Lycke

by Mikaela Bley

  ‘Are you feeling better now?’ he asked as they left the parking lot.

  She nodded. ‘I just feel so terribly sorry for the parents,’ she said, focusing on driving. ‘We have to stop by the newsstand, I need coffee.’ She turned up the volume on the stereo to avoid any follow-up questions.

  ‘Your taste in music hasn’t changed,’ Andreas said loudly, in an attempt to be heard over Lady Gaga.

  He had always complained that her taste in music was much too commercial and superficial. He, however, only listened to heavy hip-hop, which had no melody at all.

  For Ellen, music was therapy. It shut out the emotions when her mantra didn’t work. And the louder, the better. It was like watching a horror movie, going to boxing training, or looking at pornography. Anything that could get her to think about something else and keep the anxiety at bay.

  She turned up the music even more. Her body started to slowly relax.

  They drove across Barnhus bridge toward Vasastan. Down the hill on Tegnérgatan. The streets were almost empty. People were staying out of the rain.

  They turned onto Sveavägen and it was almost impossible to dodge all the big puddles. The newsstand was on the other side of the street, so she had to drive down to the intersection with Odengatan and make an illegal turn.

  ‘If I were you and had a car like this, I’d cool it with the U-turns.’

  Ellen parked outside the newsstand next to the Stockholm School of Economics. Right outside the Rådmansgatan subway entrance.

  ‘Then it’s lucky you’re not me — we would have driven around half the city looking for a legal parking spot,’ she said, taking care to check that no cars were coming before opening the car door. ‘Stay here. I’ll be right back.’

  ‘I don’t understand why we’re here. Can’t you get coffee at the office instead?’

  Luckily, she didn’t have time to answer before her door closed, and she ran over to the newsstand to avoid getting completely soaking wet.

  Anette was behind the register, as usual. Her hair was redder than ever. To go with it, she wore a matching pair of red plastic earrings, the kind you found in chip packets when you were little.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, chewing fervently on a stick of gum. ‘Can I help you with anything?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Ellen, forcing a smile. ‘A Redbull and a coffee, thanks. Or two coffees, actually. Tall.’

  Anette nodded and set the paper cups in the machine. ‘Someone a little tired today?’ she said, still chewing. ‘Unfortunately, we don’t have any cinnamon rolls, they forgot to deliver them this morning.’ She picked at her earrings. ‘So typical that they’d miss them on a Saturday when people are most likely to allow themselves a treat.’

  Ellen felt there wasn’t much more to say on that, and so just nodded.

  Anette put the lids on and pressed the coffee cups into their holder.

  ‘So, do you want to pay with cash or card?’ she asked, winking an eye ringed with black kohl. She had hardly any eyelashes left.

  ‘Cash,’ Ellen said, discreetly handing over four thousand-kronor bills. That will have to be enough, she thought, taking the coffee cups and the drink and going towards the door.

  ‘Come back again,’ Anette called, with faked enthusiasm.

  Before Ellen got back in the car, she tried calling Ove again. He was usually quick to answer if they were satisfied with the amount.

  ELLEN

  12.30 P.M.

  When Andreas and Ellen arrived back at the office, they went straight into one of the available small editing rooms.

  ‘No, don’t turn on the light,’ she said to Andreas. ‘Let’s keep it dark.’

  The room was soundproof, and she soaked up the silence. Leaned back and tried to summarise the situation for herself while Andreas began uploading the material.

  After a while, she started thinking out loud. ‘My source at the police told me they’d started searching for her, or in any event for leads around the disappearance, among known paedophiles. Persons in the area who are convicted of sexual crimes. Fifty-two individuals.’

  ‘But why didn’t they say that at the press conference?’

  Ellen shrugged. ‘They did say they couldn’t rule anything out.’

  Because that is how it works, she thought. But she didn’t intend to tell Andreas about her arrangement with Ove. Or anyone else for that matter.

  ‘There are a few things I don’t understand,’ she said instead. ‘Someone has taken Lycke, but why did he or she leave the backpack behind? If someone kidnapped her, a ransom note should have come in, but the police maintain that there isn’t one.’

  ‘But the police aren’t ruling out kidnapping. Or are they?’

  ‘No, but if the kidnappers aren’t interested in money, what are they interested in?’

  Andreas connected the camera to the computer and the recorded material came up on the screen as thousands of separate images as it was uploaded onto the hard drive.

  ‘Then I guess it’s some disgusting paedophile who wanted to get at her. Now that I have a kid myself, I can barely say the word out loud. I get so angry and disgusted,’ Andreas said.

  ‘But why would a paedophile leave the pack behind?’

  ‘Maybe it was an impulsive act, and he panicked.’ Andreas shrugged.

  ‘If he panicked and got rid of the backpack, then what has he done with Lycke?’

  Ellen’s thoughts seemed to be whirring by as quickly as the images flickering in front of her on the screen.

  ‘Maybe it’s a couple who can’t have kids, and who —’ Andreas began.

  ‘She’s eight years old. Not an infant.’

  ‘No, of course,’ Andreas said.

  ‘Actually, I ought to talk with Clara in the program department. The woman who produces The Unknown.’

