What Did I Do?

by Jessica Jarlvi

  ‘Oh, no,’ Beata says. ‘They’re gone.’

  Kristin pricks up her ears. ‘Gone?’

  ‘Yes, my husband left a hundred years ago but he’s dead now anyway. Good riddance!’ She chuckles and sips her water. ‘I had two girls, but they left too.’

  They also left?

  ‘Motherhood was hard,’ Beata says contemplatively. ‘They were so different it was impossible to be fair all the time. One of them was… how should I put it… unusual? The other one was too good to be true, only to be hit by a truck after she moved away from home. Life isn’t fair.’

  ‘Unusual how?’ Kristin asks, at once alert. How many times has she heard herself described that same way?

  ‘She did her own thing, I guess. Never listened to anyone. Always knew best. Was going to conquer the world but didn’t really care if she hurt anyone along the way.’

  That doesn’t sound too bad, Kristin thinks. Strangers have said way meaner things about her, thinking she couldn’t understand them.

  ‘Where is your daughter now?’

  ‘Conquering the world somewhere.’ Beata chuckles. ‘Certainly doesn’t need me anymore.’

  Kristin has spotted a pile of leather-bound photo albums on a bookshelf and gets an idea.

  ‘Do you mind if I look at these?’

  They’re heavy, filled with both black-and-white and colour photos. Beata shows Kristin where she grew up, her late husband and her daughters when they were young.

  ‘What if your daughter had children and you never found out?’ Kristin says. ‘Maybe you do have some relatives after all?’

  ‘Even so, they obviously don’t need me. I’ve drawn up a will to donate my money to the city. Maybe they can use it for some cultural events? Do people still go to the concert hall these days?’

  ‘I haven’t been,’ Kristin admits. ‘Maybe I will take my boyfriend there.’

  They talk about Niklas and Beata asks if she’s going to marry him. It sounds like the type of thing that she would be excited about, so Kristin says ‘yes’.

  ‘That’s lovely, dear,’ Beata says and puts a wrinkled hand on Kristin’s.

  ‘Well, donating to the city is lovely of you,’ Kristin says.

  *

  After saying goodbye to Beata with the promise of visiting her again, Kristin shares Ebba’s directions with Mohamed, careful not to let him touch her phone. She’s not worried about him stealing it, but phones carry enough bacteria as it is, she doesn’t want anyone to add to it.

  Half an hour later, they arrive outside a whitewashed, retro-looking building in an affluent part of Helsingborg.

  ‘We’re here,’ Mohamed says. ‘You want me to wait?’

  ‘No, I’ll call you,’ she says.

  She has no idea what to expect from this visit.

  Outside, the wind grabs hold of her jacket and she walks against it, her trousers pressed to her legs. It’s grey and freezing. Her hair must be a mess, the combed-back ponytail flying like a kite behind her.

  ‘Hello,’ Kristin says to Ebba.

  They don’t hug but they don’t shake hands either, although Ebba’s hand would probably be the cleanest one she could ever touch. It’s just awkward being face to face without the support group around.

  ‘You can view every room from the hallway,’ she says to Ebba. ‘That’s practical.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ebba says. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Niklas closed all the doors during the winter to save money on heating, but I kept them open when he was at work.’

  Why did she have to say that? Ebba doesn’t need to know everything about Niklas.

  ‘Hot chocolate?’ Ebba offers. ‘I make it for my brother when he visits.’

  ‘Why not?’ They walk to the kitchen. ‘You don’t like art?’ Kristin asks, observing the bare white walls.

  Ebba shakes her head. ‘I find it distracting.’

  In the kitchen, Kristin sits down by the window, which overlooks a garden. There’s a cherry blossom tree outside.

  ‘I got you a job,’ Ebba says.

  Kristin feels confused. ‘What, just like that?’

  ‘Yes, just like that,’ Ebba says, sounding offended.

  Apparently she will be working at Ebba’s uncle’s business, Books and Movies AB, packing online orders. They’ve even arranged for her to have her own handheld device.

