What Did I Do?

by Jessica Jarlvi

  ‘Your mother is in Helsingborg and Frank doesn’t know?’

  Birgitta blows her nose on a piece of tissue.

  ‘That’s correct.’

  Okay, that’s it. ‘Birgitta. Are you afraid of him?’

  Birgitta looks into the distance before responding.

  ‘A marriage is complicated,’ she says solemnly. ‘We certainly have our issues and, well…’ She looks at Gabriella. ‘Sometimes I am perhaps a little afraid but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.’

  ‘But if he doesn’t treat you right, you shouldn’t accept that,’ Gabriella says. ‘He knows you’ve been coming around.’

  ‘He does?’

  Birgitta nods as if she’s pondering this.

  ‘I guess we better give him something to talk about, then,’ she says.

  Chapter 31

  Frank

  Frank walks through the dimly lit house, his feet heavy on the hardwood floors. By their bathroom, he stops and knocks on the door, which looks exactly the same as every other door in their home: covered in thick grey paint with a flimsy black and chrome handle. The house needs work done.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asks.

  He’s helped Birgitta to have a bath and has enjoyed lathering her up and rinsing her pale skin off. Unfortunately the baths in this house are ridiculously small, with only enough room for one person, not two. There has been absolutely no intimacy since they arrived in Sweden, and it irritates him.

  ‘Almost,’ she says. ‘Just the mascara left.’

  She’s in a delightful mood today. Gabriella is taking her out. He’s decided that there are advantages to their friendship. It means he will have the house to himself for a few hours.

  He drives Birgitta down the road to Gabriella’s cottage, and he’s happy to see that their young neighbour is outside already, clearing out her boot.

  ‘The wheelchair should fit,’ she says as he steps out of his car.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay to do this?’ he asks. ‘She’s not exactly heavy but still… what if you drop her?’

  ‘I won’t,’ she assures him. ‘All that sculpting has left my biceps strong.’

  She holds up an arm and flexes it, a smile flashing across her face. He wonders what they will talk about in the car, she and Birgitta.

  ‘Let me show you how to fold this,’ he says, keen to stay a bit longer.

  Together they go through the mechanisms and lift the wheelchair into the now empty boot. In order to fit it into Gabriella’s Volvo V40, however, they have to remove the back wheels and the footrest.

  ‘Are you sure you will be able to put it back together?’

  ‘Frank,’ she says firmly. ‘I can handle this.’

  He carries Birgitta across to Gabriella’s passenger seat but when he tries to help her with the seat belt, she pushes him away.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ she says.

  *

  Frank waits at home for the security company to arrive. He’s searched through every part of his study without finding the photos of Niklas Jönsson, which makes him certain that someone took them. He’s installing the least intrusive top-of-the-range security system he could find. Birgitta won’t notice it and that’s the point. If she’s inviting people over to their house, he wants to know about it. There might be trust issues in their marriage but, up until now, he’s accepted that their lives have two tracks: a common path and a parallel one. He’s been able to dedicate himself to his business without being made to feel guilty while she’s been left to do her hippie-style coaching groups, or whatever the hell she got up to, in peace. He’s benefited from her work too – all that liberation stuff has on occasion transcended into their bedroom. Plus, they have both made decent money out of their ventures and have been able to share a rich life together. When he thinks of it, apart from their differences with regards to the children, it’s been a decent marriage. He wants to keep it that way.

  Now, living out here and being so dependent on each other, trust is of utmost importance. He still can’t understand why Birgitta has changed her mind about Sofia. There’s something she’s not telling him and he hopes the cameras will reveal what it is.

  *

  Once the installation is complete, Birgitta still hasn’t returned, and Frank drives off in search of Niklas Jönsson. He brings the newly printed photos together with the accurate address, which will hopefully get him somewhere.

