Shame

by Karin Alvtegen

  And then they hung up.

  But Monika never would call. It would be Åse who rang next time.

  Monika was in a bad mood after their conversation. Things were happening there in Pernilla’s flat that were beyond her control. It was time to make the next move. Time to step into her new role in earnest. She went out into the hall and put on her coat and boots.

  In the car she felt relieved, now that she was on her way. The thing was always to pick the direction that was most difficult; after she had chosen a goal the rest was merely a matter of taking action. And she was good at that. Her task had pushed out the hopelessness inside her, and now she was filled with resolve. Everything had taken on meaning again.

  She didn’t hesitate when she went in the main door this time, just checked the doorknob’s shape with her hand and knew that it would soon feel like an old acquaintance. She continued past their door and halfway up to the fourth floor, pausing only briefly, with her ear against the door panel when she went by. Everything was quiet inside. She sat down on the stairs, folding her coat in half under her for protection from the cold stone. An hour passed. Every time she heard someone coming she stood up and pretended she was on her way up or down, whichever seemed the most natural. One time the same man came back who had left an hour earlier and they agreed with a smile that they had to stop seeing each other like this. Monika had just folded up her coat to sit down again when the door finally opened.

  She was completely out of sight and saw only the feet of the person who came out. Women’s shoes. The door was closed without anything being said, and the stranger’s feet headed for the stairs. Monika followed. The woman was in late middle age with her hair up and wearing a beige coat. When she reached the main door Monika had caught up, and she smiled when the woman held the door open for her. She thanked her and walked to her car.

  She had already saved the number on her mobile; copied from the Council’s home page.

  ‘I’m calling about Pernilla Andersson, whom you’ve been helping the past few days.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course… yes, that’s right.’

  ‘She asked me to ring and thank you so much for the assistance and tell you that you don’t have to come anymore. She has friends who are taking over now.’

  The man in the crisis group was glad that they had been of use and asked her to tell Pernilla not to hesitate to call again if she needed any further support or help. Monika didn’t think it would be necessary, but thanked him politely for the offer.

  It was important that it be done correctly.

  Really important.

  She sat in her car for half an hour before she returned to their door. She stood there for a minute, breathing quietly, then scrupulously assumed her professional role, although leaving her top button undone. She was there as a friend, not as a doctor. It was as both Monika and Doctor Lundvall that she had to fulfil this task, but she needed her professional demeanour. Because what she was now about to do required more than her private persona.

  She knocked lightly on the door, not wanting to wake anyone who might be sleeping. When nothing happened and a long time had passed, she knocked a bit harder, and then she heard footsteps approaching.

  Just listen. Don’t try to comfort her, just listen and be there.

  She had attended several courses about how to deal with people suffering from grief.

  The door opened. Monika smiled.

  ‘Pernilla?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She didn’t look the way Monika had imagined. She was short and slim with short dark hair. She was dressed in grey jogging trousers and a knit jersey that was much too big.

  ‘My name is Monika, and I’m from the crisis group.’

  ‘Ah, I didn’t think anyone was coming today. They said they were short-staffed.’

  Monika smiled even more broadly.

  ‘We worked it out.’

  Pernilla left the door open and went into the flat. Monika took the first step over the threshold. She could feel it at once. Feel the relief. It was as if something was suddenly released, and for a second she was worried that it would make her weak again. Just to see Pernilla with her own eyes, form her own picture of her face and be allowed into her presence made everything easier to bear. She could accomplish something here. Make everything less unforgivable. But she had to proceed cautiously, couldn’t be in too much of a hurry; Pernilla had to be given the chance to understand that she could be trusted. That Monika was here to help her, and solve all her problems.

  She hung up her coat and left her boots by the door. There were several pairs of men’s shoes there. Gym shoes and Oxfords that were much too large to fit Pernilla’s tiny feet. Left behind, never again to be needed. She passed a bathroom door with a little red ceramic heart on it and continued into the flat. The kitchen was to the right, and at the other end of the hall was an entrance towards what seemed to be the living room. She looked around carefully, not wanting to miss a single detail in her effort to get to know the woman who lived here. Her taste, her values, the sort of qualities she preferred in a friend. She would take as much time as was needed; the only hurry was to sort out the most dangerous traps. If Pernilla rejected her she would be lost.

  Pernilla was sitting on the sofa, leafing through a newspaper, seemingly without interest. Daniella was nowhere to be seen. On an old chest of drawers with a stripped finish stood a burning candle in a brass candlestick, and the glow fell over his broad smile. The photograph had been enlarged and put in a glossy gold frame. Monika looked down at the floor when he met her gaze, wanting to get out of his field of vision, but his accusing eyes had a view of the whole room. There was no escape. She could feel him watching her suspiciously and questioning her presence, but she would show him; over time he would learn that she was his ally and that he could trust her. That she wouldn’t deceive him again.

  Pernilla put down the newspaper on the chest of drawers and looked at her.

  ‘Seriously, I think we can manage by ourselves this evening. I mean if you’re short-staffed.’

  ‘No, there’s no danger of that. Absolutely none.’

