‘Amanda?’ He was getting closer. My boyfriend had come to save me.
‘Here! I’m here!’ I shouted as loud as I possibly could but when the door burst open, I was met by Stanley’s fist. It came down hard on the side of my head, making me collapse in pain. I tried to stand up, my eyes looking behind him. Where was he? I couldn’t hear him anymore.
‘Here!’ I shouted again but Stanley straddled me, his hand pressed over my mouth as I kept shouting.
‘Amanda! Amanda?’ There it was again but now fainter, further away. The tears were flowing as I tried to scream, but Stanley hit me again, this time sending me into a tight vacuum of blackness.
Chapter 29
Kristin
Kristin is furious with Ebba for interfering in her relationship. She badly wants to call Ebba and confront her right now but what if she’s with Niklas? He’s not home yet. Kristin doesn’t want to give either of them the satisfaction of her name flashing on their screens, reminding them how lonely she is.
She cleans the telephone handset that she would have used to call Ebba, bringing out cotton buds and rubbing alcohol, quickly descending into a downward spiral of fixations. She cleans and organises and tries not to think. She walks back and forth over thresholds, she counts to five over and over until Olof’s words stop her.
‘You can break the cycle, Kristin.’ She can. She has before.
Keeping busy is key. That much she knows. She slips her gloves on to read the newspaper and is comforted to learn that the local police are cracking down on prostitution in hotels. Apparently few sex offenders have been charged in the past, but that’s about to change. If only they would go after the pimps, she thinks. Still, the police are doing something and that confirms she’s moved to a good city. She shouldn’t have to leave.
She looks at her watch: 9 p.m. When will Niklas be home? She puts a Pedro Almodóvar movie on but struggles to concentrate on the subtitles. The allure of movies doesn’t offer any relief this evening. There’s also a nagging voice in her head telling her to pack. Yet she can’t. I’m not going anywhere.
She would call Beata if it weren’t so late.
9.30 p.m. The apartment is still empty. Should she eat something? Maybe if she’s sitting at the table, munching on something when Niklas arrives, she’ll appear less threatening. She opens the fridge but the display is disappointing. Herring is positively disgusting and it’s probably past its sell-by date. She picks up a tube of rice porridge. That will do. She pours it into a bowl and adds strawberry jam.
While the spoon rhythmically moves back and forth between the bowl and her mouth, her brain cogs start to move. She will confront Niklas and then take down Ebba if needed; sell her out to Olof or… or what will she do? She has the gun; she has the power. But imagining Ebba dead doesn’t make her feel better.
9.45 p.m. A sudden frightful thought: what if Niklas doesn’t come home at all? Has Ebba scared him away? What could she possibly have said? Kristin rehashes all their conversations and doesn’t believe she has incriminated herself in any way. But what if she doesn’t remember everything?
She should change her clothes. If she looks nicely put together, Niklas will think she’s perfectly okay. If he comes home. When he comes home, she corrects herself. She pulls a dress over her head, but it doesn’t feel right. Shorts and a T-shirt? Too simple. The third outfit, a snug pair of trousers and a polo neck, feels too tight. Yet she doesn’t take this one off immediately. She studies herself in the bedroom mirror, imagining the clothes squeezing her until she can barely breathe; inviting the danger in before succumbing and changing again. And again. In the end she sinks half-clothed to the floor, exhausted.
Shortly before ten o’clock she hears the key turning. She runs into the hallway where Niklas appears, looking flustered.
‘Where have you been?’ she asks, not able to hide her concern.
He swallows, the Adam’s apple moving up and down as he looks at her. Is he wondering how to break it off? He takes his jacket off and his shoes and she just stands there, waiting.
‘I met with your friend, Ebba,’ he says eventually.
His admittance takes her aback. It somehow feels too easy.
‘Ebba?’ she says, feigning surprise. ‘Why?’
‘She wanted to talk and, well, we had a chat.’
‘About?’ she asks, her voice trembling.
‘About you.’
