‘It’s called an overall,’ Kalle said.
On the way home Ellen let out occasional little sobs.
‘We go on the bus with Daddy,’ the boy said as they stood huddled on a traffic island at the traffic lights on Kungsholmsgatan.
‘It’s too crowded and hot on the bus,’ Annika said, feeling suffocated at the very thought of it.
She had to carry Ellen from Bergsgatan. Once they were home, she quickly lit a fire in the stove to force the cold back from the draughty windows, and ran down to the yard with the stinking bag of rubbish, her hands and legs moving without her even being aware of them. Then she put the rice on as she fished her laptop out of her bag and turned it on, switching the cable from the phone in the kitchen, and putting a pack of cod into the microwave to defrost.
‘Can we play on the computer, Mummy?’ Kalle asked.
‘It’s Daddy’s computer.’
‘But Daddy lets us. I know how to start it.’
‘Watch some cartoons instead, they’ll soon be on,’ she said, connecting to the paper’s server.
The boy went off, shoulders drooping. She cut the cod into slices as her laptop signed in, turned the slices in salt and flour, then put them in a heavy pan with a bit of melted butter. She listened to the frying sound as she sent over the three articles, then splashed some lemon juice over the fish, dug out some frozen dill and scattered that over the top, then poured in some cream, warm water, fish stock, and a handful of frozen prawns.
‘What are we having for tea, Mummy?’ Ellen said, looking up at her from under her fringe.
‘Darling,’ Annika said, leaning over to pick her daughter up. ‘Come here, come and sit up here.’
Her daughter cuddled into her lap, put her arms round her neck.
‘Oh, sweetie,’ Annika said, rocking her, breathing into her hair. ‘Are you hungry?’
The girl nodded hesitantly.
‘We’re having fish in cream sauce with rice and prawns. You like that, don’t you?’
She nodded again.
‘Do you want to help me make the salad?’
A third nod.
‘Okay,’ Annika said, putting her on the floor and pulling a chair over to the worktop next to the cooker. ‘Have you washed your hands?’
The girl ran into the bathroom, there was the sound of running water, and Annika suddenly felt giddy with tiredness.
She took out an apron and a fruit knife, tied the strings behind Ellen’s back and showed her how to hold the knife. She let her cut some cucumber while she dealt with the lettuce and a handful of tomatoes. She poured over some olive oil, balsamic vinegar and some Italian salad herbs, and let Ellen toss the salad.
‘Brilliant!’ she said, putting the bowl on the table. ‘Can you lay the table? You know how, don’t you?’
‘You’re missing Björne,’ Kalle yelled from the television room, and the girl dropped the cutlery and ran off. Annika noted how filthy her socks were as she ran out.
Then came the sound of the front door being unlocked. She heard the children’s jubilant cries and the noise of Thomas’s briefcase being dropped on the bench in the hall.
‘Hello,’ he said as he came into the kitchen and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Who have you been talking to?’
She reached up on tiptoe to kiss him on the lips, wrapping her arms round his neck and holding him close. For some reason the image of Forsberg, the police officer, popped into her head.
‘I haven’t been talking to anyone,’ she said to her husband’s neck.
‘You’ve been engaged for half an hour.’
She let go of him abruptly. ‘Shit. I’m still online.’
She hurried to the laptop, pulled out all the wires and plugged the phone back in.
‘We can eat straight away,’ she said.
‘I don’t want anything,’ Thomas said. ‘We’ve got a meeting with the department this evening so I’ll be eating with the working group.’
Annika stopped, the pan of fish in her hand.
‘I thought you were playing tennis tonight,’ she said, bewildered.
She was burning her fingers in spite of the oven gloves, and quickly put the pan down.
‘The bloke from Justice wants a quick run-through over a bite to eat.’
‘You could have a bite with us first,’ Annika said, pulling out a chair for Ellen.
She looked up at her husband, saw him sigh soundlessly, and put the rice on the table.
‘Kalle,’ she called towards the television room. ‘It’s ready!’
