‘Dark movies,’ he notes.
‘I guess.’
‘So, Kristin.’ He looks at her intently through the slightly smudged glasses. ‘What brought you to my office today?’
She’s not sure where to start but an embroidered picture in Greta and Ingvar’s house comes to mind: Honesty saves everyone time.
‘I’m scared,’ she says. ‘It feels as if my life is finally coming together and I’m afraid I’m going to ruin it.’
‘I see,’ Olof says. He opens a notebook that has a pen wedged between the pages. At the top, she can see that he’s written Kristin Smith. ‘That’s not uncommon, Kristin. How exactly would you ruin it?’
She sinks deeper into the chair, relaxing her muscles one by one, making it easier to share her feelings. A former therapist taught her this.
‘People I care about tend to disappear or end up dead,’ she says, realising that came out wrong. ‘I mean… it might be paranoia. It’s not rational. I just… feel responsible.’
‘For?’
‘Pushing people away.’
‘Right.’ Olof hovers with the pen over the paper but doesn’t write anything; then he looks up. ‘Who’s ended up dead?’
‘I was speaking metaphorically.’ She groans. They’re not off to a good start. ‘There have been times when I’ve been hanging out with the wrong people,’ she explains. ‘And they have scared away the good people in my life. Does that make sense?’
‘Not quite.’ Olof scrunches up his eyebrows. ‘Could you elaborate, please? What type of so-called wrong people?’
‘Stanley, for example.’
She pulls his name out of a hat.
‘And Stanley is…’
‘Someone I used to work with.’ She probably shouldn’t have mentioned him, but he was the first person that came to mind. ‘I thought we were friends. He liked that I was different from other girls but then I realised he liked me too much.’
She bites the skin on the inside of her cheek. Ursula used to tell her it distorted her face, but it helps her to think.
‘Too much?’ Olof asks.
She might as well tell him. Things said out loud feel more real; it means they’re not just in her head any more.
‘He would call me all the time, want to know where I was and who I met with.’
Olof listens. He doesn’t fiddle with things the way she would have. It gives her confidence.
‘I had to take out a restraining order,’ she says.
Olof’s pen scribbles.
‘How did that make you feel?’ he asks.
‘Ehm, I don’t know. I didn’t think he would take it seriously.’
‘But how did you feel at first, when he kept calling you? Were you scared?’
My brother said I had myself to blame.
‘I guess I felt flattered,’ she admits. ‘I thought he cared about me. Although deep down I knew it wasn’t right. It was like being caught again.’
Olof adjusts his position in the chair, causing the pen to glide onto his lap, but he doesn’t pick it up immediately.
‘Again?’ he asks.
How can she explain? ‘I mean caught in someone else’s net,’ she says, realising she’s dug herself deeper.
Olof twirls his signet ring. It’s gold with a black square stone.
‘Whose net were you caught in before?’ he asks.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she says. ‘Just that I don’t like being controlled by anyone. Now I’m with a man who doesn’t monitor my every move. It’s easier.’
There’s a wide grin on Olof’s face. ‘That’s good, Kristin.’ He sounds genuine and she lights up. ‘När det är lätt, så är det rätt,’ he adds. ‘When it’s easy, it’s right.’
‘I know,’ she says. It is easy. For the most part. ‘Anyway, I should forget about the past.’
Olof resumes his serious therapist look.
‘One should forgive,’ he says. ‘Not necessarily forget.’
That saying has never made sense to her.
‘One should forgive for his or her own sake, to avoid feelings of bitterness,’ Olof explains. ‘But to forget is to repress and that’s not healthy. It’s better to process the memories and concentrate on the here and now. Let’s take care of the memory of Stanley first, shall we?’
‘Okay,’ she says reluctantly because she’s not sure she really wants to. ‘Eventually he left me alone. Or at least I thought he did.’
‘He’s still out there, so to speak?’
‘In the US,’ she says. ‘Far from here, and he doesn’t know where I live.’ She hesitates and thinks back to the last few months. ‘He can’t know,’ she says, sounding fairly confident.
‘And now you’ve met someone more genuine.’
She nods but her stomach is aching now. Has she missed something? Made any mistakes along the way? Her fingers search up and down her arms for hair sacs to squeeze.
‘Kristin,’ Olof says with authority in his voice. ‘Sometimes it helps to meet other people who experience similar thoughts to yourself.’
She looks up and pays attention. That does sound interesting.
‘I’m running a group therapy session tomorrow,’ he says. ‘You should join us.’
‘Maybe,’ she says, quickly changing it to, ‘Yes, I will.’
There’s something comforting about Olof’s presence, as if she’s under his temporary protection.
*
That evening, as they’re lying in bed talking, Kristin is tempted to tell Niklas about Olof. Would he understand? Or will she seem weird?
‘How was your day?’ Niklas asks, reaching for her hand under the duvet, filling her with affection.
That convinces her: she needs to open up. But just as she’s about to come clean, the phone starts to ring. It’s late enough for her to sit up and feel any bliss float away. The signals slice through the apartment and she nudges Niklas, who jumps out of bed. She follows him into the hallway, her bare feet cold on the hardwood floor.
