You're Mine Now

by Koppel, Hans

  Not bad advice for those who were susceptible. That’s to say those who were under fourteen or soft in the head. Often both.

  Magnus got out of bed, pulled on his pants, apparently unbothered by the decline in his physique.

  ‘How’s the car sale going?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Good. I’ve got someone coming to look at it tomorrow. He asked about the price, so I guess we have to be prepared to knock off a few thousand.’

  ‘Still more than we would have got for trading it in.’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  Anna slipped past him out of the room. He reached out his arm and gave her a quick, loving stroke as she passed. She smiled in answer.

  Sitting on the toilet, she wondered if she was looking for the wrong things in Magnus. Looked for them too actively, as it were. Constructing a defence in her own favour.

  An unfaithful man could blame his animal lust, that it was against nature to let an opportunity go. A woman could construct a world of underlying causes.

  Sissela often said that someone who was happy at home didn’t play away. What grounds did she have to make such a claim? It sounded like the Old Testament. Sissela said it with good intentions, to free the unfaithful Trude from guilt. Maybe it wasn’t true at all. Maybe Trude had a fantastic sex life at home, which only increased her interest in the activity, outside the confines of her home as well.

  There were surveys that claimed that men were more unfaithful than women. A mathematical impossibility if you didn’t accept the myth of the fallen woman, the absolutely abnormally active temptress. The truth was probably something else. Being unfaithful was probably a matter of subjective judgement. Men had a bit on the side, women fell in love. And under the guise of love, no wrong could be done.

  Half an hour later, Anna turned on her phone and saw to her relief that there were no text messages or missed calls. Magnus was outside walking round the car in the dark, rubbing off the spray from the bottom edges of the body and wiping the windows before taking out the mat on the driver’s side and giving it a shake. Hedda came cycling home on tyres that badly needed pumping.

  ‘Hello, sweetie, have you had a good time?’ Anna called when her daughter came into the house.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you eat?’

  ‘Burgers.’

  ‘Umm, yummy,’ Anna said, quickly.

  ‘It was okay.’

  ‘And how’s Louise?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And her mum and dad?’

  ‘Okay.

  ‘I was just about to have some ice cream. Do you want some?’

  ‘What flavour?’

  ‘Don’t know. Vanilla, I think.’

  Anna opened the freezer.

  ‘Yes, it’s vanilla.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Ask Daddy if he wants any.’

  Hedda went to the front door, opened and shouted.

  ‘He doesn’t want any,’ she informed her mother when she came back to the kitchen.

  ‘Have you got homework?’

  ‘Nah, not really. We did it together.’

  ‘You and Louise?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The situation eased Anna’s anxiety. Something as simple as scooping the ice cream into dessert bowls reminded her of the greatness of everyday life and pushed back thoughts about her mistake, which in turn threatened to destroy her daughter’s world.

  ‘Can I borrow your phone?’ Hedda asked. ‘I want to play games.’

  ‘Not if you’re having ice cream.’

  ‘But I can play with my left hand.’

  Anna handed her the mobile. Her ten-year-old daughter tapped her way skilfully through the files and apps.

  ‘Why’s it on silent?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hedda switched it to normal. A stupid tune accompanied by action sounds from screeching tyres and exploding barrels filled the kitchen. Anna looked at her daughter with the same look of loving indulgence that her mother had given her only a couple of hours ago. The sound of the game suddenly stopped and was replaced by a ping.

  ‘Text message,’ Hedda said, and handed it over.

  Anna recognised the number, and anxiety returned immediately. Didn’t he understand? What was wrong now?

  Call me when you can. Important.

  Anna deleted it and reluctantly handed the phone back.

  ‘Who was that?’ Hedda asked.

  ‘Work.’

  ‘Are you not going to answer?’

  ‘Not now, I’ll do it in the morning.’

  Hedda went back to her game. Anna looked out of the window, watched Magnus do a final inspection of the car and he seemed to be pleased with the result.

  ‘Can’t you just do one thing at a time?’ Anna said, and reached for her phone.

  Hedda turned away.

  ‘Can I have my phone, please?’

  ‘In a minute, I just want to finish this game.’

  The sound of a water drop announced a death and the game was over. Hedda gave her the phone.

  ‘Thank you,’ Anna said, and turned it off completely. ‘Don’t understand why you have to use mine when you’ve got your own.’

  ‘What does it matter?’

  Magnus came in.

  ‘What are you quarrelling about?’

  ‘We’re not quarrelling.’

  ‘Mum won’t let me use her mobile.’

  ‘You’ve got your own.’

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Anna exclaimed. ‘Are you sure you don’t want any ice cream? There’s not much left.’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  Magnus turned to Hedda.

  ‘Just leave Mum’s phone alone. Maybe she’s got a secret lover who’s sending her juicy text messages.’

  ‘Very funny,’ Anna said.

  ‘Juicy?’ Hedda repeated.

  ‘Quite funny,’ Magnus smiled.

