The news on channel four discussed a new gang that attacked retired people. Torsten wondered where they’d found that information. It was old news the stations must have dug up from the archives. Some old trash used to help a dry spell in the news. He felt sorry for all the old folks watching the program who were now frightened. This information helped no one.
After flipping through a few channels, he pulled the sofa out into his bed and crept into it. He had to get up early the next day, and there was no reason to stay up and stare at crap on TV.
Before falling asleep, he reflected on this last training session with Bertil. Bertil had been his mentor and father figure for almost forty years, ever since Torsten first signed up for the swim team. Bertil was the only one who understood how dysfunctional the Ehn family had been. Torsten’s violent father saw it as his duty to beat his wife and children. One evening, Bertil had come to ring the doorbell to have a stern conversation with Torsten’s father. Torsten never found out what was said between them, but his father moved out the next day. Torsten never saw him again. Later on, he heard his father had moved to Gothenburg. Several years after that, Torsten didn’t even bother to attend his father’s funeral.
When Torsten started hanging around an unsuitable group of friends, Bertil took him aside to explain how his life would turn out if he went down that road. Later, when Torsten’s swimming career ended, Bertil steered him toward the Police Academy. In all these years, they’d only had one serious falling out: that was when Torsten learned that, in his youth, Bertil had taken part in an armed robbery and spent six years at Kumla Prison. When he found out about it, Torsten felt betrayed. He couldn’t understand why Bertil hadn’t told him sooner. They argued about it for a while but eventually sorted things out. When Torsten was young, Bertil hadn’t wanted to talk about his earlier mistake for fear that the boy would emulate him. And later, so many years had passed. Bertil had made a good life and put that part of his past behind him—so it almost never occurred to him to tell Torsten that story. These days, though, all that had long been smoothed over—and Torsten had a great deal of respect and understanding for his old friend. He also knew that swimming had straightened him out, and he was glad that life had brought Bertil to him. Now, lying on his sofa bed, he just felt gratitude for their friendship. As he debated whether to get out of bed for one last trip to the bathroom, he fell asleep.
CHAPTER 17
Paula loosened up in her dancing, and she saw Lotta sashay over to the bar, her hands over her head, swaying in time to the music. Get into the groove, boy, you’ve got to prove your love to me. The modern mix of this Madonna song had a throbbing, high-tempo beat, and the crowd sang along to lyrics they all knew by heart.
Villa Pauli was a club “open to members only,” but exceptions were made for private parties and for the once-a-month nightclub Velvet. One had to be invited by another member, of course, but no one checked that closely.
The place was fine and traditional with a beautiful view over Askrika Bay and the north side of Lidingö. During the summer, its lawn reminded Paula of a well-kept garden in a park where cocktail parties never ended beneath the massive white party tents that held hundreds of guests.
On this September evening, the scene was different. Tipsy people between the ages of thirty and fifty bounced around. The men all wore colorful slacks or casual jeans. Their shirts were striped and starched, and they all wore loafers with tassels or pennies. The women had let loose in outfits they’d never wear in their conservative suburbs: short leather skirts ending just past their rumps; their stilettos, like Paula’s, were six inches high or more and difficult to dance in. Most women had low-cut tops, and Paula wasn’t the only woman who’d left her bra at home.
Plastic surgeons, a number of whom were at this party, could point to many of the evening’s partygoers as examples of their best work. One of the most prominent women was tall with hair dyed a remarkable shade of blonde. Her thin dress clung to her curves. Her breasts had definitely undergone surgery. They hardly moved when she danced uninhibitedly, jumping up and down, losing herself in her wild gyrations. This woman wore a wedding ring, but several admiring males surrounded her. Paula thought she’d met the woman at a Midsummer party in the archipelago given by old friends of Jens. The woman had come to that party with her husband and children, gotten smashed, and started dancing on one of the tables—even though it wasn’t that kind of gathering. The gossip afterward had been severe. Later that evening, she was found naked in the sauna with the host. Paula forced herself to look away, remembering what had been said about that woman: that she’d developed a serious drinking problem. On the other hand, the woman lived in Saltsjöbaden, where most residents had a reputation for being much too fond of drink.