‘But I want to watch this,’ the boy shouted back.
She spooned out rice and fish for Ellen, and put the salad next to her.
‘Ellen made the salad,’ she announced to the room in general. ‘You can help yourself, can’t you?’
Then she went into the television room and switched off the set, making her son howl with annoyance.
‘Stop that,’ Annika said. ‘Food before television, you know that. Go and sit down.’
‘What are we having?’
‘Fish stew with rice and prawns.’
The boy made a face. ‘Prawns, yuk.’
‘You can pick them out. Hurry up, before it gets cold.’
Thomas was eating contentedly when she went back into the kitchen.
‘How is it?’ she asked, sitting down opposite him.
‘The prawns are a bit tough,’ he said. ‘You always put them in too early.’
She said nothing, merely helped herself to the food, realizing that she wouldn’t be able to eat a single mouthful now.
Thomas pulled his woolly hat down over his ears as he left the building, and took a deep breath of the cold air. He was full to the point of bursting, a feeling he had come to appreciate more and more.
The good life, he thought vaguely. Pleasure and love, on every level.
He stretched his limbs, confident, calm. It was good to have Annika back. Everything was so nice and comfortable when she was home, and she was great with the kids. They had it pretty good.
He stopped outside the door with his briefcase, not sure if he should take the car. They were meeting on Södermalm, at a bar on Hornsgatan where they could get a function room. They’d probably have wine, and he’d have to either stay sober or take a chance on driving home. On the other hand, it was Thursday, the night the street was cleaned, so he’d have to move the car anyway.
He turned left, then left again into Agnegatan.
Hope the bastard starts, he thought, opening the door of the Toyota with a rough tug.
He was so pissed off with the car. It was already old when he met Annika, but she refused to take out a loan against the flat so they could buy a new one.
‘I take public transport,’ she said. ‘That’s good enough for you as well. Only idiots insist on driving in this city.’
She was quite right about that, but that wasn’t the fault of drivers, but the politicians.
He drove along Hornsgatan. The street was supposed to be closed to cars, but he did it anyway. All the streets in the area were due to be cleaned that night. With a sinking heart and a rising pulse he drove round trying to find a street that wasn’t going to be cleaned that had any parking spaces left. Nothing.
He stopped right outside the bar. Annika would go mad if she found the parking fine charged to their shared account, so he’d have to remember to pay it in cash.
He stood for a moment, checking out the bar. A dive, he thought. Just a cheap lousy bar. He sighed, pulled off his hat and stuffed it in his coat pocket, took out his briefcase and went in.
The bar was smoky and noisy, with some sort of generic mainstream rock on the speakers and dart boards on the walls. Old adverts for various beers were evidently meant to strike a cultural note. A jukebox glowered silently from one corner.
‘Thomas, over here!’
Sophia Grenborg was sitting in a booth to the right of the bar, and he headed gratefully towards her. Greeting his colleague warmly, he felt only a small pang of guilt
. Three years ago they had applied for the same job. He had got it, even though she was better qualified. Whenever they had met over the years since then he always felt a little bad, which made him act more friendly than usual.
‘Where’s Cramne?’ he asked, pulling off his wax jacket.
‘He’s not here yet,’ Sophia replied, moving to make space on the bench. ‘I wonder what was going through his mind when he arranged to meet in a place like this.’
Thomas burst out laughing; he’d been thinking exactly the same thing. He settled down next to her, noting that she was drinking beer. She followed his gaze, shrugged and smiled.
‘Seemed to make sense here,’ she said.
He raised a hand and stopped a young waiter and ordered a large glass of beer.
‘What do you think of the brochure?’ she said.
Thomas pulled up his briefcase and put a pile of papers on the table, the leaflet at the top.
‘It’s pretty much okay,’ he said, putting the briefcase back down. ‘There are a few things that are a bit woolly, though. We have to spell out exactly what politicians should do if they’re threatened, not to frighten them, just so they take it seriously and think about it. Maybe give a few statistics on how they usually behave, and some figures from the National Council for Crime Prevention.’
