Silver Tears

by Camilla Lackberg

  After five minutes, Yvonne left the café. Faye stood and waited a moment before crossing the street and opening the door to Muggen.

  Ylva was standing behind an old-fashioned cash register that was clearly there for decorative purposes rather than functionality, since a small sign informed patrons that the café was cashless. Her hair was up in a chignon and a tight black T-shirt was stretched across her boobs. Two people were in front of Faye in the line, and Ylva processed them quickly and efficiently.

  Finally, it was Faye’s turn. Ylva gasped when she caught sight of her.

  “A coffee and a cheese and ham sandwich, please.”

  Ylva nodded and prepared Faye’s order.

  “That’ll be…” Ylva coughed. “That’ll be eighty-nine kronor.”

  Faye tapped her Amex Black on the card reader.

  “I assumed you’d show up sooner or later.”

  “We’ve got a mutual problem,” said Faye.

  Ylva nodded, but her eyes wandered to the people standing behind Faye.

  “I’ve got to take orders from the people who are waiting, but take a seat and I’ll come over when I get a gap.”

  Faye nodded, took her coffee and sandwich, and went to a seat at a table for two by the window.

  She looked at her phone. David had messaged. Every time she saw his name on the display her heart leaped for joy.

  With a smile, she opened the message and read it.

  I couldn’t help myself when I saw this. It’s so you. And I took a chance on you liking it.

  Faye pulled up the picture he had sent. And gasped. David had managed to identify the single photographic work in the whole world that she wanted the most. It was a photo of Faye Dunaway, in the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel, taken by Terry O’Neill, the morning after she had won an Oscar. How could he have known? How could he know her so well after such a short period of time? Faye couldn’t help cracking a big smile.

  She put away her phone and helped herself to a napkin, which she doodled on with a fountain pen. Then she got her laptop out of her bag, put it on top of the napkin, and opened her inbox. She didn’t look up from her emails until Ylva sat down on the chair opposite her.

  Ylva brushed the crumbs off her top and then smoothed it out. She didn’t quite meet Faye’s gaze.

  “Has Jack been in contact with you?” Faye asked.

  Ylva shook her head vigorously.

  “No. And I don’t think he will. Why would he? I didn’t mean a thing to him.”

  She said it so straightforwardly, as if it were obvious that Jack had never loved her. Faye didn’t want to think about what her life with him had been.

  “He hasn’t been in touch from prison, either?”

  “No. I don’t think he’s at all interested—not in me, not in Nora.”

  Faye looked through the window. She rarely thought about the fact that Julienne had a little sister who was now almost two.

  “How are you getting on?”

  “Surely you can see for yourself?” said Ylva, holding out her hands. “I lost everything after Jack. No one would hire me, and how was I supposed to do my old job when I also had a baby to look after? But I’m getting by. We’re getting by.”

  Faye took a sip of coffee. She was convinced that Ylva was right. She would manage. She was a survivor.

  “Are you afraid?” Ylva asked.

  Faye nodded slowly.

  “Yes, I am. Jack killed our daughter. And he hates me. For testifying against him and for moving on. Becoming successful. For having everything that he had.”

  Ylva looked over toward the register, but there was no customer waiting for assistance.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “For everything. For what we did to you. For me being stupid and naïve and going along with everything he said. And I’m so, so sorry about what happened to Julienne. Now that I’ve got Nora, I can’t even begin to imagine…”

  Her voice broke and Faye realized that she felt sympathy for the woman in front of her. They had both been tricked by Jack. They had both paid the price. The past was water under the bridge.

  “Are you happy serving people coffee?” Faye asked.

  Ylva fidgeted on her chair.

  “It’s my job—no better or worse than anything else.”

  “You’ve got a work ethic and you’re conscientious,” said Faye. “I’m pretty sure that your bosses have never had a better employee. You’re a perfectionist, and you should know that I respect you.”

  She picked up the computer, pulled out the napkin with the doodles, and pushed it across the table. Ylva bent forward and examined the napkin suspiciously.

  “What’s this?” she said curtly.

  “A contract of employment.”

  “Oh come on,” said Ylva, her face turning red. “You won, Faye. You don’t have to come here and rub it in my face. I get it. I lost and I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

  Faye put her hand on the laptop and slowly closed it.

  “In my inbox, I’ve got almost one hundred and fifty emails from people who want to invest in Revenge ahead of our expansion in the USA. Mostly men. I need someone who can do finance—properly—to go through the proposals and check out the investors. I want to know who I’m getting into bed with.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re the best woman for the job. And because I believe I can match the wage they pay you in this joint, thus bagging myself one of Sweden’s best economists for a song.”

  Ylva looked dumbfounded.

  “But…I took your husband.”

  “Yes, I forgot to thank you for that,” said Faye, smiling briefly. “I then stole him back, even though it was only to con him out of his company. The way I see it, it’s one all.”

  “I just don’t get what I have to offer.”

  “This is how it is. This is information that I don’t want getting out, but I’m going to take a chance and trust you.”

  “You can,” said Ylva gravely, and Faye believed her.