The inside of Villa Pauli was traditional, but the heavy furniture had been pushed to the side to make room for dancing. Paula headed for the bar, following in Lotta’s wake. She’d been dancing with the women from Lotta’s party for the past hour, and her feet were tired. She didn’t remember how many acquaintances she’d greeted, but it seemed like the whole suburb of Djursholm was cutting loose here tonight. Everyone was in a party mood and looking for attention. Perhaps they were tired of being seen as boring parents huddled around the soccer field; or perhaps they were just looking for someone to flirt with. Paula was reminded of Jens’s theory that several fathers at school might be looking at her when their wives weren’t around. It did seem that just half of any married couple was here tonight.
At one point, she found one of the fathers from school waiting for her when she came out of the bathroom. He was actually good-looking. He asked how she was doing and showed interest in her running. He, too, had been in a number of marathons. He had two boys. Paula had seen him around when dropping off her girls. She’d noticed him because he was so handsome and had a smile to die for. They’d never actually been introduced, so they went through the formalities that evening. His name was Carl-Fredrik.
He put a hand on her arm, said he’d gladly go running with her, then kissed her on the cheek. Obviously, he was interested in her. He said he looked forward to seeing her at school, but right now he had to head home. This must be the Don Juan who had sent her the text messages. Everything fit! Paula felt an involuntary warming in her privates as she watched him go. The text messages no longer seemed so threatening. He looked back at her and laughed. Paula wondered who his wife was and what she was doing this evening. She definitely wasn’t here at Velvet. Paula was jerked out of her reverie as Lotta bumped her with her hip and cried, “Darling! Shots for everyone! Take one and pass them on!”
Paula helped hand out the colorful shots from the tray.
“Skål! Skål, everyone!”
Their group tossed back the shots, and the two men next to Lotta applauded, ogling the women. “Wonderful, girls! The next round is on us!” These men were in their fifties. When they introduced themselves over the music, Paula thought their names sounded like Knoll and Tott. Knoll and Tott bought three more rounds, and Paula was surprised that she didn’t feel the alcohol anymore. Knoll—or was it Tott—put an arm round her waist and led her back to the dance floor. He was in fine shape. Most of the other men in their fifties had beer bellies or plump faces from all the conference food they ate on the job.
The man danced so close to her that Paula could feel his member against her groin. Lotta came dancing along with the other man, and Paula let her partner run his hands along her sides and then grab her ass. She threw back her head and laughed in Lotta’s direction. Lotta was really getting wild. From the corner of her eye, Paula noticed Purran watching them with a sour smile. Paula couldn’t help winking at her. Purran, in turn, said something to the other women from their group, and they all headed for the exit.
Paula had no idea what time it was as they stormed into Lotta’s house with Knoll and Tott. She was so drunk she couldn’t feel her own feet. Never mind that she’d walked the entir
e way back from Villa Pauli in her stockings. Looking through her bag, she hadn’t found her ballerina slippers. Lotta stumbled toward the stereo system and turned it up to the highest volume. She started dancing by herself but soon was joined by Knoll and Tott, who sidled up to her and began fondling her breasts and ass.
Paula sat down on the sofa as the room started spinning. Then she went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Paula had difficulty forcing it down, and keeping it down. She peered at Lotta, who was kissing one of the men while the other one rubbed his face on her breasts.
Paula headed for the bathroom. She couldn’t find the light switch, so she felt her way to the toilet.
As she finally flushed, someone gently knocked at the door.
