ I realized I was holding my breath.

  ‘You want to come?’ he said in surprise.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘See you in thirty minutes, then.’

  I hung up without fully understanding what I had agreed to. Then I leapt out of bed and started to pack.

  We were drunk by the time we landed. We’d started to drink at Arlanda, and continued with cocktails the whole way across Europe. We had to wait a while in the queue for a taxi but got one eventually. I was giggly and a bit unsteady on my feet, and very conscious of the blood rushing through every vein, every capillary in my body.

  ‘Hotel Catalonia, por favor,’ Jack said once we were in the back seat. ‘Está en el Born, lo conoce usted?’

  The car started with a jerk and I felt Jack’s hand on my thigh, burning my skin.

  ‘I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.’

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ Jack said with a wink.

  He moved his hand further up my thigh and all my blood rushed to my crotch.

  ‘What sort of hotel is it?’

  ‘You won’t be disappointed.’

  I smiled and turned my head away. How could I ever be disappointed in Jack?

  The dark September night was hot and humid. People in summer attire strolled the streets in search of somewhere cool, dinner, company. I wound the window down and enjoyed the air on my face. I needed to cool off.

  I had never been further from Sweden than Denmark, where I had once been on a motoring holiday with my family. A holiday that had been abruptly cut short. But I didn’t want to think about that now. I let the wind in my face blow away all the memories and told myself that I could replace them with new ones. Every cell in our body gets renewed, replaced. The same ought to be true of memories.

  ‘I love this city. You’ll see, it’s easier to breathe here,’ Jack said, closing his eyes.

  His long, dark eyelashes looked like little fans against his cheeks.
>
  ‘You’ve been here before?’

  He opened his eyes and looked at me, the glimmer of the streetlights and neon signs reflected in their deep blue.

  ‘Twice.’

  I wanted to ask if those had been the same sort of trip. If he had sat in other taxis, with unspoken promises and hands on other women’s thighs. Perhaps this was Jack Adelheim’s standard manoeuvre? Maybe he was following his usual seduction tactics? But it didn’t matter. Three days in this city together with Jack was far too tempting a prospect for me to waste it on pointless jealousy and unnecessary thinking. I was here now. With Jack’s hand on my thigh.

  We turned off onto one of the avenues, stopped at a red light, then drove into a very picturesque part of the city. The alleys grew narrower. Cobblestones kissed the rubber tyres. We waited for an oncoming car to pass. My armpits were sweaty, but I closed my eyes and let myself be seduced by the sounds. Laughter, the clatter of cutlery, intense conversation, music. Bars everywhere, restaurants, cafés. The sweet smell of hash.

  I wanted to take Jack’s hand, squeeze it, look into his eyes and tell him how wonderful he was, how happy I was to be here. But I had made up my mind not to take the initiative. Not to force anything.

  ‘Here it is,’ Jack said.

  A white façade, glass doors. Above them a sign with the hotel’s name in large letters, Hotel Catalonia Born. A young porter hurried over, skirted round the car and opened the door for me.

  ‘Gracias,’ I said, and smiled. I already missed the heat of Jack’s hand as I got out of the car.

  ‘You’re a fast learner,’ Jack called as he paid the driver.

  The porter took our bags, we walked in and Jack started to speak to the receptionist in his rough Spanish. He switched to English when the communication gap grew too big. We filled in some forms and handed over our passports. A photocopier rumbled, then we got them back.

  ‘All sorted,’ Jack said.

  The receptionist called the waiting porter over and we followed him into the lift that carried us up to the fifth floor. When I walked into the room it turned out that Jack had booked a whole suite. I’d never seen anything like it.

  ‘This is amazing,’ I said, all my intentions to appear worldly blown away. ‘God, I could fit my flat in here ten times over!’

  There was a group of sofas in the middle of the large room, in front of a flat-screen TV. Next to it was a well-stocked drinks trolley. The external wall had been replaced by huge panoramic windows with a view that stretched for miles.

  I pulled back the thick curtains covering the door to the terrace, opened it and stepped out. The city twinkled below. Sounds and smells drifted up to me. The heat felt as soft as velvet. Guitar-music was coming from a nearby flat. The sea lay dark and endless beyond the shoreline it was embracing.

  ‘What do you think?’ Jack asked.

  He stopped behind me, put his arms round me and rested his head on my shoulder. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I replied, spinning round and looking into his eyes. I felt like throwing myself at him, kissing him, tearing our clothes off, straddling him and feeling him inside me.

  ‘I know the hotel’s owner,’ Jack said.

  ‘Swedish?’

  ‘Yes. We’re staying here free of charge.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘I never joke about money,’ Jack said. ‘Shall we head out and get something to eat?’

  We turned left outside the hotel. My heels caught in the cobbles and I stumbled slightly. Jack caught me by one arm. Before we left the room I had touched up my make-up, changed my underwear and put on a black skirt. I felt beautiful. And I didn’t need to worry about whether or not Jack wanted me. He kept looking at me hungrily. Part of me would have liked to suggest not bothering with food and staying in the hotel room to fuck ourselves silly. But I was too curious to see the city.

  There were clusters of people standing around the street corners. Hoarse laughter echoed through the alleys. A dark-eyed man in a football shirt came up to us.

  ‘Hashish?’