  Monika wondered uneasily what was expected of her, what the others from the crisis group had done to make themselves useful. But she couldn’t think of anything before Pernilla went on.

  ‘I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but, to be quite honest, it’s beginning to be a bit tiresome always having strangers here in the flat. Nothing personal, of course.’

  Pernilla gave a little smile, as if to minimise her words, but the smile never reached her eyes.

  ‘I really think I need to be alone for a while.’

  Monika smiled back to conceal her desperation. Not now, not when she was so close.

  Then Pernilla threw out the lifeline that Monika so urgently needed.

  ‘But if you could just help me take down something in the kitchen before you go.’

  Monika felt the fear subside; all she needed was a way in, a little opening to be able to demonstrate the value of her presence. She gratefully accepted the assignment.

  ‘Of course, no problem, what is it?’

  Pernilla got up from the sofa and Monika noticed the grimace she made when her back straightened. Saw her twist her right shoulder forward in an attempt to be rid of the pain.

  ‘It’s the smoke alarm in the ceiling. The battery is going dead, so it keeps beeping.’

  Monika followed Pernilla into the kitchen. Quickly looked around to learn some more. Mostly things from Ikea, lots of pictures and notes on the refrigerator, some ceramic objects that looked home-made, three historical portraits in simple frames over the kitchen table. She resisted the temptation to go over to the refrigerator and read the notes. That would have to come later.

  Pernilla pulled out a chair and set it underneath the smoke alarm.

  ‘I have a problem with my back, and raising my arm above my head is simply impossible.’

  Monika climbed up on the chair.

  ‘What sor
t of problem do you have with your back?’

  An attempt to break the ice. They didn’t know each other. Starting now Monika would forget everything she already knew.

  ‘I was in an accident five years ago. A diving accident.’

  Monika twisted the alarm box off the holder.

  ‘That sounds serious.’

  ‘Yes, it was, but I’m better now.’

  Pernilla fell silent. Monika handed her the alarm. Pernilla picked out the battery and went over to the counter. When she opened the cupboard Monika glimpsed cleaning supplies and a pull-out recycling bin.

  Pernilla turned round and Monika realised that she was expecting her to leave now that she had finished her task. But she hadn’t finished. Not by a long shot. Monika turned to the portraits on the wall.

  ‘What a lovely portrait of Sofia Magdalena. It was Carl Gustav Pilo who painted it, wasn’t it?’

  She could see that Pernilla was surprised.

  ‘Yes, it could be. I’m not really sure.’

  Pernilla went over to the portrait to check whether there was a signature, but apparently couldn’t find one. She turned to Monika again.

  ‘Are you interested in art?’

  Monika smiled.

  ‘No, not in art particularly, but in history. Especially the history of Sweden. You pick up a few artists’ names in the process. I go through periods when I get almost fanatical about reading history books.’

  Pernilla gave a little smile, and this time her eyes began to sparkle a bit.

  ‘How strange. I’m really interested in history too. Mattias often used that very word. That I was almost fanatical.’

  Monika stood silently, relinquishing the initiative. Pernilla looked at the portrait again.

  ‘There’s something consoling about history. Reading about all these destinies that have come and gone. At any rate it’s helped me gain a little perspective on my own problems, I mean all the trouble with my back after the accident and all.’

  Monika nodded with interest, as if she were actually following along. Following along intently. Pernilla looked down at her hands.

  ‘But now I don’t know.’

  She paused for a moment.

  ‘How there could be any consolation in history, I mean. Other than that he’s dead like all the rest.’

  Just listen. Don’t try to comfort her, just listen and be there.

  Silence. Not only because of what she had learned in her courses, but because she couldn’t think of anything to say. She glanced furtively at the jumble on the refrigerator door. She wanted so badly to have a closer look. Try to find more ways into Pernilla’s life.

  ‘He had to choose between this and what he had on when he died. When he was packing, I mean.’

  Pernilla stroked the big woollen jumper she was wearing. Pulled up the collar and pressed it against her cheek.

  ‘I did a big load of laundry the day before he died. Emptied the whole laundry basket. So now I don’t even have the smell of him left.’

  Just listen. But they hadn’t said much at those courses about how to act to be able to withstand everything you heard.

  It was Daniella who rescued her. A newly awakened discontent was audible from the room next to the kitchen. Pernilla let go of the collar and left. Monika took three steps over to the refrigerator and quickly began looking through the collage. Family photos. Coupons from a pizzeria. A strip of pictures of Mattias and Pernilla from a photo booth. Several incomprehensible drawings by a child. Some clippings from a newspaper. She had barely managed to read the headline of one of them before Pernilla returned.

  ‘This is Daniella.’

  The child hid her face against her mother’s neck.

  ‘She’s just woken up but she’ll be wide awake soon.’

  Monika went over to them and put her hand on Daniella’s back.

  Daniella pressed her face even harder into her hiding place.

  ‘We’ll have to say hello later after you’ve had time to wake up.’

  Pernilla pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down with Daniella on her lap. Once again the feeling that she expected Monika to leave, as she had asked her to do. But Monika wanted to stay a bit longer. Stay here where it was possible for her to breathe.