‘Hello. Hello?’ he says before hanging up.
Two times in one week is too much of a coincidence. Two times means something. Doesn’t it? I hope you rot in hell. The cap.
‘Unknown number,’ Niklas says, checking the Caller ID.
She slides onto the floor. Of course, it’s an unknown number. How could she possibly think that she deserved to be happy?
Chapter 10
‘Where were you last night?’ my boyfriend asked over the phone. ‘I tried to call you.’
‘Out with friends,’ I said.
‘Who?’
‘No one you know.’
‘I thought I knew all your friends.’
‘Well, you don’t. There are people in my neighbourhood that you don’t know.’
‘Okay, sorry. I was worried about you.’
I softened. The night out with X hadn’t gone quite as expected.
‘I’m sorry too,’ I said. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘You’re working too much.’
‘I know. Doing an extra shift tonight but I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise,’ I said.
I felt agitated. Spending time with X, which I now knew was short for Xavier, made me question everything around me, including my relationship. I had finally told him about my boyfriend. It felt good to confide in someone and I didn’t have that many close friends. X was a good listener and I valued his take on life. But he’d said something that bothered me.
‘People like your boyfriend always marry someone from their own class.’
‘But he doesn’t come from old money,’ I’d said.
‘Doesn’t matter. Money is money.’
Was he right?
‘I’m not saying he doesn’t love you,’ he’d added, ‘but deep down he will feel like he’s saving you and you deserve better than that. You shouldn’t be pitied, you should be respected.’
I recognised what he was saying and the conversation kept re
peating in my head as I stepped out of X’s bed. Thankfully he was still sleeping and hadn’t been woken up by my phone call. The night before, we’d become entangled in a heated kiss. I’d realised then that I had wanted his lips on mine from the moment I met him, my brain just hadn’t allowed it to happen. But under the influence of alcohol and together with the intimacy of the whispered conversation… It should have ended there but it hadn’t.
As I sat on the toilet, I felt low. Was I no better than my mother, who had boyfriends all over the place? It was the way he looked at me, the way he made me feel. He understood me. Still, I needed time to think this through.
I collected my clothes from around the bed and swiftly got dressed, as he started to stir.
‘You’re up early,’ he said, stretching his arms into the air.
‘I need to get going.’
‘Already? Why don’t you come back to bed?’
I felt ashamed and annoyed with both him and myself. He knew I had a boyfriend and I should have known better.
‘No, I really need to go,’ I said. ‘By the way, you never introduced me to those people you talked about.’
Hadn’t that been the purpose of the evening?
‘I know, precious, we obviously got distracted. I will though, because I need your help.’
He needed my help?
‘Okay,’ I said curiously. ‘What do you need?’
He pulled me into bed and kissed me longingly.
‘I have a lot of troubled friends,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘This one guy… he’s had a really rough time with his woman. It’s a long story, but could you meet with him? He could really use a woman to talk to.’
Every time he referred to me as a ‘woman’ as opposed to a ‘girl’, I grew.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘If you think I can help.’
*
I knocked on the door of X’s friend. The man who opened it was at least thirty, with a bulky chest and a thin beard, and I wondered why he would want to talk to someone like me? Surely he would have more experience than I did?
He offered me a drink and told me he had a ‘lady issue’.
‘Okay,’ I said, trying to sound mature. ‘What type of problem?’
A sob story about cheating and abandonment followed and I was too focused on following what he was saying that I didn’t notice the arm that was suddenly wrapped around me. I tried to move away but that had the opposite effect. He grabbed hold of me with both hands and pulled me in.
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘He said you were up for it.’
‘Who did?’
‘X.’
X had said I was up for what exactly? There had clearly been a misunderstanding. Taking advantage of my moment of confusion, the friend planted his lips on mine, his slippery tongue making its way inside my mouth.
‘No!’ I screamed, pushing him away.
That angered him. ‘Call him,’ he said, throwing a phone at me.
With shaking hands, I dialled X’s number and waited for his familiar voice to fill my ear.
‘Hey, babe,’ he said, sounding chipper. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Eh…’ I turned away slightly, and in a hushed voice I said, ‘Your friend just kissed me.’
He laughed. ‘Can you blame him? It’s because you’re so damn gorgeous.’
I smiled. ‘Still, can you please tell him to stop?’
‘Come on, babe, he could really use some love right now. Did he tell you what happened with his girlfriend?’
‘Yes,’ I said but my brain was frying. He could really use some love right now? What did that mean?
‘Just let him do whatever he wants. I’ll make it worth your while later.’
‘What?’ I was perplexed.
‘I’ll pay you for the trouble.’
Did I hear him correctly? He was going to ‘pay’ me? I hesitated.
‘Precious. Sometimes you have to give to get. This is the beginning of your journey to success and I love you for doing this. I mean, I love you more than you could possibly imagine.’
He loved me?
