‘That’s nice of you though,’ he says. ‘To take her.’
‘She doesn’t seem like a nice person. The mother, I mean. Birgitta was literally in there for two seconds before she had to escape. Her mother was screaming and throwing things at her.’
‘Sounds like a nasty character,’ he says drearily, and she senses she’s boring him.
She bites her lip and studies him for a second. Should she mention the note she found? Unless she gets some clarity, will she be able to keep sleeping with him? She knows herself: she can’t.
‘Who’s Ebba?’ she says casually, her eyes back on the clay, avoiding Peter’s eyes.
‘I’m sorry?’ he says, but in the corner of her eye she senses his body stiffening. ‘Who?’
‘You dropped a note with a girl’s name on it. Ebba. Is she your girlfriend? Because if she is, don’t waste your time with me.’
‘It’s not like that,’ he says. ‘She’s a business contact. There is absolutely no other woman I’m interested in other than you.’
‘What exactly do you do?’ she asks. He’s been fairly vague.
‘I invest,’ he says. ‘Mainly in property but also share portfolios.’
‘I thought you worked in Denmark?’
‘I have business interests there too.’
Is he bullshitting her? She looks at him and his eyes turn to meet hers; they’re soft and gentle and she finds she believes him. But they stop talking, allowing the keys of Chopin’s piano sonatas to fill the space. Her hands move along to the classical music as if they’re playing an instrument, not sculpting.
After a while, she stands back and assesses her work.
‘I think we’re done,’ she says. ‘The next step will hopefully be to make the mould for the bronze.’
This is the nerve-wracking stage that she is both dreading, and is excited about.
‘How will you do that?’ Peter asks as he shakes his legs out.
She’s secretly pleased that he takes an interest. Not many people do.
‘I will be using a brush to carefully paint high-quality silicon rubber onto the clay figure,’ she says, attempting to sound confident. ‘The mould is supposed to pick up the finest lines from your face and body, but apparently I have to be careful to avoid air bubbles. Intricate work, in other words.’
‘At least my work is done,’ Peter says.
She hasn’t even washed her hands before his lips are pressed to hers.
‘Let me clean up first.’ She smiles, gently pulling away. ‘I have to put the sculpture away as well. It has to dry for quite some time now, at least according to Stieg.’
‘I’m growing jealous of Stieg,’ Peter says, pretending to grow grumpy. ‘You really listen to that man.’
‘He’s my mentor and, anyway, aren’t you the guy who doesn’t mind sharing his girlfriends?’
‘Fair point,’ he says, his hands caressing her behind, the bulge in front poking her. ‘Actually, you have no idea how turned on I would be watching you fuck someone else.’
The statement takes her aback and she instinctively frees herself from him and walks to the sink. Is it normal for a man to feel like that about a woman he supposedly likes?
‘I’ve shocked you,’ he says.
She rinses her hands and washes them with soap, her back to him.
‘I’m just not sure how I feel about that,’ she says. Turning around, she adds, ‘I’m not a prude but, I don’t know. Give me some time to digest it, okay?’
‘Sure.’
She goes back to washing her hands, picking the clay from under her nails when his arms wrap around her. He kisses her neck and shoulder and she closes her eyes, shuddering at his touch.
They end up on the bed, his strong body pinning her down. I will go with the flow, she thinks as he removes her apron and her denim dress, his eager fingers making one button fly off.
‘Careful,’ she giggles.
Her body attaches to his with ease as they roll around the sheets. The intensity of the lovemaking makes her forget any doubts, her out-of-breath body yearning for more and more, his skilful hands opening her up, releasing an inner beast. She barely recognises herself as her body is flung around the cottage. They’re everywhere from the bed to the blue armchair to the kitchen sink; Peter’s like a possessed bull as his cock beats into her, making her come hard.
As their breathing calms down and they’re able to speak again, she looks at him, once again wondering what the hell happened. He smiles.
‘Was that good for you?’ he asks.
‘Not bad.’ She grins.
She’s falling for Peter. Yet their future seems dark. Today might be his last session, plus he’s into swinging, a path she can’t imagine joining.
‘Peter,’ she says. ‘Have you ever been in love? I mean, for real.’
‘Yes, but we went through a bad breakup.’
‘Was it true love?’
‘Can we not talk about it, please?’
She detects an irritated tone she hasn’t heard from him before.
‘Fine,’ she says, protectively covering her body with the duvet. ‘But what’s your next move? Will you be staying or travelling somewhere else?’
‘For the time being, I need to stick around,’ he says without much enthusiasm.
He’s obviously not going to ‘stick around’ for her sake, then.
‘You need to?’ she says, slipping out of bed to put her dress back on. ‘Coffee?’
‘No, thanks, but can you please bring me my bag?’ he says. ‘I want to show you something.’
She picks up the small sports bag that he’s left on the couch and throws it on the bed. He opens it up and pulls out a notebook and a photo, but Gabriella’s eyes are on something else, at the bottom of the bag.
‘What’s that?’ she asks, pointing to the many ID cards.
‘My identities,’ he says.