  ‘What an elegant ceramic bowl.’

  She pointed to a bowl on the windowsill.

  ‘Oh, that. I made it myself.’

  ‘Really?’

  Monika went over and took a closer look. Blue and thrown a little askew.

  ‘Really very fine. I once took a pottery course too, but I haven’t had a chance the past few years. My job takes up too much time.’

  That wasn’t even a lie. She had taken ceramics as an option in high school.

  ‘That one is really crooked. I only saved it as a reminder that I had to stop ceramics when I injured my back. I just couldn’t sit still very long anymore.’

  Pernilla sat looking at the bowl.

  ‘Mattias liked that one too. He said it reminded him of me. I wanted to throw it out but he absolutely insisted we keep it.’

  Each time his name was spoken Monika could feel her own heartbeat. How her pulse quickened, signalling danger. Daniella had come out of her hiding place and sat looking at her. Monika smiled.

  ‘I could take her outside for a bit if you like, so you can have a little peace and quiet. I notice there’s a playground.’

  Pernilla leaned her cheek against her daughter’s head.

  ‘Would you like that, sweetie? Do you want to go outside and swing a little?’

  Daniella raised her head and nodded. Monika felt the panic subside. Her heart calmed down and fell back into its normal rhythm. She had passed the first test.

  Now all she had to manage was the rest.

  18

  There was blood in the toilet when she peed. She had discovered it several days before, but it may have been going on for longer than that. It was a long time since her periods had stopped, so she knew it meant that something was wrong. But she couldn’t deal with it. Not that too. She tried to drive it into all the whiteness, but the boundaries were no longer there. Everything that had been kept outside at a safe distance had returned and taken shape in a sharp cone of light, and it left Maj-Britt with a sadness that was too much to bear. So a little blood in her urine didn’t matter much. Everything was still intolerable.

  Vanja was right. The images in her memory had neither been invented nor distorted, and her black words on white paper had forced all of Maj-Britt’s emotional memories to return. She was back in the midst of the terror. She had partially sensed it when it was actually happening, but she couldn’t fully understand it.

  Because you don’t do that to your child.

  Not if you love her.

  That would have been easier to forget.

  She stood by the balcony door and looked out across the lawn. A woman she had never seen before was pushing a child on a swing. She recognised the child. It was the girl who used to be there with her father and sometimes also with her mother, who always seemed in some sort of pain. She wondered if that was the family Ellinor had told her about, the family with the father who had died in a car crash a little while ago. She looked towards the window where she had seen the mother standing, but it was empty.

  A week had passed since everything that no longer existed had suddenly reappeared. She knew that it had happened because of Vanja. And because of Ellinor. For seven days Maj-Britt had tried giving her the silent treatment. She had come and gone but Maj-Britt hadn’t said a word. She had done her chores but Maj-Britt had pretended she didn’t exist. But she needed to know. The questions were growing stronger with each day that passed, and now she couldn’t stand living in uncertainty any longer. The terror was still strong enough, and the threat she felt from both of them was more than she could handle. How did they know each other? Why had they suddenly decided on a concerted attack? She needed to know what their plan was so that she would have a chance to defend herself. But what was
it she was supposed to defend? The only thing they had achieved by forcing Maj-Britt to remember was to rob her of all incentive.

  To defend something.

  But she had to find out what that something was.

  She heard the key in the door and then Ellinor’s greeting as she hung up her jacket. Saba appeared in the bedroom doorway and went to meet her. Maj-Britt heard them greeting each other and then the sound of Saba’s paws on the parquet floor when the dog went back in and lay down. Maj-Britt stood there by the window and pretended not to notice that Ellinor looked at her on her way to the kitchen. She heard her put down the shopping on the kitchen table, and at that moment she made up her mind. This time she wasn’t going to get away. Maj-Britt went out in the hall, felt Ellinor’s jacket to make sure that her phone was in one of the pockets. She mustn’t have it on her. Because now Maj-Britt was going to find out everything that was going on.

  She stood there and waited. Ellinor came out of the kitchen with a bucket in her hand and stopped when she saw her.

  ‘Hi.’

  Maj-Britt didn’t reply.

  ‘How are things?’

  Ellinor waited a few seconds before she sighed and answered herself.

  ‘Fine, thanks, how are things with you?’

  She had adopted this annoying habit during the past week. Creating her own conversations instead of putting up with Maj-Britt’s silence. And it was astonishing how many words that skinny girl’s body could contain. Not to mention the answers she supplied on Maj-Britt’s behalf. Astonishing was the word. She walked around in her deceitfulness with no shame in her body. But now there would be an end to that.

  Ellinor opened the bathroom door and disappeared from view. Maj-Britt heard the bucket being filled with water. It was only three steps. Three steps and then Maj-Britt slammed the door.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Maj-Britt leaned her whole weight against the door and watched the door handle being pressed down. But the door couldn’t be budged. At least not by such a tiny creature as Ellinor, when a mountain was standing on the other side and holding it shut.