He sounds too matter of fact, and strolls into the living room. Why is he walking away? She follows him as he sits down in one of the Lamino chairs.
‘Remember when we got these?’ he asks, holding onto the armrests.
She nods. ‘After we bought the apartment.’
‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘These were expensive and yet you thought they were worth spending money on, for us. Two chairs for two people.’
She’s confused. Who cares? ‘Why did you meet Ebba to discuss me?’ she asks.
Although she would love to join him, she remains in the doorway.
‘Ebba was worried that I wasn’t a good influence on you. Apparently you don’t go to group therapy anymore.’
She sighs. ‘Niklas, I decided it wasn’t for me. It has nothing to do with you. You are really, really good for me.’
He relaxes into the chair as if she’s just unburdened him.
‘Fuck Ebba,’ she says.
‘Oh, no,’ he says, sitting up straight. ‘Don’t hate her. She didn’t mean it like that. She really likes you. I mean, she said she had been thrust onto you, but now she really likes you.’
Kristin pushes away from the doorframe and walks into the room, reclining into the second, matching sheepskin-clad chair. She needs to be closer to Niklas, to touch his hand, fending off any distrust.
‘She was thrust onto me?’
‘She told me a crazy story about a guy paying her to be friends with you,’ he says.
Suspicion tiptoes into her brain. ‘Paranoia is the by-product of being consistently right.’ She’s heard that on a TV show.
She pierces Niklas with her eyes.
‘Why would anyone pay someone to be friends with me?’ she says.
Stanley? Why can’t he die already? She wants to be rid of him. He’s poison.
‘She wouldn’t say. Maybe she made it up? She seems kind of loopy. Unless she meant your therapist? Maybe he wanted you to feel included since you’re new here?’
Olof? She can’t imagine that. Would he really set her up and pay Ebba to include her? She tries to view him in a different light, as someone less genuine. Does he take pleasure in manipulating his patients, making them worse so that they will keep seeing him? She can’t picture that. Or has she been too nice to this particular stranger?
‘Ask her when you call her tomorrow,’ Niklas says.
She nods. She absolutely will get to the bottom of this.
Just then, the intercom buzzes, disturbing their peace with its shrill sound.
‘Are you expecting someone?’ Niklas asks.
‘No,’ she says. ‘So don’t answer it.’
But Niklas is already out of his chair. ‘Why not?’ He grins as if she’s joking and before she knows it, he’s already down the hallway, answering it anyway.
‘Hej.’
‘Niklas Jönsson?’ the person asks and her heart jumps out of her chest.
She knows that voice.
Chapter 30
Gabriella
Gabriella is intent on not fucking up. She leaves the strange encounters with her neighbours behind, her attention on her sculpture, and on Peter… She wants to make a good impression today and has removed all the rubbish in the cottage, leaving a freshly vacuumed and dusted space. In her attempts to make her living room look spick and span, however, she’s forgotten to get changed. She’s suddenly conscious of how plain she must look in her denim overalls, but Peter’s car is already parking on the gravel outside. Oh, well.
‘Hej,’ Peter says, presenting her with a bunch of lilies, her favourite.<
br />
‘This is a working relationship,’ she says, but doesn’t resist when he steps inside and pulls her close.
‘I know, but can’t we make it up as we go along?’
His lips press onto hers and she finds she’s closing her eyes, allowing herself to be sucked in. Just for a second. Then we will work.
‘You should get changed,’ she says after a while, withdrawing from his warm lips.
‘Of course,’ he says, shedding his clothes right in front of her.
Although she knows Peter’s body by heart, Gabriella now feels as if she’s rediscovering it, her fingers tracing the firm muscles and the bulging veins as a woman as opposed to a sculptress.
‘This isn’t how I usually work,’ she says.
‘I’m glad I’m special,’ he says, helping her out of her clothes and leading her to the bed.
The hunger guides them as they clamber onto each other, their naked skin becoming one. He eagerly tugs at her nipples, stroking her behind as he lifts her onto his lap. His hands are warm and firm and they caress her in a way that’s new. Peter is generous with his time and attention to the extent that she’s begging him to enter her; her lips wet, her insides screaming.