  ‘No need to share with anyone,’ Ebba says excitedly.

  ‘That’s fantastic.’ Walking up and down rows of stock, packing items into a box for delivery, sounds meditative. ‘Thank you. That’s kind of you.’ What does Ebba want in return?

  Kristin watches as Ebba pours milk into a saucepan, switching the electric hob on before mixing in the chocolate. She never drinks cocoa any more but it reminds her of being a student. Ursula’s group made her feel accepted, that her behaviour was an asset even. At that stage of her life, it was considered cool to be different.

  ‘You’re suffering to stay true to yourself,’ Ursula said.

  It all depended on the angle from which you chose to view things. Kristin still sends letters to Ursula’s parents’ house. Ursula might be moving around but her mother and father have lived in the same house for over thirty years and aren’t likely to move. Still, the last few months, there has been no response.

  She shakes her head. Focus on the present.

  ‘So… Kristin… the million-dollar question.’ Ebba mischievously grins at her. ‘Why did you really move here? I mean, to Sweden?’

  ‘My husband died,’ she says, surprising herself.

  Ebba stops stirring and stares at her. ‘You were married? Does Niklas know?’

  ‘Of course, he does.’ But he never asks any questions about Brandon. He’s her ‘before’ and Niklas is her ‘after’. Happily ever ‘after’ hopefully.

  A burnt smell fills the kitchen and Ebba releases a string of swear words before starting over. Soon, however, they’re facing each other, both tasting the new, steaming hot chocolate.

  ‘How did he die?’

  Ebba has an unsettling way of looking straight at Kristin with her wide green eyes.

  ‘He was sort of poisoned,’ she says.

  Ebba’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and Kristin takes another sip of the sweet chocolate.

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Kristin says vaguely. ‘Anyway...’

  ‘Does Niklas love you the way he did, your husband?’ Ebba asks.

  ‘It’s not the same,’ Kristin says. ‘My husband…’ She prefers that he remains nameless to Ebba. ‘Well, my marriage to him was a necessity.’ How can she explain? ‘He helped me get away from some bad people.’ That’s clean and simple. ‘Only he wasn’t who I thought he was. At first, he came across as kind, but he made me feel more and more incompetent and, in many ways, imprisoned.’ She surprises herself by being this open with Ebba, but Ebba nods as if she gets it. ‘Niklas is not like that at all,’ Kristin adds. ‘He’s an equal. A friend, someone I actually want to talk to.’

  ‘A friend you also have to sleep with?’

  ‘Ebba!’

  ‘Okay, sorry. Too much.’

  They smile at each other. This is okay, actually. Sitting here with Ebba. In an ideal world, she would tell her everything, but what will Ebba do with that knowledge? She can’t help.

  ‘I need to go soon,’ she says. She’s getting restless. ‘Thank you for the job.’

  Ebba shrugs. ‘Will you get rid of the gun for me?’

  Before Kristin has a chance to reply, Ebba has disappeared into her bedroom and when she comes back, her hands are holding the weapon in front of her, the way you might hold a hot oven tray.

  ‘It’s a Zastava 9mm from former Yugoslavia,’ Ebba says.

  The sight of it scares Kristin. She doesn’t want to hold it.

  ‘I’ve never heard of that brand before,’ she says. ‘What about ehm… ammunition?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Ebba pulls out a silk jewellery bag from her jeans pocket. ‘I put it in here.�
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  She hands it to Kristin, who holds the smooth pouch in her hand, weighing it. Did she really agree to help Ebba get rid of this? She tucks the bullets into her handbag. That’s the easy part.

  ‘So,’ Ebba says impatiently, holding up the gun a little too close to Kristin’s face. ‘Will you take it, please?’

  She does have more experience than Ebba, who looks scared. Kristin takes hold of the so-called Zastava, and quickly, before she can change her mind, she wraps it in a colourful scarf and hides it under the wallet in her handbag.

  ‘Thank you,’ Ebba says, visibly relieved. She leans forward without hugging Kristin, mumbling in her ear, ‘Friends forever.’