  “Revenge is well on the way to being bought out. It began secretly, but it’s now out in the open.”

  “Bought out? But who—”

  “Henrik Bergendahl.”

  “Jack’s former partner?”

  “Yes.”

  Ylva nodded. Processing the information she had been given.

  “He must hate you.”

  “Yes, even more than he hates Alice.”

  “Alice?”

  Faye waved her hand dismissively.

  “It’s a long story. They’re in the middle of a divorce, and a dirty one at that. Henrik fucked the au pair.”

  “Who hasn’t Henrik fucked?” Ylva muttered.

  The bell above the door rang but the person seemed to change their mind and left again.

  “The problem is that Henrik has capital. Lots of capital. Enough to be able to afford a takeover. And I don’t think this is some sudden impulse—I think he’s been planning it for a long time.”

  “Isn’t there something you can do? Have you checked all your agreements? Spoken to the shareholders? There’s nothing improper that’s happened that you can leverage?”

  Faye smiled with satisfaction.

  “That’s exactly why I’m here,” she said. “I need someone who can ask exactly those questions, think like this, and help me find answers. And then some.”

  Ylva shook her head.

  “I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re offering me a job.”

  The bell rang again. This time a young woman stepped in and headed for the counter. Ylva got up.

  Faye also got to her feet, gathered her things, and handed over a business card.

  “Get in touch if you’re interested. But there’s one condition you need to fulfill befor
e the job’s yours. I need you to draft a plan to help me stop the people who want to take over my company. Consider it an admission exam.”

  She picked up the napkin and pressed it into Ylva’s hand.

  “This is fully valid. As soon as you sign, you’ll become Revenge’s finance director. Providing you can give me the information I need. And contact me if you hear from Jack. We both have to keep one eye looking over our shoulders. He’s dangerous.”

  She raised her hand in a wave, turned on her heel, and left the café.

  She knew deep down that she was dreaming, yet Faye was unable to extricate herself from the dream. It had been happening a lot of late. Not always the same dream. But the feeling was always the same. And it was always unpleasantly realistic.

  She’d come home from the maternity ward with Julienne. Still in her bubble. Still completely absorbed by the little being who had completely possessed her from the moment she opened her eyes for the first time.

  She was worn out, tender, exhausted. Since they had come home, she had done the nights with Julienne alone, and she hadn’t slept more than an hour or two at a time.

  Nevertheless, Jack thought it was a good idea to ask her to host a big business dinner for key investors. As always, she did what Jack wanted.

  She prepared for the dinner for days while trying to meet Julienne’s needs at the same time. She wanted to be beautiful at the dinner, but nothing in her wardrobe fit her new-mom body. Her tummy was soft and bulging, her boobs were huge and filled with milk. Eventually, sweating, she managed to squeeze into a kaftanesque garment she had bought for one of their trips to the sun. Underneath the kaftan, she was wearing pregnancy leggings with elastic at the waist and a pregnancy bra with inserts to soak up leaking milk.

  When Jack caught sight of her, he inspected her from head to toe with a look of disgust.

  The guests arrived and Faye and Jack received them in the hall. The men had small, half-starved women with them. Size 0 clothing and cheek fillers to make sure they didn’t look hollow-faced and haggard. Jack’s gaze moved from them to her, and she could tell she wasn’t living up to the ideal he wanted to present.

  Halfway through the starter, Julienne woke up. Faye got up to go and see to her, but Jack’s hand on her arm made her sit back down again. She looked at him, pleading, but his gaze was stern.

  Faye smiled stiffly at their guests while her daughter screamed in the nursery. Some of the women looked at her sympathetically, while the men chuckled and made comments like: “It’s good to let them air their lungs a bit.”

  Eventually, Jack gave in to Julienne. He brought her out in his arms. Her face was swollen from sobbing and her pajamas were wet with tears. Jack’s face was stiff with anger, as if Faye had made Julienne cry. Without saying a word, he passed her over to Faye, and she gratefully pressed Julienne’s little body to hers. Jack’s fury vibrated against her. The men’s laughter echoed between the walls of their beautiful dining room, unaffected. But the women’s apologetic, sympathetic gazes were burned indelibly onto her soul.

  What had she done? How had she ended up here?

  Faye sat up in bed, gasping. It was just a dream. But Jack’s gaze was still burning within her. She slowly lay back down, her pulse pounding in her ears. Jack was always there. She would never get him out of her dreams. He was always present. A part of her life for eternity.

  * * *

  —

  Faye put her mobile back in her bag and looked at the range of wristwatches the fawning salesman was showing off. The police had just called for the daily check that everything was all right with her.

  The watch that caught her attention was a Patek Philippe and it cost three hundred and fifty thousand kronor. Faye was aware that it was madness to buy it for a man she had known for only a matter of weeks. But it felt so right. She smiled at the thought of the Faye Dunaway print, now hanging on her living room wall, and nodded at the salesman in reply to his question about whether she’d made a decision.

  “I’ll take this one,” she said, pointing at the watch. She handed over her Amex Black.

  The salesman clapped his hands.

