“Turn around,” Iris said as she moved the glossy, red hair out of the way, hooking her finger around the zip in Hanna’s short, patterned dress. She pulled it down, revealing pale, smooth skin and gently slipped the dress off the shoulders. Hanna wasn’t wearing a bra and Iris stretched her hands around her front, cupping the generous breasts, gently tugging at the hardened nipples. Pressed against Hanna’s back, her own breasts tingled at the warmth of another body. She felt her insides contract.
“I want you,” she said.
Chapter 5 – Anna
September 2015
Daniel didn’t call her ‘Miss’, he insisted on calling her Anna. She normally preferred it, but the way he pronounced her name, long and drawn out, was uncomfortable. Aaaa-nnn-a.
He was in the teacher’s lounge after school hours yet again, wearing the same well-worn clothes, shoelaces undone; his gangly frame hardened by the muscles of adolescence. It was the second time in a week that he had appeared uninvited. Last time, Kent had turned up to fetch his keys and Daniel had bolted before she got a chance to speak to him. Now she seized the opportunity.
“How did you get in?” she asked.
Perhaps he had managed to sneak in when Kent left? The door did take a while to close. Or had he been hiding in the shadows since the bell rang, eavesdropping on their conversation?
Daniel’s smirk unsettled her. Had she revealed something to Kent she shouldn’t have? She was happy that she hadn’t mentioned the letters even though she had received another one.
His gaze was unpredictably deep. “I just did,” he said casually and threw himself on the couch, resting his muddy trainers on the table.
She made no comment; she had to choose her battles.
“How can I help you?” she asked, trying to sound upbeat.
Daniel studied the floor, a bored look on his face, and wiped his nose with the back of his fist. His dirty blond hair always appeared messy, even though a large amount of gel was probably involved.
“There’s no one at home,” he said, as if the teacher’s lounge was the most natural place to be instead.
“And you don’t want to be alone?”
He didn’t respond, his eyes wandering around the room, seemingly soaking in every detail: the shared hot desks, the out-dated computer, the grey monster copying machine, the hat rack with a number of multi-coloured caps on it, the umbrellas next to the door.
Eventually he turned towards her.
“You haven’t responded to my letters,” he said, the words hard yet lined with a slight vulnerability.
The last handwritten note, like the others, had been short and to the point.
Homework is a waste of time. I’m not learning. Do you actually want to teach me something?
He was obviously trying to provoke her into responding. Choosing her words carefully, she said: “I’m really happy that you express yourself in writing.” The fact that he had used a pen to write, instead of throwing it through the room like an arrow, did please her. “Although I’m not as good at writing as you are. I prefer to talk.”
This wasn’t entirely true but conversations couldn’t be used against you the way letters could. She still wasn’t sure it was appropriate to write back.
“I’m not interested in talking,” he said. “No one listens.”
“Try me.”
Normally, she had everything under control. Discipline had never been an issue in her classroom, but Daniel was different. One minute he was an insolent child, the next he expressed depth. She often caught him reading between classes.
“I could kick your head in,” he said, jolting her out of her thoughts.
Her spine straightened, her eyes trying to gauge if he was serious. His clenched fists suggested that he was. She wondered if the janitor was still in the building. Although he was notoriously unreliable, he was someone, an obstruction, a witness.
Dread mixed with uncertainty. Did she know what she was doing?
“Daniel,” she said, trying to sound calm. He’s only a teenager. “You have the potential to do really well.” She cleared her throat: “If you just apply yourself.”
He seemed to relax his hands.
“Who cares?” he said.
“I do,” she said, too quickly. She needed to be more constructive; no student was going to learn for her sake.
“Did your parents care?”
Again, he turned the tables, making it about anyone but himself. At least it was easier to handle it here, where it was just the two of them, as opposed to the classroom where another twenty students were watching.
“It was important to me to have an education,” she said.
It felt too personal to divulge that her parents barely noticed that she moved out to go to university.
“My brother beats people up,” he said.
Already, they were onto a new topic. His way of jumping from subject to subject unnerved her, especially his obsession with violence. Not a week went by without him being involved in a major fight. Perhaps he did have a diagnosis. Could she force the counsellor to get involved?