CHAPTER 18
The morning was clear and the air fresh. Torsten left his apartment building and happily enjoyed the activity around him. Folkskolegatan was crowded with people on the way to work or to drop off children at school. People were pushing strollers and carrying parcels. Someone was pumping up a bicycle’s flat tire. During his years living with Katrin in the suburb of Älvsjö, that hustle and bustle is what Torsten had missed the most. He’d longed to return to the lively energy of the city. In the suburbs, everyone just got into their cars and drove off. Hardly anyone walked on the sidewalks. Months could go by before you met a neighbor.
So when his divorce from Katrin was final, Torsten chose to look for an apartment in the city rather than elsewhere in the suburbs. Of course, he’d asked his son Noah for his opinion. As a newly divorced man, Torsten was dying of boredom in the suburbs. In the city, he could at least have the illusion of being part of a larger group. He felt younger than his fifty years in the city. But in Älvsjö, he always felt like he had one foot in the grave.
He jumped into his car and prayed that the Väster Bridge traffic would be moving smoothly. But if it wasn’t, he had only himself to blame for driving at rush hour.
He’d woken at four in the morning and couldn’t go back to sleep. By the time his alarm clock rang at quarter to seven, the tossing and turning had left him worn out. He couldn’t figure out what was bothering him. During those early hours of the morning, he’d thought about his divorce and turned it over and over in his mind. Then he’d thought about his parents, which happened whenever he tried to think about the reasons for his divorce. Finally, thoughts about work tumbled around in his brain. All of it kept him from sleep.
Torsten’s last major case had wrapped up two years ago. He’d had only minor ones to work on since. He also knew that his department was at risk of being shut down. He understood the reasons behind that, but it was still unsettling.
The worst thing that had ever happened to him, however, had been the divorce. When Katrin told him that there was no possibility that they would ever get back together, Torsten’s entire world fell apart. Katrin and Noah had been his safe harbor, and he’d done everything he could for them. Now, in hindsight, he realized that he’d kept his real feelings under wraps during his marriage to Katrin—which was probably why she’d left him in the first place. Who wanted to be married to a doormat that never got into any argument and always agreed to everything? Katrin had explained that passion was important to her—and that she never sensed any passion from Torsten. What they’d had their first few years together was gone and was not coming back. She couldn’t live without it, so she decided it would be better to leave. Torsten knew, then, that she’d found someone else. Yet oddly, that hurt the least. What hurt the most was losing the stable family life he’d dreamed of for Noah. He couldn’t understand why she would choose her own needs over their son’s. But he also realized he was projecting his own feelings onto Noah, which was wrong. Later, when Noah made clear that he thought his parents had made a good decision to separate, Torsten started to relax about it. Certainly, he could still see Noah suffering a bit from his parents’ divorce, but Noah seemed capable of dealing with it. He was a calm, secure young man who was able to have a harmonious relationship with both parents.
Noah also liked living in the city and getting away from “the middle of nowhere,” as he put it. This bothered Katrin to no end. Torsten wasn’t big enough not to be secretly glad about that. At first, Katrin opposed Torsten’s move to the city, but she finally gave up when Noah was accepted at Riddarfjärden Ballet School. And since moving to Norway, Katrin did not seem unhappy that Noah lived with Torsten most of the time.
Over the past spring and summer, Torsten and Noah carefully scouted for a great downtown apartment. But they had trouble finding the right fit, and Torsten was almost ready to give up and buy an apartment at Gullmar Square. His finances were limited, and he needed space for his teenage son. Torsten had calculated that he could only afford to borrow two million crowns at the most. Interest rates were low right now, but Torsten knew the National Bank would raise the rates. His income wasn’t going to increase much in the next ten years, and he wanted to be absolutely certain he could stay in his home—even if rates went up as high as ten percent. He had two million crowns of his own to put into the purchase, as well as an additional three hundred and fifty thousand in an account he’d set up for Noah. Since Noah was born, Torsten had put two thousand crowns a month into a secret account he’d opened in his son’s name—without Katrin knowing it. Some months, it had been hard on his wallet, but he wanted his son to get a start in life with some income.