  The sunshine that has sifted through the green leaves disappears, as it grows darker, although Denmark is still visible on the other side of Öresund, the waves high and mighty. By mistake, Frank ends up taking the scenic route past Sofiero, a public castle that’s hosting a concert this evening and cars are everywhere. He’s forced to navigate through the slow-moving traffic but eventually breaks through and heads down the hill and straight onto Drottninggatan. The sand-coloured apartment block where Niklas Jönsson lives is further down, closer to the city.

  He parks by an ICA supermarket and walks across the street and locates the correct building. Through a wooden door with inset glass, he can see there’s a stone staircase inside, leading up to the apartments. According to the intercom, Jönsson lives on the third floor. Frank presses the button and it doesn’t take too long before someone answers.

  ‘Hello?’

  It’s a man’s voice.

  ‘Niklas Jönsson?’ Frank asks.

  ‘Yes, can I help you?’

  Yes, you can.

  ‘I’ve got a package for you. Can you please let me in?’

  ‘What? Wait…’

  Niklas’s voice disappears, the line goes dead and Franks remains on the pavement, waiting. After a couple of minutes, he grows impatient and buzzes again, but there’s no response.

  That must mean he’s onto something. Maybe if he waits here, he can sneak inside the building? He’s pretty sure people’s names are printed on the doors. It won’t be hard to find him.

  As luck would have it, it only takes a few minutes for someone to appear on the other side of the door. Frank gets ready to grab the handle and go inside when he recognises the man from the photos.

  ‘Niklas?’

  ‘Yes. Hej. You had a parcel for me?’

  ‘Eh…’ He obviously should have formed a more solid plan. ‘I’m actually here because I need to talk to you.’

  Niklas looks surprised rather than worried. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘It’s a just question but before we get into that, do you know this woman?’

  He holds up a photo of Sofia and studies Niklas’s face closely. From his reaction, however subtle, it’s clear that he either knows her or has at least seen her.

  ‘No,’ Niklas says, shaking his head. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen her.’

  ‘You’re sure? Her name is Sofia Anderson.’

  ‘No,’ he persists. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I’m not really at liberty to—’

  ‘Are you with the police?’ he interrupts.

  He’s grown visibly nervous and Frank needs to capitalise on this.

  ‘That’s correct,’ he says confidently.

  ‘Please can I… see some ID?’

  ‘No need this time.’ Frank has to work fast now. ‘I’ll be back.’

  He starts to walk away but Niklas catches up with him.

  ‘Wait.’

  He turns around. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why are you looking for her? That woman?’

  Frank pauses for a second. There are many ways he could play this but, in the end, he settles for the truth.

  ‘Because she’s a killer.’

  Chapter 32

  Gabriella

  ‘Where are we going, Birgitta?’ Gabriella asks. ‘I’ll need directions.’

  She takes out her chewing gum and puts it on one of the random receipts she has stored in the door; most of her crap has been cleaned out but she hasn’t had time to sanitise the entire car.

  ‘Here,’ Birgitta says, holding up her phone.

 
Gabriella copies down the address to her GPS and off they go, past Sven’s potato harvester as a flock of crows sails over the field, and onto the 111 road.

  ‘Where does Frank think we’re going today?’ Gabriella asks.

  ‘To visit old schools and buildings I used to live in.’

  That would have been an interesting outing. ‘But isn’t that something he would want to do with you?’

  Birgitta sighs. ‘His focus is elsewhere at the moment.’

  Gabriella can’t quite figure their marriage out.

  ‘Is he retired?’

  ‘Yes, he sold his business a few years back. I miss him working. Our life used to be wonderful when we both did our own thing. It seemed to bring us closer together.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  Birgitta seems to shift in her seat and Gabriella recognises that her arms must be strong to move her own body. She should ask Birgitta to model some time. She’s curious about her physique.

  ‘I helped people live life to the fullest,’ she says. ‘My speciality was to make sure people were comfortable with who they are.’

  ‘That’s deep.’