This was basically what Annika had said when she looked through the brochure just before he set out. Sophia Grenborg blinked, seeming quite impressed. He puffed out his chest.
‘That makes a lot of sense,’ she said. ‘Can I note that down?’
He gave a short nod, looking round for Cramne, then turned his attention to his beer.
‘Something else I was thinking,’ Sophia went on, as she wrote in her notebook. ‘What do you think of doing a more general survey? An opinion poll to find out what people think about violence to politicians?’
He looked at her, aware that he hadn’t been listening.
She put her pen and notebook in her bag.
‘I mean,’ she said, ‘what values do we apply to attempts to silence politicians? Shouldn’t we find out?’
Thomas frowned, hiding his enthusiasm.
‘You mean what people think about threats to politicians?’
‘Yes,’ she said, leaning forwards, ‘and at the same time see how we can change those opinions by an awareness campaign.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Maybe we could get some support in the press,’ he said. ‘Get a debate going, influence people’s opinions the old-fashioned way.’
‘Yes!’ she said with enthusiasm. ‘Get the PR department involved, speed up press releases.’
‘A series of articles about our new heroes,’ Thomas said, seeing the headline in his mind. ‘The local politician battling right-wing extremists and anarchists in his small town.’
‘But without exaggerating the threat and scaring off the people starting out in politics,’ Sophia said.
‘Are you the ones having the meeting about democracy?’ the young waiter said as he put the glass of beer down on Thomas’s papers.
Quick as a flash Thomas lifted the glass, but he was too slow to stop a ring of bubbles soaking into the proposal for clearer guidelines.
‘Cramne rang,’ the waiter continued. ‘He asked me to tell you he can’t make it tonight. That’ll be thirty-two kronor.’
He stood there expectantly, waiting to be paid for the beer.
Thomas felt himself getting angry for several reasons at once, bubbling over like the head on the beer that was dripping onto his hands and trousers.
‘What the fuck?’ he said. ‘What is this?’
Sophia Grenborg straightened up and leaned towards the waiter.
‘Did Cramne say why?’
The young man shrugged, shifting impatiently as he waited to be paid. ‘Just that he couldn’t make it, and that I should tell you. And he said you were welcome to go down and eat, and he’ll pay the bill next time he comes in.’
Thomas and Sophia looked at each other.
‘Cramne lives upstairs,’ the waiter said, pointing with his pen. ‘Fifth floor. He’s in here all the time. We have a table reserved in the restaurant, down the narrow staircase behind the toilets.’
Thomas took out exactly thirty-two kronor from his wallet, then put it and all his papers back in his briefcase.
‘I don’t have time for this,’ he said, getting ready to stand up.
The waiter disappeared.
‘We could go through what this sort of survey might look like,’ Sophia said. ‘Seeing as we’re already here. And see if we could simplify the advice about threats. That’s the most important thing, after all. That politicians feel more secure in their posts, and know how to deal with threats and violence.’
‘I cancelled my tennis for this,’ Thomas heard himself say, sounding like a disappointed child.
‘And I cancelled my salsa class. We could at least let the government pay for dinner to make up for it.’
He relaxed and smiled back at her.
13
Anne Snapphane was breathing hard in the stairwell, looking up at its curved shape, slowly calmed by the gentle curves of the wall. It was so far to the second floor, and she felt unsteady.
She stopped on the next landing, peering out through the tinted glass at the courtyard. There was a light in Annika’s old window in the little house down there. So picturesque, and so cramped. She couldn’t put up with living in the city again, she realized, just as she realized that this hangover really wasn’t any fun.
The doors of Annika’s apartment were tall as church-doors, heavy as stone. She knocked cautiously, conscious that the children would only just have gone to bed.
‘Come in,’ Annika said quietly, backing into the hall. ‘I’ve just got to say goodnight to Kalle, then I’ll be with you.’