“That doesn’t sound nice,” she said.
“My mum couldn’t care less.” He shrugged. “Can I just stay here, while you work?”
There was the child again. She could deal with him.
“You should go home,” she said gently and although she made an effort to sound kind, her words seemed to bring back the callous Daniel. His eyes grew dark and he didn’t move. He just stared at her, leaving her no choice but to start packing up: papers neatly slid into her bag, pens and pencils went back in their case, her laptop zipped up in its cover.
“Right,” she said, standing up. “I’m going home now.”
He didn’t get up immediately but she could feel him watching her. To distract herself, she busied herself with her jacket, putting it on slowly to give him time, changing her shoes; taking the ballet flats off, stepping into her boots. She needed to get out.
“Anna…” he said then and inwardly she sighed. Not only had she missed her precious preparation time, he was making her feel uncomfortable. He needed to understand that while at school, she was in charge. Not him.
She turned to him, her strict teacher’s face plastered on.
“Yes, Daniel?”
Standing up, he was taller than her. His face was symmetrical, the cheekbones high and the forehead tall. She could easily picture girls falling for him. Daniel’s eyes were firmly on his trainers, as if he was mounting up the courage to say something. She waited patiently, cautious.
Then he raised his head and looked at her. She couldn’t quite read his facial expression.
“I have decided…” he started.
“Yes?”
“…that you’re going to be my new mum.”
Chapter 6 – Erik
March 2016
“Has your wife got any enemies?”
Erik has been asked to the police station in the city to assist with the investigation. Or to be questioned? Either way, the female police officer gains his full attention with her compassionate eyes. The policeman at her side on the other hand looks less sympathetic. Erik appreciates that he’s asked about enemies, not his alibi. Perhaps that’s because the policewoman, who’s introduced herself as Linda Johansson, is new. She looks young. Or maybe he’s told them already? He has a vague recollection of someone at the hospital asking about his whereabouts. He can’t remember what he answered.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Did you talk to the people at her school?”
Did you talk to Kent?
“Yes, we talked to her colleagues,” Officer Johansson says, but she doesn’t mention any names.
It irritates him. They should tell him every single lead they might have. He needs to remain calm though. Otherwise he will achieve nothing.
“Why do you ask?” says the policeman whose name he can’t remember.
Erik debates whether he should mention Kent, but if he does, they will wonder why
. All he knows is that Anna really respected the guy. That’s it. He can’t imagine the two of them together.
He shrugs. “Just want to make sure no stone is unturned,” he says.
“Were you aware of any conflicts at school? Difficult students?”
Erik shakes his head, although there’s a nagging feeling he might have missed something during all those daily conversations about school. The note he found on Anna’s desk comes to mind but would it make him sound paranoid? It could be completely irrelevant.
“You sure?” asks Officer Johansson. “Nothing that was bothering her?”
Anna has an annoying habit of rattling off every event of her day, he thinks, every single evening, and with time he has learnt to nod and say the appropriate amounts of okay’s and a-ha’s to get through it. Now he wishes he had paid more attention.
“Well,” he says, taking a chance. He’d rather share the note than give up the laptop. Tina has explained that electronics are put in storage, labelled as ‘evidence’ and then pretty much forgotten about. “I’m not sure if it will help, but I found this.”
He puts the hand-written note in front of Officer Johansson whose interest peaks.
That was a nasty thing to do, Anna. You know I’m smarter than that.
“Could be a student,” she says. “Someone who wanted a better grade?”
“Sure, I mean of course.”
“We will look into it.”
The note is bagged and he imagines it being tested for fingerprints. What will they find?
“How was Anna lately?”
Officer Johansson leans back in her chair and he tries to look equally comfortable. He’s just not sure what to tell them. If only he had something tangible to share. The last couple of months Anna didn’t really talk about school anymore. She didn’t talk about anything.
“She was always busy,” he says honestly.
“On Tuesday, did you speak to her in the afternoon?”
He nods. “Yes, she called and asked me to pick up the children from day care, even though it was her turn.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Not exactly.”