  ‘Aren’t you going a little far now?’

  ‘Maybe they’ll see something no one else sees.’

  ‘That’s just hocus-pocus.’

  ‘Not at all. Have you seen the program?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Clara didn’t believe in it at first, either, but now she has a completely different view of it. It’s not hocus-pocus, I can tell you. These people —’

  ‘See dead people.’ He laughed.

  ‘Knock it off. We have to try everything.’

  ‘But I don’t get why the police didn’t want to say who found the backpack? Doesn’t that seem strange?’

  ‘Do you know why?’ She looked at him. ‘Because they don’t know. Someone turned it in at reception early on Saturday morning, and they didn’t make the connection at the time that it could be Lycke’s. A dog owner who was walking his dog in Rålambshovsparken was all they knew, or could see on the surveillance cameras in reception. Nothing of interest, according to my source. Just carelessness, which they’re trying to hide.’

  A pinging sound signalled the filmed material had finished uploading. On the screen, a close-up of Lycke’s mother appeared.

  ‘Don’t you think there’s something strange about family members speaking at a press conference like this?’ Andreas said.

  ‘Yes, actually. Don’t you get the feeling that one of them has something to hide?’ Ellen picked up her mobile and sent an email to Agatha.

  Ann, can you check whether the District Court has documents about a possible custody dispute over Lycke? Thanks!

  CHLOÉ

  3.30 P.M.

  Carefully, she opened the door to Ludde’s room. He was sleeping in his cot, as if nothing had happened. Chloé heaved a sigh of relief that he hadn’t woken up when the police had conducted their house search, or whatever it was they were doing. Fortunately, she had persuaded them not to go into Ludde’s room because he was asleep, even though it was late in the afternoon. Somehow she had the idea that babies understood more than
you might suspect, and she didn’t want him to be dragged into this nightmare.

  Across the ceiling, the stars from the nightlight were twirling. The new blackout curtains worked really well, shutting out all daylight.

  It had been humiliating having the police there in her home. They’d touched everything, turned everything upside down. What did they think they would find? And all those questions. She was the last to have seen Lycke before she disappeared.

  When she tiptoed up to Ludde’s bed, she happened to step on the French toy giraffe that squeaked. She picked it up and set it in its place inside one of the toy boxes, designed to look like train cars being pulled by a big engine. Ludde loved climbing on them.

  She looked back at him lying there, snoring so sweetly. Her and Harald’s little baby.

  It was hard to believe that they were still a family when Harald and his ex-wife were standing together at a press conference, talking on TV. Even though she knew this was how it would be, she couldn’t get used to him having had another life before her, and that his past was constantly being thrown in her face.

  On Chloé and Harald’s third date, he’d surprised her with a trip to Paris. He had made a reservation at her favourite restaurant, and somewhere between the oysters and champagne he told her he was married and had a child.

  She didn’t think that much about it then. Nor had she been particularly surprised. It would almost have been stranger if he didn’t have a family, considering he was more than ten years older than her. That didn’t matter, either. He was the one she wanted to share her life with. Harald made her feel secure. Not at all like the guys in her previous relationships, who were mere boys in comparison with Harald. He was a real gentleman, who knew how a woman wanted to be treated.

  She had never doubted that he would leave his wife for her, even though her friends had warned her.

  She’d always known that she was attractive, but Harald made her feel special in a way she wasn’t accustomed to. He saw something more than just her exterior. He thought she was fun. He listened to what she had to say.

  But recently, their arguments had become more frequent.

  Last Monday, when Harald came home from work and sat down on the couch beside her, it had escalated.

  ‘You know Kalle, our marketing director you met briefly at lunch today? He couldn’t stop talking about how good-looking you are. Poor guy, sitting there with his wife, who’s so boring she could stop a clock. Come here,’ he said, pulling her to him and slowly unbuttoning her blouse. ‘I don’t think you know how happy I am to have you.’

  ‘Sure.’ She smiled. ‘Did you socialise?’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘Kalle and his wife, you and Helena?’ she asked, starting to button her blouse again.

  Harald pushed her hands away firmly, his eyes peering under her blouse.

  ‘I hate that you had a life before me.’

  He tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘It was no life.’

  ‘Then how could you be stupid enough to have a child with her?’ she said, pulling away.

  ‘Don’t you think I would have done things differently if I could have?’ He pulled her to him again.

  ‘But I don’t get it, how could you be in love with her?’ she said.

  ‘Stop now. I don’t want to think about Helena. I just want to think about you.’ He kissed her tenderly on the ear, working his way down across her throat, before glancing up. Gently, he took hold of her chin and looked at her with a serious expression. ‘I had no choice. I did what was expected of me. It was the only natural step. Having a kid. I didn’t dare leave her. I can’t explain it. There is nothing I want more than to have met you sooner. But you already know that. How many times do we have to talk about this?’ He stuck his hand inside her jeans and took hold of her panties.

  ‘Stop it,’ she said, getting up from the couch.

  ‘Please, you have to stop with this now. I can’t stand it any longer. If I hear another word about Helena and Lycke then —’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘That’s enough, you’re going too far. Do you understand?’ he said before getting up and leaving the room.

