Silver Tears

by Camilla Lackberg

  Faye shook her head. She sympathized with Alice. And in practical terms, the description had been accurate. But Alice had left out the most important bit.

  “You’re a social genius, Alice. You know what makes the men in power tick because you’ve had them all around here as guests. And you know how women work. The rich ones who can pay their own way. That’s not the kind of knowledge you pick up at university. It’s actually worth a great deal.”

  “To whom?”

  “To me. And Revenge.”

  Alice stared at her for a moment and then burst into peals of laughter.

  “Honestly, Faye, I know you’ve had a glass of wine, but what on earth do you need me for? I appreciate the gesture, but you don’t need to do me any favors just because you feel sorry for me. I’m worthless, but I’ll manage.” She made a sweeping gesture with her wineglass. “Besides, you’ve got Kerstin—there’s no one who can compete with super-efficient Kerstin.”

  Typical women, Faye thought to herself. Selling themselves short, unable to see their own worth. That was how we were raised. It’s what the world taught us. And the world is run by men who benefit from us wandering around in it seeing our worth only in relation to them.

  She fixed her gaze on Alice.

  “Don’t say that about yourself—don’t say you’re worthless. If you repeat it too often, it’ll stick and become the truth. And then the same will happen to your daughter. Kerstin is barely working part-time these days. She got involved with an orphanage in India—and a rather attractive man called Bengt who’s been introducing her to the delights of Mumbai—and now she goes out there as often as she can. I don’t begrudge her that. She deserves a fresh chance. But I need someone. I need you.”

  She raised her glass to her mouth without letting Alice out of her gaze.

  “Do you think I built Revenge by being nice? Handing out jobs as favors to my friends? No, I would never hire someone to be nice. I would never give a job to someone whose input didn’t immediately generate cash. You haven’t been to college—so what? Academic education isn’t worth a damn in real life. You know that. You’ve talked to those men with the fancy diplomas from American colleges and known you were smarter than them. You don’t understand figures, but you understand the world and the people operating in it. So quit feeling worthless. You’re already committed anyway, because you were one of the initial investors in Revenge.”

  Alice looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “Cut the crap, Faye. Why exactly are you here?”

  She folded her arms and waited for an answer. Faye looked at her appreciatively. Alice really was as smart as she had hoped.

  She took a deep breath. “Someone is trying to take Revenge away from me. I’m on the verge of losing everything I’ve built.”

  “Surely you’ve still got capital?” Alice said with a frown. “Since the sale?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine financially. More than. But that’s not the point. Revenge is me—and Revenge is Chris too.”

  Alice nodded. She sipped her wine and looked down toward the water. The tranquility was disturbed only by the call of a bird in a small copse of trees.

  Faye let her words sink in. After a while, Alice turned back to her.

  “Who’s buying up the shares?”

  “I didn’t know at first. It was hidden in a tangle of buyers from Sweden and abroad. But eventually we managed to see through it all and find the person behind it.”

  “Henrik,” said Alice.

  Faye looked at her in surprise.

  “Did you know?”

  “No, no,” said Alice, waving a hand. “If I had, then I would have warned you. But I’m not surprised. I don’t think you realize how much he hates you. For a while, I thought about getting in touch to let you know how pissed off Henrik was, but you…you had other stuff on your plate. Besides, I couldn’t see him acting on it. Henrik talks a big game, always has.”

  Faye gazed out of the window where the setting sun cast a golden glow over the water. The spectacular view was lost on her; she was too busy trying to decide how much she should reveal. In the end she decided to put all her cards on the table bar one. Alice didn’t know that Julienne was alive. And it had to stay that way.

  She poured more wine for herself and for Alice.

  “He’s very close to succeeding. I wasn’t on my guard. At first I was…wrapped up in grief and anger. Then I let myself relax. Believed it was over.”

  Alice nodded and was silent for a moment. Then she raised her glass in a toast.