  25

  Magnus gave Anna a lift to the bus stop, leaned across the seat and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Have a good day, darling.’

  ‘You too. See you this evening.’

  Anna got out and waited until the car had disappeared from sight before taking her mobile phone out of her handbag and turning it on. It seemed to take forever to connect to the provider. Anna stared at the display screen, every second a painful wait in expectation of what might happen. Nothing, she could confirm after about thirty seconds. Had she wound herself up unnecessarily? Lain awake half the night, twisting between the sheets, because of some fear she’d made up? Was it she who had an overactive imagination, not he who was harassing her?

  The bus came and she got on, nodded to a couple of familiar faces and walked down the aisle to the back. She had just sat down when her phone started to vibrate. The screen showed an undisclosed number.

  ‘Anna.’

  ‘Hi, it’s me,’ said Erik. ‘Am I calling at a bad time?’

  ‘I’ve just got on the bus.’

  ‘Can you talk?’

  ‘I’d rather not. What’s it concerning?’

  ‘“What’s it concerning?”’ Erik mimicked, as if she had expressed herself far too formally. ‘I just want an answer to one question, or maybe a couple.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I think you can spare the time to answer a couple of questions, I think you owe me that much.’

  ‘I’m sitting on the bus.’

  ‘You said. So you can just answer yes or no, okay?’

  Anna took a deep breath.

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  ‘One: do you know how insulting it was when you, out of nowhere, accused me of stalking you?’

  ‘What kind of a question is that?’

  ‘It’s a simple yes or no question. Do you understand how…?’

  ‘I heard. And yes, I do understand.’

  Anna glanced quickly around the bus to make sure that no one she knew could hear, then leaned forwards and lowered her voice when sh
e spoke on the phone.

  ‘It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, I hope you understand that.’

  ‘Well, I have to say, you managed to all the same.’

  ‘And I really do apologise for that. I was only trying to make myself clear.’

  ‘The end justifies the means, in other words?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You can trash my honour and reputation as long as it serves your purpose?’

  ‘I really didn’t want to trash your honour and reputation. Look, I’m sitting on a bus. Can you email me instead?’

  ‘No, now that I’ve finally got hold of you, I do in fact want some answers.’

  ‘What do you mean, finally?’

  ‘Your mobile has been switched off all morning.’

  ‘It’s only eight o’clock.’

  ‘And?’

  Anna looked around again. The man on the other side of the aisle was twitching a bit, but that wasn’t a problem.

  ‘But that’s exactly what I mean,’ Anna said. ‘You can’t just call me at any time of day or night, don’t you understand that?’

  ‘It’s your phone, isn’t it?’ Erik retorted. ‘Just say it’s someone else.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? Can’t you lie? Do you get embarrassed? Does Mr Wimpy ask who it is?

  ‘That’s out of order,’ Anna snapped. ‘Well out of order.’

  ‘So it’s okay for you to be out of order and accuse me of this and that, but it’s not okay for me defend my honour in any way? A simple yes or no question. Answer it.’

  ‘Right, I’m hanging up now.’

  ‘Okay, so that’s the way we’re playing? Anna, let me say just one thing: you have no idea how much I’ve got on you. Believe me, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of me.’

  Anna disconnected the conversation and turned the screen off, but kept the phone in her hand. She looked around. The passengers close by who might have heard something were looking in the other direction. Their faces were almost consciously turned away. Or was she just imaging that?

  How loud had she been talking? What had she said? She tried to recall her own answers. Had she made a scene? Fortunately the faces she’d recognised when she got on the bus were sitting further forwards and could hardly have heard any of the conversation, but there were eyes and ears everywhere on a rush-hour bus in Helsingborg.

  Anna considered getting off and waiting for the next bus. But then she risked meeting someone she knew who would ask why she was getting off there and not at her normal stop. That was the town she lived in: nosy, prying and well informed. It was probably wiser to stay where she was. When the bus stopped at Knutpunkten in the centre of Helsingborg, the last of the silent witnesses got off and Anna’s pulse slowed down a fraction.

  What did he mean when he said he had so much on her? Had he somehow managed to salvage the photos on his mobile phone? Had she disclosed some deep secret to him? Promised him her love? She hadn’t said anything derogatory about Magnus, she knew that. She would never do that, not under any circumstances. So what did Erik have on her? Did he know of any crimes she’d committed? Or was it just something he said?

  She could worry herself to death. What was important was to avoid any further conflict. No escalation.

  She went into the publishing house, said a chirpy good morning to Renée in reception. No one who came in or went out of the building could fail to be smitten by her open, friendly smile. If there was anyone who was in the right place in this world, it was Renée.

  Anna took the lift up to the editorial offices and went over to her desk. She turned on the computer and opened her email. The column of semi-bold headings rolled down the screen. The final and top email caught her attention.

  DO NOT DELETE – READ!!!

  Three exclamation marks. Theatrical was only his first name. Anna opened it.

  I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I was totally out of order. I’m sorry.