  ‘And that’s not what you were expecting?’ Birgitta chuckles. ‘I don’t dress the part, do I? I guess I picked up this style when Frank’s business started to do well, and it stuck.’

  ‘Do you have any advice for someone trying to make it in the art world?’

  ‘Stick with whatever you feel passionate about. It will pay off. And be open to new people coming into your life. I meant what I said. You’re an attractive woman.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she says, feeling the need to respond. Why is it always hard to receive compliments? ‘Are you planning to work here?’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet. It took years to build up my business in the US, so we’ll see. But I’m hoping my experience will help me deal better with my mother.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘It’s been years,’ she says. ‘She always tried to meddle in our life. Even from here. She would use nasty tricks to try and break us up. It only stopped after I had children and decided not to give her my new phone number. That’s when I told Frank she died.’

  ‘But why see her now?’

  Birgitta shrugs. ‘Because she’s getting old and is hopefully harmless now. I would tell Frank, it’s just that he’s… our marriage has shifted and I feel like it would rock the boat, that I’ve lied to him.’

  They turn into the area where the care facility is located and find a regular parking spot, since Birgitta still hasn’t received her disability pass. Gabriella successfully unloads the wheelchair, for once grateful for the unusually cold and windy summer; she’s hot enough, working up a sweat assembling the wheelchair and lifting Birgitta out of the car.

  The building is a two-storey brick building and they travel up to the first floor.

  ‘Why don’t you wait here while I speak to the staff?’ Birgitta says.

  Gabriella finds a chair to sit in and listens to the muffled conversation about Birgitta’s mother.

  ‘Beata rarely… visitors… young woman… will be delighted.’

  From her seat, Gabriella can see the nurse assisting Birgitta down the hall and into a room. Most of the doors are open, revealing individually furnished bedrooms.

  Gabriella leans her head against the wall and closes her eyes, thinking of Peter. She hasn’t told him about the note but it plays on her mind. Who is the other woman? It could be innocent, of course. An associate, yet it doesn’t feel like it. It wasn’t a business card and he’s secretive with regards to his work. It’s more likely to be a girl he’s seeing, the way it’s casually written down on a piece of paper. It annoys her that she feels jealous.

  Just then, a woman starts screaming and Gabriella sits back up. What’s going on? Down the hall, Birgitta comes rolling out of the room in a hurry, a leather-bound book landing with a thud next to her.

  ‘That was close. Let’s go,’ she says.

  They take the lift downstairs and Gabriella waits for an explanation while they descend to the ground floor.

  ‘She doesn’t want to see me,’ Birgitta says simply.

  ‘I thought as much.’

  They do the whole manoeuvre all over again to get Birgitta back into the car but in silence this time.

  ‘I’m not ready to drive home yet,’ Birgitta says when they’re about to leave. ‘Do you mind if we go somewhere else first?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’

  She checks on Birgitta before they drive off. Is she upset? Crying? There are no tears, but she looks broken.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. She hasn’t changed, that’s all. She’s still the same vile woman I used to know.’

  *

  They drive downtown. It’s tourist season and swarming with people walking and cycling along the roads. Gabriella has never liked driving here for that reason. Cyclists are especially unpredictable.

  ‘I haven’t been here in a long time,’ Birgitta says. ‘Can we just drive around for a while?’

  As per Birgitta’s instructions, they head down towards the harbour where the large ferries destined for Denmark are docked.

  ‘Do you want us to park and walk down Kullagatan, do some shopping?’ Gabriella asks.

  Personally she can’t think of anything worse, but it might cheer Birgitta up.

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  They park, assemble the wheelchair and, despite the shaky start to the day, they end up having a lovely time, shopping, eating lunch in a rare glimpse of sunshine, and chatting. After the shops have closed, Birgitta even suggests they have dinner – ‘my treat’ – before they head back, and Gabriella agrees. Birgitta seems to need this. It’s apparently the first time she’s been out and about since moving here.