  “I assume you’re looking for a partner in crime. It would be fucking amazing to upset that arrogant bastard’s plans.”

  Faye laughed and they clinked glasses merrily. Perhaps there was still some hope for the sisterhood, despite the betrayal of the investors.

  * * *

  —

  Alice had invited her to sleep over, but Faye wanted to get back to the apartment and brainstorm ideas with Kerstin. However, when the taxi headed past Jungfrugatan she asked the driver to pull over. This was where Irene Ahrnell lived. Faye had been around to her place for a magnificent dinner after the Revenge launch and she recognized the building.

  For a moment, Faye hesitated. She pictured the beautiful woman in her mind’s eye. Always composed. Always dignified. How could she? Then she paid the driver and got out.

  Faye pressed Irene’s buzzer at the main door.

  It rang for a long time and she thought perhaps Irene wasn’t at home. She checked her watch: almost ten thirty. Perhaps it was too late to be dropping in on her. She was debating whether to press the buzzer again when quick footsteps behind her made her turn around. It was only a jogger in colorful running tights, but Faye’s heart was racing. Since Jack’s escape, she had tried to avoid being alone in the street at night, but stopping at Irene’s had been an impulsive act. All at once, every small movement at the corner of her eye seemed threatening. She pressed the buzzer hard again. This time Irene answered.

  “Hi, it’s Faye. I know you probably don’t want to talk to me…but can I come up?”

  Faye held her breath. Kerstin had warned her not to have this discussion with Irene before they had dealt with the more pressing issues. But for Faye, speaking to Irene was pressing. Granted, her holding had already been sold, but she liked Irene. Trusted her. She couldn’t understand how this had happened. And she needed to understand. Perhaps it was also the key to what was happening, even if Kerstin didn’t think so.

  “Irene?” said Faye. “Please?”

  The door whirred, and, throwing a final glance over her shoulder, Faye hurried inside.

  The elevator was old, cramped, and infinitely slow. When it reached the third floor and she drew aside the rattling black grille she saw Irene waiting for her at the door. She was wearing a gray lounge set, had no makeup on, and had a terry-cloth headband holding back her short hair. The shine on her face gave away that she had been in the middle of her skin-care ritual before bed.

  “Come in,” Irene said in a low voice.

  It was clear from her closed face that she didn’t want to talk to Faye, but she had let her in at any rate.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Not really,” said Faye with a grimace.

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Irene went into the kitchen, got out two wineglasses, and opened a bottle of Chablis from the fridge. Faye followed her into the spacious living room where they’d had their aperitifs before that dinner. Lofty ceiling, stucco.

  They sat down on a sofa covered in a large Josef Frank print. Faye wondered how to begin, but Irene solved that problem for her.

  “I…I was meaning to get in touch with you. I realize how this must look. And believe me, I haven’t slept for almost a week. But…”

  “But what?” said Faye, unable to stop her wou
nded emotions from creeping into her voice.

  Irene delayed her answer. She turned her wineglass around in her hand, then put it down on the marble coffee table, stood up, and bought herself some time by turning on some lamps.

  Faye didn’t push her. She saw at once how haggard Irene was and all the anger drained from her. Something had happened and she owed it to Irene to give her the chance to explain herself.

  Eventually, Irene sat down next to her on the sofa and picked up her wineglass. She settled in the corner, drew her legs up under her, and took a deep breath.

  “It was the morning after the day of our lunch. A man was waiting for me outside the door on the street. He had an envelope for me that he asked me to look inside. And he said that once I’d looked inside the envelope I should expect a call. I took the envelope and he vanished before I had time to react. At first I laughed at it. It felt like something from some dumb spy movie. But then I got up to the apartment and I…I opened the envelope.”

  Irene took a mouthful of wine.

  “What was inside?”

  Irene didn’t answer. She blinked a few times before finally meeting Faye’s gaze.

  “The envelope contained my secrets.”