  Chloé followed him out into the hall and watched as he put on his oilskin coat, picked up the keys that were on the hallway table, and then left without saying a word.

  She ran out after him, into the stairwell.

  ‘If you leave now, you can never come back. Do you get that? Do you hear what I’m saying?’ she screamed at his back.

  The front door closed. He was gone.

  He didn’t come back until the next day, and then he refused to say where he’d been. Chloé let it be, but the whole week after he’d acted strangely and seemed irritated.

  She patted Ludde carefully to see if he was breathing. He grunted and turned over. His blond baby hair was all plastered on the back of his head.

  She went around the cot so she could see his face. He was so beautiful. So perfect. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. She could stand there for hours, just looking at him while he slept.

  She squeezed his little hand and then pulled her silk dressing gown around her and left the room. Why didn’t Harald call? she thought, as she went into the bathroom.

  She had decorated it with green marble from floor to ceiling. It looked like a real hotel bathroom. She loved it.

  At the sink, she caught sight of the soap. A feeling of guilt crept over her. She’d been too hard on Lycke for using the wrong soap, but Chloé didn’t like Lycke being in her bathroom. It was her private room where she kept her things, and she didn’t like having a little kid messing around in here.

  There was always something with Lycke to make Chloé lose her temper. Yesterday, it had been the soap. It wasn’t easy living with someone else’s kid, let alone a kid that was a constant reminder of Harald’s past.

  Chloé turned on the tap and rubbed her hands with the soap, taking in the delightful aroma.

  She had overreacted, she knew that. But Lycke had to learn what the rules were in their home, and that resulted in friction. It was a thankless job she had. Still, it was good that she stuck to her guns, she told herself.

  At the start of their relationship, Harald maintained that he loved ‘the storms in her water glass’, that she was so full of emotion. He often said that she was the exact opposite of his ex-wife. She had taken it then as a compliment. Now, it made her feel doubt, and a terrible envy.

  She pictured Helena standing there at the press conference beside her husband. Completely controlled, her expression unchanging. Maybe it was a woman like Helena he really wanted? Maybe he had been with her when he’d disappeared. Maybe he was there now?

  Chloé opened her dressing gown and gazed down at her breasts, took hold of them with her hands, lifted them up and stared at them for a long time. Let go of them again.

  They looked like two deflated grocery bags with a little porridge in the bottom.

  A girlfriend of Chloé’s had read in a magazine that guys wanted a pair of breasts that said ‘hello’. Chloé didn’t really understand what that meant, but she was pretty sure that hers didn’t say ‘hello’.

  They didn’t say anything. They’d already had their say.

  Her stomach, however, had a lot to say. It was almost bigger than her breasts. She had always been thin, but as soon as she gained a few pounds, it always settled around her stomach.

  She must get out and go for a run. After that, there would be coffee, eggs, and half a grapefruit. From now on, there would be no more excuses.

  She pulled out the drawer under the sink and saw that everything was in a big mess. Those dirty police fingers.

  The police had had the gall besides to ask her for a saliva sample. She had refused. Reference DNA, or whatever they called it. How had she become mixed up in this?

  Then they took Harald’s old c
omputer that Lycke was sometimes allowed to borrow. And their iPad. Would they see everything she’d Googled?

  The police had also taken Lycke’s hairbrush. And a diary.

  Chloé hadn’t known that Lycke kept a diary. The police said it had been hidden, but they didn’t say where, and not what was in it, either.

  Hopefully, there was no need for her to worry.

  ELLEN

  10.45 P.M.

  The final broadcast was finished. Nothing new had happened during the day. It was all just speculation. Ellen got a few good interviews with the police, who spoke about the search, but nothing had brought them closer to Lycke. They hadn’t released the information that they were searching among known paedophiles, but they continued to ask the general public for help.

  Ellen was much too restless to go home, so instead she drove around the city.

  Even though it was Saturday night, the outdoor cafés were empty. The sidewalks were shiny and the streets looked as slippery as ice because of the rain.

  She drove at slow speed down Valhallavägen toward Gärdet. A man was at the pedestrian crossing at Fältöversten. She slowed down even more, taking the opportunity to look for the charger to her phone. Cursing, she realised she must have left it at work. Her mobile was stone dead. She sighed and observed the man at the crossing. He had no umbrella or raincoat, only a short suede jacket. His back was hunched forward and he was carrying two half-full shopping bags.

  There was something about the man’s posture that caught her attention. He was just as slender as she remembered, and the little hair he had left was grey.

  What’s he doing here? she thought. Does he live around here?

  She was about to roll down the window and call out to him, but stopped herself. He would probably disappear before she’d even have time to get out of the car. What should she do?

  He hadn’t seen her, she was sure of that.

  She drove straight ahead and turned in behind the galleria, parked, and ran back to the crossing.

  She hurried across the street and past the parking strip, running across the opposite lane on Valhallavägen, and was almost run over by a car. Stepped in a deep puddle and got soaking wet all the way up her calves. Looked right and left, but couldn’t see him.