When he told Noah about the money, Noah said they should use it for the apartment. But Torsten had insisted that course was only for an absolute emergency, and that money was for Noah when it was time for him to leave home.
After a sailing trip together in the archipelago, they learned that two apartments matching their requirements had come on the market. Both were in the Söder District, and both were approximately six hundred and thirty square feet. Stepping inside the doors, they turned away from the first apartment immediately—too many potential buyers had crowded in to take a look. The second apartment was the smaller of the two. It had only two rooms and a kitchen, and was a bad fit for Torsten and Noah. But the maintenance fee was just three thousand crowns. The apartment was on the third floor and faced the street. The kitchen was large enough to seat four at a table, and the original cupboards were stained in a warm, sunny color they both liked.
Four other parties were interested in the apartment. Torsten and Noah admired the large, well-lit space—and they loved the balcony running along the entire length of the apartment, opening, much to their surprise, on all three rooms. To be able to step outdoors from the kitchen, bedroom, or living room was a real luxury. The large bathroom had recently been renovated, although Torsten wasn’t thrilled by the salmon-pink interior with fake gold-plate faucets. The toilet was definitely not new, but it wasn’t in such bad shape that it had to be replaced. A tiled bathtub was the only decent fixture in the room. There was a stand for washing and room to make a laundry area if desired. The bedroom, located along another hallway, had built-in closets, and it was roomy and cool.
They left the apartment, each with a brochure, and Torsten suggested they eat an early Sunday dinner at a nearby pizzeria—Piccolo Angelo. Colleagues from Torsten’s department often went there, and he’d been with other friends as well. The pizzas were famously generous.
“What do you think? Could we squeeze in there?”
Noah shrugged. He seemed doubtful. “Maybe.”
“If we can, I’ll start looking for a sofa bed right away. I can sleep there and you can have the bedroom.”
Noah smiled broadly. Torsten realized that Noah hadn’t wanted to make that suggestion himself.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. There’ll be a problem if you want to watch TV, though, especially if I need to sleep.”
“That’s no big deal. I usually use my computer to watch TV anyway. But won’t it be rough for you to sleep on a sofa bed every night?”
“Why would it? I just h
ave to make sure I fold it up every morning right when I get up. I have to say, I really liked that balcony.”
Noah nodded eagerly. “That was fantastic. We could put out some garden furniture and plants there.”
Torsten said, “We’ll have to see what the real-estate agent says. He was going to call all the interested parties tomorrow.”
By Monday, the apartment price had gone up by five hundred thousand, and Torsten sadly dropped out of the bidding. He felt bad that entire afternoon, waiting to break the bad news to Noah, but as he reached the parking garage after work, the agent called to say that the two parties bidding against him had dropped out. Was he still interested? Torsten was suspicious and asked why the others had dropped out. He received only a vague reply. He asked to call back. Two hours later, he phoned the agent and said he was interested in the place, but only at a hundred thousand over the asking price, no more. Two days later, the contract was signed and, as the apartment had been part of an estate, they’d gotten the keys that same day.
The next few months Torsten and Noah spent all their spare time renovating their shabby nest. They sandpapered and painted every single nook and cranny. Torsten rented a floor sander and, following Katrin’s advice, stained the floor instead of painting it, using a shade darker than the wood. Katrin was right. The stain made the room seem warmer and the floor much more beautiful.
At first they thought they’d just trash everything in the bathroom and remodel from scratch. Then Torsten decided to wait awhile, keeping Noah’s money in the bank and saving for a renovation. It tuned out to be a wise decision. Just before Christmas, water started dripping through the ceiling. The upstairs neighbor’s washing machine had broken and leaked, and the water damage to the ceiling was pretty bad. All through January, Torsten and Noah had to put up with the stains from the damage, but they were able to celebrate when the neighbor’s insurance paid for a bathroom renovation. Torsten’s colleagues at the National Police joked with him, wondering what kind of screwdriver he’d used to sabotage his neighbor’s washing machine.
A Small Indiscretion Page 9