  “Your secrets? I thought your life was an open book.”

  “That’s what everyone thinks. I’ve managed to craft my own background, my own story that everyone believes. It’s not hard, you know. Drop in the occasional anecdote. The odd planted story. A cohesive media narrative. No one asks any questions.”

  Faye nodded. She of all people knew that. If only Irene knew. The media’s basic task—other than reporting—was to scrutinize critically. But no one in Sweden ever scrutinized a good story. And both Irene and Faye happened to be excellent at just that: good stories.

  “I didn’t grow up in Bromma. My parents weren’t lawyers. My mom was the only parent I knew. An alcoholic bitch called Sonja. I hated her with all my guts. But I repeated her mistakes. Ended up in the wrong crowd. Drank too much. Took…other stuff too. Got pregnant. Couldn’t, didn’t want to, keep the kid. So I gave it up for adoption. I have no idea where it is today. Well, I had no idea. There were photos of her inside the envelope. She’s grown up now.”

  Irene laughed when she realized what she had said.

  “Of course she’s grown up now. Stupid observation. She…she’s around forty. A prosecutor, in Jönköping, of all places. Husband, two kids. Happy life—at least, judging by her Instagram handle, which I’ve been stalking like mad ever since.”

  “And you don’t want to ruin her life…”

  Irene met Faye’s gaze. An ocean of pain could be read in it. Faye’s anger vanished. She understood. Completely. You did what you had to. To protect your own.

  “No, I don’t want to ruin her life. So I sacrificed you. That’s the hard truth, I can’t hide it.”

  Irene had aged before Faye’s very eyes. They weren’t close enough friends for Faye to put a hand on hers to comfort her, but she set down the glass and clasped her hands in her lap.

  She spoke calmly to Irene—she wanted her to take in every word she said.

  “I understand you. I completely understand you, and I would have done the same thing. And I’m guessing you’re not the only one to have sold your shares who received an envelope like that. I have to confess I’ve been feeling hurt, upset, and confused. It’s felt like a knife in the back. But now I understand what happened and I’ll say it again: I would have done exactly what you did. You’ve given me an important piece of the puzzle. Thank you.”

  “It doesn’t feel like there’s much to thank me for,” said Irene in a muffled voice.

  “There is,” said Faye, standing up. “Now I’ve got to go home. And it’s time for you to go to bed.”

  Irene accompanied Faye to the door.

  “I’ve asked around about Henrik’s company since all this happened,” she said.

  Faye raised her eyebrows.

  “Oh?”

  “The way they treat women there,” said Irene, making a face. “They’re just eye candy, they never get to rise through the ranks, they don’t listen to them. It’s as if they haven’t changed with the times.”

  Faye sighed. Hearing Irene say this was like a reminder of all her years with Jack.

  “I’m not really surprised,” she said.

  Irene shook her head.

  “Nor am I. But, Faye, I’m so relieved to have spoken to you,” she said. “I’ve been feeling so awful.”

  Faye laid her hands on Irene’s shoulders.

  “First: there are no hard feelings on my side. And second: Are you using Revenge’s creams, or are you cheating on us?”

  Irene grinned.

  “Cheating. I’m old school. I only use Nivea, like a grandma.”

  “Fucking Nivea,” said Faye, giving her a hug.

  As she went down in the tiny elevator, she could see Irene through the grille. They waved to each other. Faye leaned her head back against the mirror in the elevator. Irene had given her an answer but she wasn’t sure that it helped her.

  FJÄLLBACKA—THEN

  I was probably the only person in Fjällbacka who didn’t like sailing. The sea scared me. That was why I was surprised to hear myself say yes when Sebastian asked whether I wanted to come sailing with him, Tomas, and Roger.

  Although Sebastian had visited me in the night again several times, he had been very friendly toward me some days. Like he used to be. When it was us against the world.