  When I came to your office, I had been longing to see you for days. And the shock that you weren’t as happy to see me, not happy at all, in fact, was bad enough. But then when you accused me of following you, you rocked the ground under my feet.

  Our meetings have meant so much to me, but obviously not as much to you. Nothing at all, in fact, it would seem – even though there is plenty that would indicate the opposite. However, it is obviously something I need to learn to live with. It’s not the first time a man has had his heart broken by a woman, and it won’t be the last.

  Let’s not part on bad terms. Let’s remember and nurture the moments we did have together. I beg you, call me so we can talk things through.

  Anna deleted the email and stared vacantly out of the window. She had assumed that Erik could write: after all, it was his job. Not even in the worst of the magazine’s sometimes corny love stories did the ground rock under someone’s feet, and only very occasionally did you nurture the moments you’d had together.

  Was he mad? He had to be. Anna wondered if she’d been so caught up with his appearance that she hadn’t noticed? She couldn’t think of any other explanation. Her original desire was now a mystery. There was nothing more repulsive than stupidity.

  Should she call him one last time, let him finish crying? Maybe it was for the best. Give him a chance to walk away without losing face. Because that was obviously where the problem lay, wounded male pride.

  ‘Good morning, early birds.’

  Sissela announced her arrival in editorial in a loud voice. Any conversation with Erik Månsson would have to wait.

  26

  An automated voice told Kathrine that the service she required was handled by forty-three providers and she was number seventy-four in the queue. The estimated waiting time was thirteen minutes.

  Kathrine switched to loudspeaker and turned on the computer. She had time to read the evening papers on the internet and play a game of patience before a real live person answered the phone and asked how he could help her.

  ‘Well,’ Kathrine said, and blushed even though she was alone. ‘You see, I’d like to know a bit more about a certain person.’

  ‘Personal ID number?’ said the employee at the national registry.

  ‘Whose? Mine?’

  Kathrine already felt guilty. Prying into another person’s life was so abominable that she had to fight the instinct to apologise, put down the phone and find a wardrobe as quickly as possible where she could crouch down in the dark and chant to herself and the universe for forgiveness.

  ‘The person in question,’ said the man.

  ‘Right, yes, I’ve got his name and date of birth.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Do you want me to give it to you?’

  ‘That would help.’

  Kathrine gave him what information she had.

  ‘Erik Månsson, Drottninggatan in Helsingborg,’ the man repeated, ‘yes, then there’s only this one.’

  He read out the complete personal ID number and Katherine wrote down the last four digits.

  ‘What would you like to know?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Kathrine said. ‘What information is available? Everything, I suppose.’

  ‘Everything,’ the man repeated. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got here then. He was born in Stockholm. Lived at various addresses there until six months ago when he moved to his current address in Helsingborg.’

  ‘His last address in Stockholm?

  He gave her the address and Kathrine wrote it down.

  ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘Is that all you want?’ the man asked.

  ‘Is there more?’

  ‘I see here that his mother is dead, died on 4 July 2010.’

  Kathrine caught her breath. Of all the things Anna had told her, his tasteless lie about his mother’s death was what had made her react most. So it wasn’t a lie? Had he been telling the truth and then regretted it? Maybe he’d just laughed off the terrible tragedy because he re
alised it was far too personal and not something to be shared with just anyone. In which case, it changed everything.

  ‘She can’t have been that old,’ Kathrine commented.

  ‘She was born in 1968,’ the man said.

  ‘1968?’ Kathrine exclaimed. ‘So she was only sixteen when she had Erik?’

  The national registry man assumed that it was a rhetorical question and didn’t answer.

  ‘Does it say what she died of?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. Anything else?’

  ‘Is there more?’

  ‘Not much. His father moved to Finland in 1985, the year after his son was born.’

  ‘Thank you so much, I’m so grateful,’ Kathrine said.

  ‘Not at all,’ said the man.

  ‘Just a moment. What was his mother called?’

  ‘Anneli Månsson.’

  ‘And where was she living when she died?’

  ‘At the same address as her son.’

  No editorial job was so demanding that Sissela didn’t find time to slander those who weren’t there. Anna had stopped listening, but was still forced to nod in agreement at regular intervals. The alternative was actively to take a stance and cause conflict, which wasn’t worth the effort. When the telephone started to ring, it was a relief. Anna lifted the receiver, pressed the red flashing light and answered.

  The half-second pause told her that it was Erik on the other end.

  ‘Can you talk?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re ringing at a bit of a bad time. Can I call you later?’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Yes, let’s say that.’

  Anna hung up and nodded at Sissela, who continued to gossip. Trude joined them.

  ‘Oof,’ Sissela eventually said, ‘here I am chatting away, and we still have to go through the wall.’

  They went over to layout, where the proofs of the magazine’s editorial material had been pinned up in sequence to give an overview of the content. Every week, Sissela, Trude and Anna wandered over and, like generals in front of the troops, made a final inspection of the features and articles before putting the magazine to bed. There were a few small changes in the titles, boxes, introduction and picture captions that were important to give the reader the right mix and rhythm.