  “An excellent choice,” he exclaimed.

  The situation with David’s wife, Johanna, had begun to get under her skin. She couldn’t help but notice how badly it was affecting David, even if he was trying to be stoic. Johanna was apparently incapable of accepting that he had moved on and was trying to keep him in her life at any cost. She still refused to sign divorce papers, despite David having agreed to give her half of everything—even though they had a prenup and he didn’t have to give her a penny of his fortune. Faye admired him for that.

  Faye said no when asked whether the watch was to be engraved. While she was signing the sheaf of papers the man had pushed across the counter to her, the mobile in her bag began to vibrate. She didn’t recognize the number and at first she wasn’t going to answer. What if it was Jack?

  Then she got angry at herself—she couldn’t let fear gain the upper hand. When she answered, it turned out to be a reporter from Aftonbladet. Faye sighed. She changed numbers regularly to stay one step ahead of the press, but somehow they always managed to reach her. The reporter introduced himself as Peter Sjöberg. Faye vaguely recollected his face from his online bylines. He was one of the hacks who had written column inch after column inch about Alice and Henrik’s divorce.

  “I’m obviously calling about your ex-husband’s spectacular escape,” the journalist said cheerfully, as if calling with a survey about which strawberries tasted best.

  Faye frowned. She knew she shouldn’t speak to him, but she couldn’t help but be curious about the call. Reporters usually had information they couldn’t publish for ethical reasons, but that didn’t prevent them from sharing it in phone calls.

  “Has he contacted you?” Peter Sjöberg asked searchingly.

  “No,” Faye said truthfully.

  “Are you scared? Given your…history?”

  “I don’t want to answer that.”

  “Okay. I understand.”

  There was a brief silence on the line—she could hear someone whispering something in the background.

  “Was there anything else?” she asked.

  “Not really. Well, yes. Do you know the name…”

  The reporter’s voice was drowned out by the obsequious wristwatch salesman babbling on. He hadn’t noticed she was in the middle of a phone call since she was using a headset. Faye pointed to her ear and the man held up his hands apologetically.

  “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “Well, I was just asking whether the name Gösta Berg was familiar to you?”

  It was like a knife to her stomach. She went absolutely cold. She met her own gaze in the mirror behind the counter. She saw the terror in it.

  “Why do you ask?” she managed to say, supporting herself against the counter.

  “That’s the name of the man Jack escaped with. I mostly wanted to ask you whether they knew each other. But I assume it was just coincidence—the opportunity presented itself and off they went together.”

  Faye ended the call, her hands trembling.

  She handled the remainder of the purchase process for the watch mechanically. Sweat had broken out on her neck. When she had finished the transaction, she staggered out onto Biblioteksgatan and pushed her sunglasses onto her nose. She walked as quickly as her weak legs would carry her, resolving to go straight home and call her mother in Italy. How would she react when she found out that her husband had escaped from prison where he had been serving a life sentence for her murder?

  Before Faye stepped off the street and through her door, she looked around anxiously. All of a sudden, it felt as if she were being watched from all directions. She quickly slipped inside and shut the door behind her, hard.

  She squeezed into the elevator and leaned for
ward to examine her face in the mirror. She took a deep breath. Her pulse was no longer racing. Her heart was beating quite calmly in her rib cage. The elevator came to a halt on the fifth floor with a judder. Faye pulled the grille to one side and stepped out. The next moment she realized that she was not alone.

  FJÄLLBACKA—THEN

  I didn’t understand what would happen as I sat there curled up in the bow of Marika with my arms around my shins, staring out to sea. Sebastian had woken and was sitting up. The boys were smoking. Drinking beer. Sometimes they looked toward me, eyeing me as they talked. I wondered what they were saying.

  Tomas came over and passed me an open can of Pripps Blå. It was half-empty and lukewarm.

  “Thanks.”

  I took a big gulp while holding my breath to avoid the smell.

  “You keep it,” he said when I held out the can. “There’s plenty more.”

  He left me on my own after that. I opened a book I’d brought with me—Moby-Dick, since we were at sea. I also had Robinson Crusoe in my bag. It was an old copy that had once belonged to my grandfather. I drank warm, stale beer and read my book.

  After an hour or so, the boys shouted that we had arrived. I raised my gaze and saw Yxön. A rocky, forested green oasis in the midst of all this blue. We moored beside some rocks, lowered the rubber dinghy, loaded it up with our backpacks and provisions. Roger lit a cigarette while rowing.

  I put my hand to my breast and felt the necklace hanging there. I ran my fingers over the silver tears that felt so fragile even though they were pretty robust, according to Mom. The island grew larger before my eyes and I shuddered as a cold shiver ran down my spine.

  Faye stared at the woman standing outside her front door. She had been on the verge of crying out in surprise. She took a deep breath as Ylva Lehndorf raised a hand in greeting.

  “Sorry, did I scare you?”

  “A little.” Faye juggled with her keys. She stuck them in the lock and opened the door and security grille. “Come in.”

  Her body was trembling as she kicked off her shoes. Once Ylva had stepped into the apartment, Faye quickly locked the front door.