Leona

by Jenny Rogneby

  Anyone at all.

  I sighed. The strength I’d gained from the stay on Malta had, in just a day or two, shifted to a heavy feeling of hopelessness.

  I slid down on the bench, leaning back and looking up at the clear autumn sky. Scattered swallows fluttered around as if they didn’t know where they were going. For a second I felt just like that. Wandering throughout my existence, lacking focus. I got up quickly.

  I didn’t allow myself to doubt.

  Refused to create obstacles for myself.

  This time, as always, I would take control.

  I needed to do something about my financial situation. After my conversation with Peter the mood had been funereal. He had barely said a word to me after I told him about the poker. But it would work out. I had the money from the two robberies.

  Soon to be three.

  A third and final robbery was planned.

  With three robberies I could be sure of being completely free. I would also be able to afford any unforeseen expenses. But it would take a while before I could use the money. Laundering the numbered euro bills wouldn’t be a problem, but none of that could happen now. It was much too risky. In the meantime, I somehow needed to arrange some money. It was a big problem, but the thought that I would soon leave Sweden kept me afloat. Gave me strength. I would disappear into the world all by myself. Without anything around to disturb me. Start up a new life where no one knew who I was. There I would be myself. Be true.

  I closed my eyes. I could see myself on the terrace of that apartment. There I would stand and look out over the sea. Feel the strong sun bear down on my skin. Let the wind take hold of my hair and my thin white clothing.

  There I would gain a new outlook.

  Perspective.

  I couldn’t help thinking about the children. Leaving them would carve a hole in me. My feelings for the children were deep. I could feel the tears coming just thinking about them. I tried to force away these thoughts. These emotions. Impossible. It was strange — my whole life I’d wished I could feel emotions and the only ones I had, the ones for the children, I now wanted to be rid of. Without feelings it would be easier for me to leave them. I knew that they would be fine without me.

  I had great respect for Peter’s abilities to satisfy the children’s needs. He was the kind of dad every kid wanted. He played with them. Joked with them. Consoled them. Took time to explain to them how the world worked. Peter wanted all the things that most adults strive for and that life, presumably, would also be best for the children. Stability. A good job. A house in the suburbs. A nice car. Decorative objects on the bookshelf. Family dinners. Activities. A trip abroad for a week, all-inclusive, in the Canary Islands. Security. Routines. He wanted all of that. His boss demanded a lot of him at work, which meant that sometimes he couldn’t pick up the kids at day care, but that was probably the only thing. Otherwise I couldn’t find any fault in his parenting. Before, I would have envied that, tried to emulate it. But the kids saw through it. Especially Bea. Sometimes she looked at me as if I was someone she didn’t know and continued clinging to Peter.

  I had given up. There was no point in pretending any longer. The children seemed to have a kind of built-in radar for what was genuine. My feelings for them had always been genuine, but my parenting abilities had never been adequate. I simply had to accept that I would never be able to give them what they needed. I had told myself this so many times, but still it was so hard. Now it was time.

  I felt the tears coming. While I looked out over the landscape I let them run along my cheeks and fall on my jacket. The colors of the autumn leaves were reflected in the water. Shades of red, yellow, green, and brown floated all the way up toward the sky. I said it yet again to myself.

  The children’s needs were more important than mine.

  They had not chosen me.

  They deserved better.

  I must let go of them.

  FORTY-SIX

  I was not back from Hellasgården and at work again until twelve-thirty. I was hardly in the corridor before I heard Anette call.

  “Leona, Leona, I’ve been trying to reach you everywhere. Your husband called from Astrid Lindgren Children’s Hospital. He’s gone to the emergency room with Benjamin.”

  I dropped everything, running back to the garage as I called Peter. His phone was turned off. Damn! There had to be an end to this. I had to see about getting the money together for the operation. Peter had been forced to ask his company for an advance on his salary, but it wasn’t enough.

  Typically, I ended up in the middle of the lunch hour rush. I tossed the rotating beacon light onto the roof of my unmarked car. Got irritated at people who refused to move even though they saw there was an emergency vehicle behind them.

  “Move, damn it!” I yelled.

  My hands were sticky on the steering wheel. At the same time, I felt cold whenever I thought about how badly everything could end. Benjamin was a brave little guy but this intestinal disease wasn’t child’s play. I couldn’t bear to see him tormented.

  I threw myself out of the car and ran into the hospital.

  “Benjamin Lindberg, supposed to have come in an hour or so ago. Where is he? I’m his mother.”

  I felt how my voice failed me as I said the word. Mother. Yes, I was his mother.

  I almost ran along the corridor up to the elevators, pressing the elevator button five times in a row, as if it would come faster that way. I was having a hard time standing still. I paced in a figure eight while I waited. An older man in a dark gray coat and suit pants came and stood beside me, standing calmly and quietly. Provocatively so. I pushed my way into the elevator when the doors opened and counted every floor on the way up. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the man looking at me. How could they have such slow elevators in a hospital? I took a big step out when the doors opened and almost ran into a doctor and a little girl pulling a drip stand. I looked in both directions. At the far end of the corridor I saw Peter sitting on a bench, leaning forward with his head in his hands. I ran up to him.