Anne sank onto the bench in the hall and pulled the too-tight shoes off her feet. She could hear Annika laugh and the boy giggle, and sat there with her outdoor clothes on until her forehead began to itch under her hat. Then she went into the living room with all the ornate plaster detailing, slumped onto the sofa and leaned her head back.
‘Do you want coffee?’ Annika said as she came into the room with a plate of macaroons.
The thought was enough to make Anne’s stomach churn.
‘Have you got any wine?’
Annika put the plate down.
‘Thomas has,’ she said, ‘but he’s so fussy about it. Don’t take any of the fancy stuff, it’s …’ She gestured towards the glass cabinet.
All of a sudden it was easy to stand up. Anne’s feet scarcely touched the floor as she glided towards the wine-rack. She turned the bottles, read the labels.
‘Villa Puccini,’ she said. ‘That costs eighty-two kronor a bottle and is completely wonderful. Can we have that?’
‘Why not?’ Annika said from the hall.
With a practised hand Anne soon had the foil off and pulled the cork out so hard that she splashed her top. Her hands trembled slightly as she took a crystal glass from the shelf below and poured out the dark-red liquid. The taste was divine; full-bodied and round and healthy all at the same time. She took several large gulps, filled the glass again, then stood the bottle back in the cupboard. Then she settled into a corner of the sofa, pulling out a table for her glass. Suddenly life seemed much simpler.
Annika walked into the living room, breathing out. Once the children were in bed it always felt as though a huge weight had lifted. She no longer had to rush around like a mad thing, but slowing down meant that everything caught up with her. Her thoughts came back, and she started to feel empty again. The apartment became a desert to wander aimlessly around, a stuccoed and ornately panelled prison.
She sank into the other corner of the sofa, her body light and her head empty, and became aware that she was cold. She pulled her knees up, forming a tight ball, and looked at her friend. She could see that Anne was a bundle of nerves, from her drawn features, and the fevered search for something
that could put the world in its place again. She knew that Anne wouldn’t find it. In contrast, Annika had learned the trick of abstaining, of shutting off, of waiting for things to balance out again.
Anne was working her way through Thomas’s wine in deep gulps.
‘I can understand your frustration,’ she said, glancing at Annika as she put her glass down. ‘Even I don’t remember Paula from Pop Factory.’
Annika pointed at the biscuits, pushed a few stray crumbs around with her finger, wondering if she could manage a bite. She gave up, leaned back into the sofa and closed her eyes.
‘I have to choose my battles,’ she said, ‘otherwise I run out of energy. Going and making a fuss in front of Schyman would be shooting myself in the foot. No thanks, not this time.’
‘Trust me, you really wouldn’t want my job,’ Anne said. ‘I can promise you that much.’
They sat listening to the background sounds for a moment. Through the noise of the number three bus on the street below dark shadows crept across the corners, rising and falling.
‘I just need to check the news,’ Annika said, reaching for the remote. The shadows withdrew with a hiss.
The television flickered into life, and Anne stiffened.
‘Mehmet’s new monogamous fuck is a news editor there,’ she said.
Annika nodded without taking her eyes from the screen. ‘So you said,’ she said. ‘Hang on a moment.’
She turned up the volume. Over the beat of the theme-music the newsreader read out the headlines in verbless soundbites: ‘Suspected murder of a journalist in Luleå; four thousand laid off at Ericsson; new library proposals from the Ministry of Culture. Good evening, but first the Middle East, where a suicide bomber has this evening killed nine young people outside a café in Tel Aviv … ’
Annika lowered the volume to a murmur.
‘Do you think it’s serious, then, Mehmet and this one?’
Anne took a gulp of wine, swallowing audibly.
‘She’s started picking Miranda up from nursery,’ she said, her voice flat and peculiar.
Annika thought for a moment, trying to imagine how that would feel.
‘I couldn’t handle that,’ she said, ‘another woman looking after my children.’
Anne pulled a face. ‘I haven’t got much choice, have I?’
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