‘You ready?’ he teases, because he knows damn well that she is.
‘You’re testing me.’ She laughs and their tongues meet as he slides into her.
She gasps and leans her body back, allowing him deep inside; meeting his thrusts until they both come, the orgasms so strong, they’re quiet for a long time afterwards, panting.
Once they’ve recovered, they’re lying on the bed, facing each other.
‘What just happened?’ she says, stroking his soft cheek. ‘That was… incredible.’
‘I aim to please,’ he smirks.
‘Wow,’ she says. ‘How are we supposed to work after this?’
‘We will,’ he says, kissing her nose. ‘Soon.’
He brings her body close and as he hugs her tightly, she feels the thump of his heart. Is it beating as fast as hers?
‘How was your coffee with the neighbour?’ he asks. ‘Is she planning to come around every night? Because you know… I might want to stay over some time.’
He chuckles.
‘I hope she doesn’t,’ Gabriella says, but she doesn’t tell him what Birgitta said. You’re a very attractive woman. In the daylight it seems much less loaded, a simple compliment paid in passing. She doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it.
She’s about to tell him about Frank’s visit but doesn’t want to spoil the mood. It was a less comfortable encounter.
‘Are they going to stay here permanently or is it more of a summer house?’ Peter asks.
‘I don’t know,’ she says distractedly. There’s something else she’d rather discuss with Peter. ‘This swinging thing,’ she says instead, addressing the elephant in the room. Will she be expected to participate?
‘What about it?’
‘I don’t know. What’s it like?’
He adjusts his head on the pillow, making himself comfortable.
‘I honestly didn’t think it would be for me. But I was seeing this girl who had few inhibitions and she suggested we try it.’ He pauses and scrunches his eyebrows up as if he’s worried about something. ‘I’m being completely honest now,’ he says, glancing at her.
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ she says, and he leans over and kisses her appreciatively.
‘I wasn’t expecting to like it, but I quite enjoyed being with different women without getting emotionally attached to anyone.’
‘I’m going to be honest, too,’ she says. ‘It sounds sad.’
He smiles. ‘I agree, it was sad.’ He rolls away from her slightly, his eyes now in the distance. ‘It might not explain it but I had a string of meaningless relationships, going from girl to girl. It was a way of venting but without hurting anyone.’
‘And now? You’re still doing it?’
‘You’re wondering if I’m going to bring you to a swingers’ club?’
‘Yes.’
She struggles to imagine herself naked in the presence of others, sharing her man.
‘It’s fun,’ he says. ‘It’s not some giant orgy, well, not always. People’s conversations are actually fascinating, so uninhibited and causal. We speak about sexual encounters the way others might talk about their dinner.’ He smiles at her. ‘There’s no pretence, Gabriella. I had actually expected there to be more of a mystery.’
‘How do you manage to stay safe?’ she asks. ‘I mean, STDs and stuff.’
They’ve been careful but, still, it does add another dimension to being intimate with someone.
‘It’s extremely hygienic,’ he says. ‘Everyone takes precautions to protect themselves, and others, of course.’
‘I’m not sure I would want to share you,’ she says. ‘That’s the problem.’
‘Oh, she’s possessive,’ he says mockingly.
‘No, it’s… I like you.’
But perhaps she’s wasting her time if he can’t commit to anyone?
‘I like you too,’ he says, bringing her closer. She rests her head on his chest, listening to the rhythmic beating inside. ‘But seriously, it’s almost like long, drawn-out foreplay. You usually save your orgasm for the person you’re with, later.’
That part does sound intriguing.
‘No need to do anything you don’t want to do though,’ he adds.
It should be reassuring, but it isn’t. She can’t change him. If this is what he’s into, that’s what he’s into. They lie in each other’s arms for a while, quietly stroking each other’s warm skin, Gabriella’s thoughts now on the sculpture.
‘I hate to say it, but we need to get to work.’