  Maybe, I thought to myself, the outing was a way of apologizing. Setting things right. I wanted to see it like that. Wanted to forget. For things to be like they were before the door to my bedroom had opened that night.

  The island we were bound for was called Yxön and it was uninhabited.

  The sailboat was called Marika and it belonged to Roger’s dad.

  We assembled on the jetty at nine o’clock that morning. It was a Friday. Tomas and Roger arrived fifteen minutes later dragging a bag, a tent, and four crates of beer. We climbed aboard. Roger was big and taciturn. He answered only when spoken to, but he seemed like a gentle giant. Kind but stupid. He always stayed close to Tomas, as if watching over him like some kind of bodyguard.

  Roger passed a beer to Sebastian, who opened it and took a couple of gulps. Sebastian had never drunk in front of me, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable in front of his friends by pointing that out. So I remained silent. I sat down in the bow, pulled my legs up to my chest, and stared out to sea as we cast away.

  I didn’t dare look at Tomas. I felt his eyes on me and tried to pretend not to notice. There was something suave about him. It always felt as if he would be more at home in the big city. Perhaps it was because his parents were rich—at least by the standards of Fjällbacka—and his mom placed great emphasis on the right look; she spent a lot on his clothes. Today he was wearing beige shorts and a white polo shirt. Sitting close to me, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  “Want one?” said Tomas, proffering a beer.

  “Is there enough beer to go around?” said Sebastian.

  The fact that he had been kinder of late didn’t mean he was kind. He was standing there holding a cigarette in his hand. I was not used to seeing him smoke.

  “No reason Matilda can’t have a beer,” said Tomas. “We’ve got loads with us.”

  I took the can. Smiled. But still didn’t dare meet his gaze. Perhaps I would meet someone like Tomas when I moved to the city.

  I had saved up some money working part-time in a patisserie. Every krona I earned was going toward leaving Fjällbacka.

  The beer tasted bitter and I made an effort not to grimace. But after forcing myself to drink half a can, a warmth began to radiate from my stomach and I began to relax. The more I drank, the better the warm beer tasted.

  “Thanks,
by the way,” I said suddenly, feeling a new boldness as I looked Tomas in the eyes for the first time.

  “Thanks for what?” he said, grinning.

  “You helped me the other week when I dropped my books.”

  “It was nothing. It was that dickhead Stefan who tripped you up, right?”

  I nodded and Tomas passed me another beer.

  “Don’t worry about those inbred morons,” he said, the shimmer of the sea in his eyes.

  I was surprised that Sebastian didn’t interrupt to say something self-important, but when I looked over at him I saw that he was lying on the seats with his eyes shut. He appeared to have fallen asleep. I was suddenly embarrassed. I could feel Tomas’s eyes on me.

  Hope fluttered in my breast.

  The black Mercedes pulled over on Götgatan and Faye paid before getting out.

  The sun was shining, making the rooftops of Södermalm and the distant Globen arena shimmer beautifully. A busker’s electric guitar whined mournfully.

  Faye made her way through the crowds to the Muggen café. She stopped a little way off and tried to see inside the dark venue. The interior décor comprised worn-out sofas and armchairs in an array of colors and fabrics. On the walls, there were old paintings in gilded frames without any discernible theme or intention behind them.

  Just as she was about to cross the street, she caught sight of a face inside that she recognized. But it wasn’t Ylva, it was the police officer Yvonne Ingvarsson. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized that the person the policewoman was speaking to was Ylva.

  Faye quickly moved inside a stuffy convenience store and sat down on a bar stool at the counter in the window. From here she had a view of the door of the Muggen café.

  Yvonne’s snooping was getting increasingly intrusive. Although Ylva had taken Jack away from her, Faye had won him back. She had secretly filmed them screwing and sent the footage to Ylva. Then she had crushed both Ylva and Jack. Ylva didn’t know anything that could hurt Faye, but her animosity posed a genuine risk. Right now, it was even more important to win her over to Faye’s side.