She laughs. ‘Your identities? What are you? CIA?’
‘No, I’m just an ordinary person,’ he says. ‘But know that I have always used my real name with you.’
Is that a joke?
‘This,’ he says, holding up the photo, distracting her from the ID cards, ‘was the girl I was in love with.’
He carries it with him? That’s a red flag. Until he’s over her, he will never be able to love someone else. She still looks at the girl with the brown wavy hair, her tanned upper body covered by a yellow top. Her piercing eyes are smiling at the camera.
‘Gabriella,’ he says after a while, and the serious tone makes her take note. ‘If I asked you nicely, would you help me with something?’
‘Maybe,’ she says.
His fingers gently stroke her hair.
‘Please, it would mean the world to me.’
She likes this vulnerable side to him.
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘It’s to do with your neighbours.’
Part 3
July 2017
Invisible bars
create a world
in which
I do not wish to live
J. J. Graham
Chapter 39
Frank
Back in Chicago, Frank would have spent the morning using his home gym, followed by an egg-white omelette. Since retiring, he would sometimes drive down Sheridan Road to walk alongside the lakefront by Lake Shore Drive, stopping for a Chicago-style deep-dish pizza on the way home. Birgitta had no plans to retire back then, so he would often go alone. Life in the country is less varied and there is no need to lift weights when he’s constantly carrying his wife.
Frank hears Birgitta singing in the kitchen and hums along, thinking of jazz clubs he used to visit, a fat cigar between his lips. He joins his wife for breakfast and watches her move around the kitchen with ease, pulling out coffee cups and plates.
Today is the day I bring our daughter home, he thinks, but he won’t tell Birgitta yet.
‘You’re in a good mood,’ he says.<
br />
‘Egg and caviar okay?’ she asks, holding up the wholewheat crispbread.
‘Sure.’
She brings out previously boiled eggs from the fridge, slices them up and adds them to the crispbread, squeezing out caviar paste from the blue Kalles Kaviar tube. It’s not exactly a gourmand’s dream but it will do.
‘I’m planning to invite Gabriella over today,’ she says.
‘How about another day?’ he says.
She glares at him, her mood souring. ‘I’m bored, Frank. I need something to do. You treat me like a cripple or worse… like, like I’m dead weight.’
‘Not now, Birgitta.’
‘You have strong arms,’ she says. ‘When you leave the house, you can take me with you. You can push my wheelchair or put the motorised one in the car.’
‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Another day, I promise, but not today. So tell me, you and Gabriella? Are you growing close?’
‘Well, I need friends to spend time with.’
Birgitta continues to eat while he sips his strong coffee. There are times when he wonders if it was wise to bring her here. Maybe he should have travelled on his own? But it’s too late to second-guess that decision now. He will deal with his daughter first, then his wife.
*
Frank surveys the paintwork in the basement, pleased with the result. In recent years he has hired people to do manual labour for him, but he’s proven that he’s still more than capable. Birgitta remains unsupportive but she hasn’t been able to review the results due to the crooked staircase leading downstairs. He could have carried her, but she’s shown no interest. She must have heard him arrange the furniture down there but still hasn’t asked any questions. It’s fine. He has it all under control. All he needs to do now is make the bed. He stretches the white bed-sheets, making sure everything is perfect.
‘I’m going now,’ he announces once he’s back upstairs. ‘Do you need anything before I go?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ she says, her previous grumpiness gone. ‘Have fun.’
He stops and looks at her, addicted to her new iPhone. Now that’s the old Birgitta right there, the one who used to get on with her own life. He misses that person. Maybe all she needs is to acclimatise, now that she’s away from her friends and clients. Overall, it’s probably been good for them to get away from the memories. However painful the loss has been, they can’t ruin their marriage. That’s what they have left.
‘See you later,’ he says.
He drives into the city, the road becoming increasingly familiar. Will they be able to stay here? He’s not sure. In some ways, it’s felt like moving to a new country entirely. The supermarkets stock new brands, he has no idea who the people on TV are and the newspapers write about politicians and artists he’s never heard of. Only the language is the same but young people seem to sprinkle their sentences with English words such as ‘cool’ or ‘nice’ or less refined ones like ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’. He treasures how easy life in the US is with its door-to-door deliveries and how accessible everything is. Still, this is where Sofia has led them.
He drives past a two-storey office building similar to the one he used to occupy, reminding him of the time when Sofia worked for him. She wasn’t bad, but she worked two jobs and was often tired from trying to do both perfectly. But everything had seemed almost normal then. His daughter, making her own way in life while being so close to him. That was when their family was at its strongest. He wants that time back.
*
It’s mid-morning when Frank parks outside the police station in Helsingborg. The modern building with its glass façade and white plaster fills him with confidence. He walks through the snazzy main entrance to the reception desk where he asks for a man named Edward Lund.
A grey-haired man shortly appears and shakes his hand.
‘Frank Anderson. I called earlier. Thank you for helping me. I’m so worried.’
‘I understand,’ Edward Lund says.
‘She’s not answering her phone…’
Frank wants to avoid crying, but the deep frown on his forehead together with two desperate eyes should be enough to convey how serious he is.