‘I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you,’ he continued. ‘Trust me on this. You’re strong and beautiful and… just do whatever he needs, okay? Make him happy. That will make me happy.’
I put the phone down and looked at this friend of X’s. Paralysed with fear, I realised that there was no escape. The hunger in his eyes told me that any form of resistance would land me in trouble. So I switched my brain off, pretended to be a rag doll and counted the seconds until it was over. Luckily, it was quick. But later, at home, I couldn’t wash away the deep-seated feeling of dirt under my skin, however much I tried.
Chapter 11
Frank
December 2016
‘We would like to speak to your daughter again,’ the police officer said. ‘She appears to have left her residence without a forwarding address. Do you know how we can get in touch with her? We have a few follow-up questions.’
‘Eh… no.’
Sofia had moved?
‘If you hear from her, please let us know.’
‘Sure, but… what happens now?’
Why did they want to talk to Sofia again? The autopsy had revealed that Anders wasn’t dead when he entered the water. It pointed towards an accident.
‘At the moment, it’s an ongoing investigation,’ the officer said. ‘But I’m not sure we’re getting anywhere. Most likely, he got caught up in a rip current.’
Frank hung up, the officer’s words playing on his mind. They were saying it had been an accident? Did that mean they could move on and mourn their son in peace? A constant cloud hung over their home; Frank felt as if he was drifting, his mind locked in a bubble. Nothing felt right any more, the view of Lake Michigan a constant reminder of what had happened.
‘I found this on the beach,’ Birgitta said, startling him as he entered one of their living rooms. ‘A few days ago.’
Living in a large house, one could always be surprised by someone else’s presence. The lights were off but Birgitta’s voice was clear. He sat down next to her on the white linen couch and placed her pedicured feet on his lap.
‘What did you find, dear?’ he said.
She held up a necklace that they’d given their daughter on her eighteenth birthday. A gold chain with an emerald stone for the month of May.
‘Birgitta,’ Frank said, feeling his chest compress. ‘Isn’t that withholding evidence?’
She looked at him sternly.
‘She’s our daughter. I’m not going to hang her out to dry.’
He felt the anger rise. ‘Maybe not, but you should at least have talked to me about it. We’ve been sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves when really we should be mad.’
‘Mad?’
‘Yes! We’ve been such useless parents. There was obviously something going on between our children that we weren’t aware of. The police called and said they wanted to talk to Sofia again.’
This seemed to unsettle her. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. How could it have gone so wrong?’
‘We need to do something, Frank. We can’t let them question her. She won’t cope.’
She stretched out a hand to switch the table light on, a warm glow spreading across her face. He rested his hand on her leg, comforted by her concern for their daughter. Sofia’s potential involvement did worry him.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ she said. She pulled a tissue out of the box on the side table and dabbed it at her eyes. ‘Apparently Anders and Sofia were fighting about us.’
He looked at her in amazement.
‘What? About us? Why do you say that?’
‘One of Anders’s friends called me,’ she explained.
She leaned her head back as if to stop the tears.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he said.
It felt as if they were on separate trains again, going in different directions. He couldn’t s
tand that feeling. Although he cherished her independence, they needed to stick together now more than ever.
‘He only called me today, Frank,’ she said, defending herself.
‘Who was it and what exactly did he say?’
He tried to sound calmer than he was.
‘It was Tim.’
‘You mean the Ferguson boy?’
Birgitta nodded, looking away. Frank couldn’t stand him, or his parents. How they had made their money was a constant mystery to the authorities, yet everyone knew exactly how.
‘He didn’t want me to tell you because he doesn’t want to get dragged into this. He was very adamant about that and we have to respect his privacy.’
Frank let it slide. ‘Okay, fine. What did he say?’
‘Anders had apparently been feeling that his sister’s issues hijacked his childhood and he resented the attention we gave her.’
Was that true? A knot tied in Frank’s stomach. As a parent he had always felt he could have done better.
‘But why would he get upset with her?’ he said. ‘He should have spoken to us about it.’
Frank was getting emotional. Birgitta too. She blew her nose and scrunched up the tissue before pulling out a new one.
‘I agree,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘He was mostly upset with you.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘He had hoped that being the only one still living at home, he would be our centre of attention and yet you still focused on Sofia.’
Frank had never missed his son as much as he did in that moment. How he wanted to shake him for being silly, and hug him and tell him he loved him. He would have given anything to bring him back.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Frank said, but it sounded half-hearted. He had given Sofia more attention, or rather he had felt more protective of her. But didn’t all fathers have a special bond with their daughters? The guilt consumed him. ‘I really miss him.’
Birgitta’s eyes were on the lake outside. Did she blame him too?
‘I used to think that if any of our children were close, those two were,’ Frank said.
‘Me too,’ she said, a faint smile through the tears, and that made him feel better. It wasn’t just his imagination. ‘But as a teenager, he was always searching for life’s meaning. That seemed to change their relationship.’ She fiddled with her pearl necklace. ‘According to Tim, he invited his sister here to confront her. Things must have got out of control.’
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