  “What’s happening, where is he?”

  “Shh! He’s sleeping. It’s okay.”

  “Where is he? I want to see him.”

  “He’s had a terrible morning but the doctors say he’s out of danger now. He started to cramp and poop blood at day care. They couldn’t get hold of you. Where the hell have you been?”

  I had a hard time standing still. Paced up and down the corridor.

  “We have to see about getting the money and having the operation done,” Peter continued. “I don’t have the energy for this anymore.”

  “Can’t you get another advance from your job if you ask for it?” I said.

  “Why is it up to me to get the money?”

  The phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out.

  “Perfect, now you’re answering the phone. You’re not even allowed to have it on in here,” Peter hissed, getting up.

  The caller was Christer Skoog. He was starting to get really irritating. I declined the call and looked at Peter.

  “What am I supposed to do, conjure up the money?” I said.

  “You could conjure it away with no problem. If you hadn’t loaned out and gambled away all of our goddamn savings, then…”

  Peter stopped. He clenched his fists, turned and walked a couple of steps away, then turned back.

  “Don’t you think it’s about time to ask your affluent family?” he said.

  “That won’t work. You know that.”

  “So because you’re too damned proud to ask them for help, our son has stomach cramps and is pooping blood. When are you going to wake up and realize that this is serious, Leona?”

  “Shh, you’ll wake up everything and everyone.”

  “I’m not putting up with this,” he said. “You can stay until he wakes up and talk with the doctor. Maybe she can knock some sense into you.”

  Peter started down the corridor.

  “Peter, let’s talk about this l
ater.”

  “There’s nothing more to talk about until you’ve talked with your parents.”

  He disappeared. I collapsed on the bench. He was right. I had no choice. No alternatives remained.

  I carefully opened the door to the room where Benjamin was and peeked in. His little body was lying on its side with the hospital blanket over it. The room had framed drawings on the walls and patterned curtains with images of cakes on them. I went in slowly, without making a sound. I didn’t dare get too close, only observing him from a distance. The finest thing I had was in front of me. Pale. Thin. The blanket moved with his small breaths. There was a small cannula in his hand. He hated syringes. He must have cried himself senseless when he realized they were going to stick him. Under his arm he had his favorite teddy bear. Peter had remembered to bring it. My eyes filled with tears that then slid down around my jaw. However much I wanted to, I couldn’t deny that Peter was right. I was to blame for this. If it weren’t for me, Benji would have had surgery and wouldn’t be lying in front of me right now. The children that I loved had to suffer for my choices. I was not good for them.

  They would be better off without me.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  I had to pull with both hands to get the handle down on the metal door to the club. I’d had time to think. Asking my parents for money was something I wanted to avoid at all costs. I didn’t want to borrow from anyone else, either. It always caused problems. But I was desperate for money. On Malta I had introduced myself to the world of live poker, and even though I’d lost quite a bit there, I saw certain advantages in supplementing my online gambling with playing live now and then. No one needed to know it was me. I adjusted my outfit.

  Wig.

  Dark-red lipstick.

  High heels.

  Tight jeans.

  Leather jacket.

  Inside the metal door a narrow stairway ran straight down to the floor below. The red wall-to-wall carpeting along the middle of the stairway had turned dark from people’s dirty shoes. Yellow LED lights down by the floor lit up the steps.

  This was not my first time. I had been here on the job on several occasions, but the last two times it was to play.

  I was calm. Told myself that it would work out. It was crucial that I was attentive to the other players and stuck firmly to my principles in the game. Playing tight had never been more important than now. Waiting for a really good hand and then playing aggressively. That should work.

  The place smelled both of tobacco and the sweet smell of marijuana. On the one podium a young blond woman stood in only her underwear and high-heeled shoes. She was moving lethargically to the music with her back against a chrome metal pole. I went through the room and down a narrow corridor. The bass from the music made the floor vibrate. A tattooed man with a bare upper body and piercings in his nipples forced his way past. I kept going. Opened the door to the poker room. The others were already seated. All men, as usual. Six of them. They looked me up and down.

  “A chick?” said a young guy with slicked-back hair I’d never seen before.

  “Yes, a chick,” said Marx, whom I had played with previously. “You got a problem with that?”

  The guy didn’t answer. Drew his hand through his pageboy-length hair, which glistened with wax. He was surely no more than twenty-three years old.

  “What the hell, Marx, are you bringing little brats in here?” I said.

  “Sit down,” said Marx. “The guy has cash, that’s the most important thing.”

  I went slowly over to the empty chair. Sat down.

  “We’re running one tournament this evening, that’s all,” said Marx. “The stakes are high. Fuck anyone who freaks out. This will be a calm, clean game, then we’ll split, okay?”

  Everyone nodded. Except the brat.

  “What?” said Marx, looking at him.

  The brat shrugged.

  “If you’re having doubts, you can leave now,” said Marx, looking at him. “I won’t put up with any fucking hassle.”