  Jack haggled over the price. The man gesticulated. The deal was soon concluded, Jack handed over a few notes and received a small parcel in return. He unwrapped it and took out a brown lump.

  ‘Smell.’

  I closed my eyes and breathed in the sweet smell. I’d never tried it before. Not hash, in fact nothing stronger than cigarettes and alcohol. But here in Barcelona, with Jack, it felt entirely natural. Jack was a drug, a drug that made me want to try all the other drugs in the world.

  He carefully wrapped it again and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. The music grew louder and we came to a square. Chairs and tables were nestled along the buildings. People were smoking, drinking, eating.

  ‘Here?’ he said, pointing.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. I was far too busy soaking up my surroundings to take any sort of decision about where to eat.

  We sat down at a table. A waiter in a white shirt and bow tie came over. Jack ordered tapas. Beer for him, a mojito for me.

  Our drinks arrived. Jack reached over, took a mint-leaf from my glass and popped it in his mouth.

  ‘So what’s the deal with you, Faye?’

  ‘You’re probably going to have to be a bit more specific.’

  ‘You’ve got it all. You’re beautiful, you drink like one of the guys, and according to the people I’ve spoken to you’re the smartest student in your year. Henrik’s talking about making you a partner in the business. There must be something wrong somewhere. Are you a man in disguise? Have you got a club foot?’

  He leaned down and pretended to look under the table.

  I laughed and kicked my foot towards him. The table wobbled and he joined in my laughter.

  ‘And you’re funny too. Are you glad you’re here?’ he asked.

  A sudden shift in his expression. A hint of seriousness and a trace of what looked like insecurity. His blue eyes were gazing right at me, into me. I trembled. Looked away. I couldn’t let him know how crazy I was about him, not yet. Men like Jack needed to fight, to hunt, to make them think it worthwhile. Otherwise they’d disappear.

  I also knew that I couldn’t let him know anything about Matilda. But that wasn’t a problem. With each passing day my memories of the past faded. Now only Sebastian came to me in dreams, but even that was happening less frequently.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the city, but the company could be better,’ I said, shooting him a challenging look.

  ‘Really?’

  Jack toyed with his beer glass and grinned as he looked at me.

  ‘So what happened to the boyfriend?’ he asked curiously.

  In my mind’s eye I saw Viktor lying in bed as the sheets caught light.

  ‘It’s over,’ I said curtly.

  Jack had never met him, didn’t know any details. And I didn’t feel like giving him any.

  The flame of the candle was reflected in Jack’s eyes.

  The waiter brought us a plate of air-dried ham and thin, triangular slices of cheese. I picked up a piece of ham, it felt greasy on my fingers but melted in my mouth.

  ‘I like being here. I’ve never been to Spain before.’

  ‘Where have you been, then?’

  ‘Denmark. And Fjällbacka.’

  ‘That’s where you’re from?’

  ‘Yes. Fjällbacka. Not Denmark.’

  I thought back to that trip to Denmark. Legoland. Which, predictably, had ended in disaster.

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘The opposite of this,’ I said, gesturing towards the square. ‘Empty streets. One single place to go if you want to go out. Everyone knows everything about everyone else.’

  ‘Your parents still live there? Brothers and sisters?’

  Jack reached for a piece of ham but didn’t take his eyes off me.

  Sebastian’s face appeared in my mind. Badly beaten, that terrible night.

  I swallowed a few times.

  ‘My parents are dead. I’m an
only child.’

  The waiter appeared with more food. Potato wedges, garlic prawns in oil, olives, meatballs in tomato sauce.

  I raised the cocktail to my mouth. The rum burned my throat. It was a strong mojito. Not like the expensive but miserly ones you got at Stureplan. I realized I probably looked depressed. Made an effort to regain control of my features, but all the alcohol we’d consumed since leaving Stockholm wasn’t making it easy. I lit a cigarette to gain some time.

  ‘I’d like to go there with you one day.’

  Jack didn’t ask any more about what I’d said. I loved him even more for that.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

  ‘Yes, I would. Of course I would. I like seeing new places. I can’t get enough of new places.’

  And women, I thought. But said nothing.

  ‘I’ve got friends who used to spend the summer in Fjällbacka. It’s supposed to be lovely,’ he said, soaking up the oil from the garlic prawns with a piece of white bread.

  ‘So what’s your secret, Jack?’ I said, changing the subject.

  I drank some more of the mojito as the stars in the night sky above us came closer.

  ‘My dad’s an alcoholic and compulsive gambler,’ he said quickly. He tore off a bit more bread and dipped it in the oil. ‘He’s a fucking loser who’s drunk away a large chunk of his inheritance. The black sheep of the family. But he’s never been able to take my surname away from me. And yes, it opens a lot of doors. But not because of him. I’ve got the rest of the family and my ancestors to thank for that.’

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘No, it’s not the sort of thing you put on your business card. There aren’t many people who know. When people ask, I usually say he lives abroad. It’s easier that way. But it’s no secret in the finer social circles in Stockholm. Everyone knows about my old man.’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘Remarried. Her new husband’s a bastard as well, but at least he’s a sober bastard. She’s not great when it comes to picking men. Maybe that’s what happens when you pick them according to how much money they’ve got. They live in Switzerland. I left home when I was sixteen. My Uncle Carl got me a flat and gives me a monthly allowance for rent and food, in exchange for me going to college.’