‘You shouldn’t feel bad about this,’ he says, kissing her tenderly. ‘Artists sleeping with their muses is an age-old tradition.’
*
It’s late when Peter gets dressed but, despite the unfocused start to the day, she’s managed to get the majority of the sculpting done. Peter has been an excellent model and he barely gets cramp, which is a bonus. Soon she’s going to be able to create the cast and do the bronze. Stieg has thankfully given her a crash course over the phone. Apparently you have to be quite skilled for that type of work, but she’s confident she’ll figure it out.
Peter is lingering by the door.
‘I wish I could stay the night,’ he says.
‘I know, but not yet.’
She would love to wake up next to him but her brain needs space, at least until she’s finished the project. After that, who knows? Will he even stay around? She’s afraid to ask.
‘I’ll see you in a couple of days,’ he says and kisses her.
After he’s driven off, leaving silence behind, Gabriella puts the sculpture away and pours herself a cup of coffee. Her muscles are tired and she slumps into her blue armchair and balances a book on her knees. She’s on a creative high and doesn’t want to switch the TV on and kill it. Instead, she will read.
Only there’s a note on her floor that mocks her with its presence. Did she write herself a reminder? She leans forward and picks it up, but it’s not her handwriting. It must be Peter’s. There’s a woman’s name and a Helsingborg phone number on it. Her back straightens. Does he have a girlfriend? Or is he casually seeing someone in the city? Someone who shares his interest in swingers’ parties?
A knock on the door startles her. Is it Peter, hurrying back for the note? She checks her phone but there are no messages. It’s almost midnight. Surely it can’t be Birgitta again? Or could it be Frank? She wouldn’t want him around at this hour. In the corner of the room, Gabriella keeps an old golf bag that she’s inherited from her mother’s grandfather. An antique. She pulls out a rusty iron, just in case.
Still, her heart is pounding as she approaches the door, her left hand firmly gripping the golf club behind her back. She’s completely alone. Maybe she should exit via the back door to see who it is first? At tim
es like this, she does feel vulnerable.
The patio door is made of glass and has an old wooden frame, which creaks when she pushes it open. As she steps into the cool evening air, the smell of damp earth hits her. She listens out for any sounds, but, apart from chirping crickets, it’s quiet. Holding onto her golf club, she carefully treads down the path that surrounds her cottage. Lush ivy grows up the walls and hides her.
As she arrives at the final corner, she leans forward to spot her uninvited guest, and there, outside her house, is Birgitta. Again? Really?
‘Hello?’ Gabriella says, walking up to Birgitta, not bothering to hide the iron six in her hand. She might as well know she scared the shit out of her.
‘There you are,’ Birgitta says, looking up. ‘Why are you outside? It’s a bit late for gardening, isn’t it?’
Gabriella doesn’t respond. She’s pissed off.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, Gabriella,’ she says. ‘I know it’s late but I wanted to talk to someone.’
‘Has something happened?’
Birgitta seems to contemplate this.
‘Well… I need your help. Would you be able to help me buy a phone?’
A phone? ‘Don’t you already have one?’
‘I do but I need a spare one and I obviously can’t drive into town myself.’ She hints at her legs. ‘I realise it might sound strange but I need to call my mother. It’s, well… Frank doesn’t know she’s alive and I don’t want to run the risk of him checking my phone list.’
‘He would do that?’
She shrugs.
‘Why doesn’t he know she’s alive?’ Gabriella asks.
‘It’s a long story but my mother was a difficult woman. She was...’ a bitter laugh ‘… quite horrible actually. It was easier to pretend that she was dead.’
‘Fine,’ Gabriella says. ‘I’ll help you but right now I need to go to sleep.’
She doesn’t, but she wants to emphasise that it’s late and that Birgitta should stop visiting at this hour.
‘Sorry, Gabriella. You obviously have a life. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Although… maybe you wouldn’t mind driving me into Helsingborg so that I could actually visit my mother? It could be a day trip, just the two of us?’
What Did I Do? Page 15