  “I understand,” said the brat.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  Everyone took out their money. Thousand-kronor bills in bundles were placed on the table and counted carefully. Marx dealt the cards. I folded. Then folded the next hand. And the next. Where were all the good cards? Even though I was impatient I managed to resist the temptation to play with semi-good cards. But I couldn’t wait too long. If I did, I risked being eaten up by blinds. I didn’t bat an eyelash. Read off the others’ play.

  I didn’t know where Marx had found the brat. The guy bluffed wildly. Played like a beginner. Maybe it was a tactic. When all the players had counted him as a bad player, he could strike with full force.

  At regular intervals a half-naked waitress came in and took orders. The brat ordered one drink after another. Marx and I looked at each other. The others were playing well. Really well. I kept to my strategy. Tossed one hand after another. But now my stack was starting to dwindle. A couple more rounds and I would be out of the game. I had to get into the game now. I bit the bullet. Crossed my fingers for better cards.

  Yes! King of spades, ace of spades. It was time. Now it was crucial to bet without scaring off the other players. Two players dropped out immediately. I bet more. Another two players went, but the brat and Marx were still hanging in there. Now it would happen. I went all in. It had to work. The last card was dealt. Marx showed his cards. He was out. The brat and I were left. He showed his cards. I looked.

  Stared.

  I didn’t want to see.

  How could I have let this happen? I stared in front of me. Quick images rushed past in my head. The hospital. Benji in the hospital bed. So innocent, so fragile. I ran out of steam for a moment.

  The brat smiled wryly to everyone and scraped together the pile of money from the middle of the table.

  “It was nice playing with all of you. How often do you play?”

  No one answered. The others got up and started heading for the door. I remained seated with my eyes fixed on the table in front of me. When everyone had left, Marx came over. Sat down on the chair beside me and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “You really needed to win, huh?”

  I nodded slowly. Marx pulled the chair closer and whispered in my ear.

  “If it’s really bad you can probably ask the guy. I’ve heard that he…”

  I looked at Marx. The thought hadn’t struck me before. It was actually a way out.

  “I’ll put in a good word for you,” said Marx. “So you can bring up the total. Five figures isn’t impossible.”

  I smiled. It wasn’t perfect in any way, but now it was about survival. I got up. Left the room. Looked toward the bar. There stood the brat with a glass in his hand, talking with a young blonde. While I went and ordered a drink a little farther away, Marx went up to him. I stayed where I was. Waiting. I didn’t need to wait long before the brat came over.

  “Well played!”

  I didn’t reply.

  “Marx says you’re really good.”

  “True,” I answered without looking at him.

  There was no point in playing hard to get. We both knew what this was about. I looked him up and down.

  “But you can hardly afford it. You dress like a rich kid but probably you’re just a wannabe.”

  I knew, of course, that he had money. Besides the fact that Marx said so, the guy had just won a tournament with five-figure amounts in the pot. But now it was about getting him to spend that money on me and not on any of the young girls. Accusing a brat like him of not having money had touched a nerve. I didn’t realize how sensitive he was until I saw his reaction. He clenched his jaw and squeezed the glass so hard he had to set it down on the bar, so it wouldn’t slide out of his hand.

  “What the hell do you mean, bitch?”

  I smiled.

  “Try me,” he answered. “How much do you want?”

  Would it really be this easy?

  “Thirty-five for a whole ni
ght, fifteen for an hour.”

  He looked me up and down.

  “No problem with a whole night, but an hour is enough for me,” he answered.

  “That is, over and above the hotel room and taxi, which of course you’ll pay for,” I said.

  I looked at the clock, then I took the last gulp of my drink and headed to the exit. The brat followed.

  On the way up in the elevator at Elite Eden Park Hotel at Stureplan I thought about how unexciting it was. Like a one-night stand. The guy was young and good-looking. Handsome, if you like that type. That such a guy would pay for sex seemed tragic, but it probably had more to do with the excitement, power, and pure boredom that came from being able to take whatever you wanted.

  He was barely inside the door before he starting tapping white powder on the glass top of the coffee table.

  “Do you want some?” he said.

  I went into the bathroom. Undressed. If I had any luck this would be over within a few minutes and I could leave.

  Wearing my black g-string and bra, I came out of the bathroom. I looked into the room. The brat was lying in a strange position on the couch. One leg up on the cushion, the other on the floor. His back arched to the side. His head hung. I ran over. Took hold of his head. Slapped him on the cheek.

  “Hey!”

  No reaction. I felt his neck. He had a pulse and was breathing, but he was completely gone. I let him lie there. Typical of kids to carry on with things they had no control over. I laid him on his side on the couch and went into the bathroom again, quickly pulling on my clothes. When I came out he hadn’t moved from the spot. I went over to him. Put my hand in front of his mouth and nose. Puffs of breath warmed the skin on my hand. He was okay.

  I found fifteen thousand kronor in his wallet in the inside pocket of his jacket. I stuffed the money into my handbag and left the room.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  “Okay, so you’re saying that Leona doesn’t tell you what’s happening in the investigation and that she mostly sits in her office with the door closed when she’s not out on a job?”

  Claes was speaking as loud and clear as usual, but I couldn’t make out Minna’s answer. Claes’s voice was stronger and penetrated the wall more easily where I stood listening, next to the binders and other office supplies.