  Kristin nods but she can’t make promises such as ‘forever’.

  *

  After she leaves Ebba’s apartment, the nerves overpower her. Where is she going to lose this gun? She parks herself on a bench to think. Count to five. She picks up her phone to distract herself. Olof has promised to email her a self-help sheet with exercises and perhaps now would be a good time to read them. There are four unread messages in her inbox. Stanley’s and her mother-in-law’s names appear in bold. She can already imagine what they will say and deletes both those emails. Olof’s name is also on the list but the most important of all is Ursula’s. Ursula has written to her? Euphoria fills Kristin. The message was sent only a couple of days ago. She eagerly opens it.

  Hey girlie-girl, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. It’s no excuse but it’s been crazy busy here. Don’t be too alarmed but Stanley contacted me via Facebook. He knows that Brandon died and that you’re in Sweden. So be careful, will you? Ux

  Kristin quickly puts the phone away and starts to walk, pacing up and down the street. She should slow down. Don’t act suspiciously. She looks around. Is anyone watching her? Stanley knows she’s in Sweden? His last words to her: ‘If you ever leave, I will hound you until the day you die.’ Is he watching her right now? The bag feels heavier, a liability.

  She can’t stay here but where should she go? Somewhere. Anywhere. She calls Mohamed, who’s there within ten minutes, his moustached grin flashed at her through the rolled-down window.

  ‘I was hoping you call me,’ he says. ‘I have been thinking…’

  She doesn’t much care for his thinking right now. Does Stanley know where she lives? He can’t possibly. But he might know and that changes everything. She raises her eyebrows at Mohamed, her arms clutching the loaded bag. What do you want from me?

  ‘If you have time, you teach me Swedish, yes?’ he says.

  ‘It’s already pretty good,’ she says, getting into the back seat.

  ‘Okay, okay, only an idea, you know. Where you going?’

  Home. She wants to go home. Hugging her bag, she gives him the address. She will get rid of the gun later. Or not at all.

  Chapter 16

  My boyfriend brought me into a hug, his fresh aftershave familiar and comforting. But it also made me feel sad, as if a ‘goodbye’ was around the corner. He deserved someone better than me. I was too broken for him, for his life.

  ‘I haven’t seen you in ages,’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’

  His sweater was soft on my cheek.

  ‘Work,’ I mumbled.

  I had planned to tell him about my mother but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words out loud. It would only remind him that we were from different walks of life. He regularly complained about his strict rules at home, but he didn’t understand: his parents would never leave him on the street.

  ‘I’m meeting some friends on Friday to celebrate the end of exams,’ he said. ‘You coming?’

  I really wanted to. It would have been the best escape, to pretend that this could be my life even for a few hours, but I had promised X that I would join him that evening. Now that I was staying at his place, I felt obliged to go.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I have a shift.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Sorry, you know how it is.’

  I don’t know why I said that. Of course, he didn’t ‘know’.

  ‘I feel like I barely see you these days,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  I felt joy followed by tears but had to stop them before it was too late. He would misinterpret them.

  ‘Could I stay tonight?’ I pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. ‘Please.’

  ‘You know I would love that but my parents… We’re not allowed to have guests overnight.’

  Such high-class rules.

  ‘Just one night?’ I begged.

  One night away from X and his friends would be like diving into an oasis. I could deal with the anger that one night away would cause. I would say I had crashed at a friend’s place. As far as X knew, my boyfriend and I had broken up anyway. That was the only way I’d been able to get him to lay off the blackmail. I was sick of hearing, ‘I bet your boyfriend would love to hear about this… or that… or this.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But we do still have a couple of hours before you have to leave…’ He kissed my neck, my cheek, my lips and I allowed myself to melt into his arms as he carried me to his bed. We had done this so many times and I had loved it, yet it felt foreign now, my body no longer mine.

  I still went along with it, hoping it would help me reconnect with ‘me’, but lying on my back, his weight on top of me, I couldn’t do it.