  As they head back to the car in the evening, it starts to rain.

  ‘This weather seems to be the signature of this summer,’ Gabriella says as they drive north, past Dunkers and the concert hall and theatre, when Birgitta asks to see the beach.

  ‘I know it’s late and we don’t have to get out,’ she says. ‘If we could just park nearby so that I can smell the sea.’

  They drive along Drottinggatan towards Fria Bad when Birgitta spots an ICA supermarket on their right.

  ‘Oh, I really feel like Marabou chocolate,’ she says. ‘Do you mind stopping?’ She hauls out her purse, presenting Gabriella with a fifty-kronor note. ‘Will this be enough? I mean, if you don’t mind?’

  Gabriella is relieved that she won’t have to take Birgitta out of the car to buy chocolate. She’s about to tell her that the money is more than enough but is distracted by a familiar face across the road. Frank? What is he doing? He’s standing on the other side of the road as if he’s waiting for someone. Who? She looks around and notices that his Mercedes is parked a couple of spaces down from them. She leans into the car.

  ‘It looks like Frank over there,’ she says and points. ‘Should we say hello… or… what do you want to do?’

  There’s something about Frank that she doesn’t quite trust. She looks at Birgitta but can’t tell whether she’s upset about the sighting of her husband or not.

  ‘Leave him be,’ she says. ‘But hurry up, please.’

  Gabriella should mind her own business, but when she exits the shop with the chocolate and change, Frank is still standing on the street and she hesitates. She looks over at her car and catches Birgitta watching him closely. Oh, dear. She really hopes he’s not waiting for a woman. Is she about to get caught in the middle of an infidelity drama? But when she’s back in the car, she’s relieved to see Frank approach a man in his late twenties or early thirties.

  ‘Do you know that man?’ she asks Birgitta.

  Birgitta’s face is taut. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Should we let him know that we’re here?’

  ‘No.’

  The atmosphere in the car feels charged. What is Frank up to?


  ‘I’m sorry,’ Birgitta says. ‘If you could drop me home, please. It’s been enough excitement for one day.’

  The ride home is filled with P1 radio talk and Gabriella tries hard to keep her million questions to herself.

  Just the one slips out: ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  It would be inhuman not to ask, especially since Birgitta looks so crestfallen.

  ‘Yes,’ Birgitta says. ‘Can you please give me a hug?’

  ‘Sure…’

  It’s not an unreasonable request. In fact, many people in Gabriella’s experience need hugs but are afraid to ask. She parks and stretches her arms across to Birgitta, who holds onto her as if for dear life. As she finally pulls away, her face lingers close to Gabriella’s.

  ‘I’m sorry about today,’ she says. ‘I feel like I’ve dragged you through my dirty laundry.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘You’re sweet,’ Birgitta says, stroking her hair tenderly. ‘So very sweet.’ Then she presses her lips to Gabriella’s cheek.

  Chapter 33

  When I came to, I was in an office of sorts. I was lying on a mattress on the floor, a young girl sitting behind a desk in the corner, with Stanley perched on the edge. They were talking in whispered voices and I was struggling to make out what they were saying. Within a couple of minutes, the girl stood up and left.

  ‘Oh, you’re awake,’ Stanley said, noticing me.

  His voice was gentle; his touch soft as he leaned down and placed his hand on my arm.

  ‘I’m sorry about before,’ he said. ‘I needed to show the other guys that I was one of them.’

  ‘You’re not?’ I said stupidly.

  ‘I am but not really, you know that.’

  ‘What happened?’ I said.

  I’d heard my former boyfriend’s voice. I was sure of it.

  ‘There was a fight,’ he said. ‘It’s okay now. You’re okay.’

  I wasn’t sure whether to feel afraid of what was to happen or sad that I had missed an opportunity to escape. He’d looked for me. That in itself should give me courage.

  ‘I’m not in trouble?’ I said.