Edward Lund nods knowingly. ‘Yes, you explained her history on the phone. We have tried contacting her as well but there is no response. Two police officers will head over there now. It would be good if you could accompany them.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Hopefully we can resolve this peacefully, but please be aware that we must involve social services or a doctor if we’re going to forcibly seize your daughter.’
‘Of course, I understand.’
He won’t let that happen. No one else must take her. They will only sedate her and keep her hospitalised. He’d rather care for her himself. Drastic measures to access her apartment are needed however. He can’t do this alone without breaking the law.
‘You’re sure that’s her address?’ Edward Lund asks, as if he’s now having second thoughts. ‘It says here it’s registered to a Niklas Jönsson.’
He’s looking at a piece of paper.
‘Yes, that’s her boyfriend.’ Frank grows impatient. Didn’t he already explain this to them on the phone? ‘She called me because she was scared of him and threatened to hurt herself. Every one of her boyfriends has beaten her up. She could be in a ditch right now or she’s locked herself inside and done something to harm herself… as I told you on the phone, she’s had issues in the past.’
‘Is there a diagnosis?’
‘Of course, there is, but I don’t have any papers from the doctors here. Please can you help me?’ He pulls out the ace up his sleeve. ‘Will you able to live with yourself if we’re too late?’
The police officer hesitates before answering, as if Frank isn’t reliable. It angers him. Do his Prada shoes and Hugo Boss suit not convey enough refinement?
‘You think she may have killed herself?’ Edward Lund says contemplatively.
‘That’s my worst fear.’
The truth is, she might have. She killed her brother and her husband and she attempted to murder her mother. It’s possible that she would also try to end her own life. Her diary notes did mention jumping in front of trains.
‘There’s not much time,’ Frank adds. ‘We have to hurry, to save her.’
Edward Lund nods, which seems to be the signal to go ahead.
‘Okay, since we can’t reach her via phone,’ he says. ‘Go to the apartment and see what you can find.’
Frank nods and together they go outside where a blue and white police car is waiting. Frank climbs into the back seat, a place designed for criminals, but he thanks Edward Lund for his assistance.
‘My colleague is on his way,’ the officer in the front says.
Frank explains that Niklas Jönsson works as a school janitor and will be at work right now. That’s why they need to save her now, not later.
‘He’ll just be a minute.’
The colleague arrives shortly after, looking smart in an ironed blue uniform. He appears newly shaven too, which appeals to Frank, and, once everyone is seated, the driving officer reads out the address on Drottninggatan.
‘That’s the one,’ Frank confirms.
As they drive through the city, silence descends on the car. Their lack of chattiness might be down to nerves. Are they worried about what they’re going to find? Frank doesn’t want to engage them in conversation either. He’s supposed to be consumed by worry, and remains solemn.
After about ten minutes, Frank recognises where they are.
‘Is that the apartment block?’ the clean-shaven officer asks Frank.
Frank acknowledges that it is. ‘Yes.’
They park and walk a few metres down the pavement until they reach the magical door that will lead them into Sofia’s domain. Frank can’t believe he’s found her and that he’s standing outside with two police officers ready to charge in if needed. He presses the intercom over and over but as expected, there’s no answer. Eventually one
of the police officers leans forward and keys in a code.
‘We have a code via a control centre,’ he explains.
They’re in, and as Frank leads them up the staircase each step becomes more assured. For the first time since arriving in Sweden, he feels content. Now she’s near, within reach.
You shouldn’t run from Daddy.
Chapter 40
Sofia was apparently late. Stanley’s fingers were drumming on the steering wheel as we waited.
‘Should we go inside?’ I suggested.
‘No,’ he said curtly.
I was still no closer to working out who Sofia was. Stanley wouldn’t tell me any more than he already had. Was she like me and the other girls? I hadn’t been able to spot her ankle in search of an X. She had never been to the house but perhaps there was additional accommodation for other girls? Did they work at different parties? Or had she started out like me but ended up the boss’s favourite girl? Was that what Stanley had meant when he said she was connected to the boss? Was that why she was in a separate place from us? Why she dared stand up to Stanley and why she rebuffed his advances? I was sure the girls in my house would have jumped at the chance if he’d shown them any interest. Everyone was hungry for a saviour.
I didn’t know how I would convince Sofia of Stanley’s greatness, especially since I was no longer convinced of it myself. But the hours were ticking by with a death sentence hanging over my head. I had to think of something.
‘Why do you like her so much?’ I asked.
‘I just do, okay.’
He was nervous, which wasn’t something I’d seen before.
‘It would really help me if I knew more about her,’ I coaxed.
‘She’s clean,’ he said.
‘No drugs, okay. That’s good.’
‘No, I mean she’s really clean. She’s not dirty like the rest of you.’
That hurt. But what did it actually mean? Was she allowed private bathroom time, something I had been denied for too long, or wasn’t she forced to sleep with a multitude of people? Perhaps only one?
‘How old is she?’
‘Old enough.’
What Did I Do? Page 20