  ‘Wait,’ I said.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  He looked genuinely concerned and, for a second, I contemplated telling him everything, from my mother leaving to X and the friend he’d made me sleep with, but how would he look at me after that? I would be a loser slut.

  ‘Can’t we just watch a movie?’ I suggested.

  It was already dark outside and I knew I would have to venture ‘home’ some time soon, but an hour more of inhaling my boyfriend’s scent would give me some much-needed strength.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, and it was such a relief to be heard and not forced to do something I didn’t wish to do.

  He switched the TV on and let me pick a movie. As he lay behind me on the king-size bed, I could feel the comforting beat of his heart against my back. Only a bedside lamp lit up the room and it was tempting to fall asleep and stay there. It was homely and comfortable and… not my reality. The thought of where I had to return to filled me with dread. Even though X regularly told me he loved me and how special I was, it was wearing thin.

  His apartment was stark with typical bachelor-style furniture in black leather and chrome. He didn’t lack money, but he was getting increasingly demanding in between his declarations of love.

  ‘I need you to contribute,’ he’d said the night before.

  ‘Then I will need to move out,’ I’d said, feeling hurt that the initial generosity was coming to an end.

  If I had to contribute to X, it would have practical implications.

  ‘How about I help you get a better job?’ he’d said. ‘One that pays way more.’

  ‘What type of job?’ I’d asked.

  ‘I’ll introduce you to those people I told you about. Tomorrow.’

  *

  ‘You’re late,’ X told me the minute I opened the door. ‘We’re heading out.’

  ‘Can I change first?’ I asked.

  I wanted to put the clothes away that smelt of my boyfriend and his house, to savour them, and to my surprise X let me.

  ‘Shower, put some make-up on and slip into this dress.’

  He held up a beautiful gold sequined number and for the first time since I moved in, I felt like his girlfriend. Was that good? I couldn’t decide. But at the back of my mind, I could hear my mother’s voice saying, He’s a better option for you.

  X’s friend Stanley, smartly dressed in black, acted as our driver and picked us up in X’s car, which felt lavish.

  ‘You look good,’ Stanley told me, holding up the door. ‘You’re going to have a great time.’

  Once we were seated in the back seat of the car,
X whispered, ‘Stanley works for me.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ I said. I hadn’t realised.

  X really was spreading it on thick tonight. Was this his way of apologising for the friend’s ‘favour’? As Stanley drove us down the road, my feet adorned by new leather strap heels, X held my hand, promising a night to remember. It made me feel grown up, the way I had felt that first night we went out and no one asked for my ID.

  We entered a swanky hotel and, at first, I thought he was taking me out to dinner. Instead, we entered a lift and headed up. We were staying over? I looked at him curiously.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ he said, flashing me a white smile.

  I felt giddy, as if this was the beginning of something new and exciting. Maybe this relationship could have a future? On the twentieth floor, we entered a room, which appeared to be a large suite. Inside, a party was in full swing. Music was playing and people were everywhere, either dancing or draped across sofas. It was glamorous and… strangely intimate.

  ‘There are many powerful people in here,’ he whispered, his breath warm in my ear.

  These were the people he was going to introduce me to? I felt bad that I had doubted him.

  ‘What exactly is the plan?’ I asked. ‘What job is it that you want me to do?’

  ‘Entertain the wealthy.’ He looked like someone offering up the most amazing gift. ‘It’s easy money, honey.’

  ‘Entertain?’ I asked, feeling doubtful.

  What did that entail exactly? Before I had time to ask, he pulled me into the room. Soon, a glass of bubbles was placed in my hand and X was talking to various people, mingling, leaving me to my own devices. A girl came up to me and eyed me up and down.

  ‘You with X?’ she asked.

  ‘I guess,’ I said, sipping my drink. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘I sure do.’

  She was glamorous with long red nails and pouting lips sporting a matching colour.

  ‘Want to meet new people?’ she asked, offering me her hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said gratefully.

  As we walked through the room, I realised that people weren’t just having intimate conversations with each other. They were openly kissing, some even groping each other and… were they having sex?