He remembers the phone conversation well; has had that same talk many times over in different versions.
“What if I’m busy?” he said, tired of being taken for granted.
“You don’t have a paint job today.”
She was always so aware of his schedule. No, he didn’t have a job that day, but Rob had the day off and they were jamming in his garage.
“Are you with Rob?” she asked.
“No,” he lied, signalling to Rob to stop tuning his guitar.
“I’ll see you later then. I need more time to plan my lessons for tomorrow.”
If it wasn’t lessons she needed to prepare for, then it was exam papers, photocopying or whatever boring stuff it was she had to do.
“Or she needs to drop a student home who’s missed the bus,” he complained to Rob. “As if that’s even her responsibility.”
“She cares, man,” said Rob. “If I had a wife like Anna, I’m sure I would change underwear more often. You know what I’m saying? I would make an effort.”
“What do you know?”
“Nothing. Can we play now?”
“No,” he tells Officer Johansson. “It wasn’t unusual.”
“Did anyone see you pick up the children?”
Ah, there it is: his alibi.
“Pernilla Arvidsson saw me.”
Officer Johansson makes a note and he realises someone will contact Pernilla. What will she say?
“How is your marriage?”
How is their marriage? Erik looks at the male police officer. Is he that transparent?
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Were you happy?” Officer Johansson’s voice is softer.
“I see what you’re doing,” Erik says despite himself. “You’re playing good cop, bad cop.”
He wants to laugh but he can’t. How would that look? His wife may never wake up. This is real life. The policeman scoffs but Officer Johansson leans in closer and asks: “Was Anna happy?”
“Yes, she was happy.” What kind of a question is that? “She was frustrated at work and she would get annoyed with me, just like any other wife would, but she was happy.”
He slumps back into his chair, feeling tired.
“Coffee?”
He nods. “Yes, please.”
“I understand it’s hard,” Officer Johansson says.
Erik looks at her, supressing the urge to shout: ‘Do you really?’ It wouldn’t help. He knows that. Instead he sips the hot coffee, burning his tongue.
“We haven’t been able to locate Anna’s laptop or mobile phone,” the policeman says. “They weren’t in the car, at the school, or at your house. Have you seen those items or do you know where she would keep them?”
Erik doesn’t appreciate his tone. He doesn’t have her phone.
“She would have had the phone with her,” he says.
“There was no phone in her handbag or in the car.”
“Right.” Well, you’re the police, you figure it out: prove your worth to the taxpayers who pay your salaries.
“Where were you that evening?” asks the policeman. He’s annoyingly arrogant, as if he wants to catch Erik lying.
“I’m sure someone has asked me that already,” Erik says. “After we arrived home from day care, the boys and I were home all afternoon and evening. No, wait.” Erik thinks back to that afternoon. They were out of milk. “I went to the supermarket when Anna got home.” Maybe he left that out last time.
“Anna was at home?”
They both lean forward, as if this is really interesting. Except it’s not.
“Yes, she came home briefly,” he says. “Cooked dinner and then she had to go back to school.”
“Why?”
“No idea. To prepare something or pick something up maybe?”
“And while she was at school, you were home alone with the boys?”
Erik nods. “There was no one else to watch them,” he says. Isn’t that obvious?
“They would be sleeping by what? Eight o’clock?” the policeman asks.
“Yes, that’s about right.”
“And around ten o’clock, where were you?”
“Getting ready for bed probably.”
“So you didn’t step out of the house?”
“I might have been in the garden briefly, but that’s it. You can’t leave sleeping children home alone,” Erik says. Stupid man probably doesn’t have children of his own.
“Can anyone else verify that you were at home?”
The policeman grins. He wants blood.
“We have to ask,” Officer Johansson says.
“Rob,” Erik says, at once grateful that Rob decided to come by that evening. “My mate, Rob. He knows I was at home.”
They make a note and the policeman leaves the room to check this new fact out, returning within minutes. Rob has confirmed via phone that he did see Erik. He exhales. Finally, this is over. Erik gets up to leave.
“I need to get back to the hospital,” he says.
Chapter 7 – Anna
September 2015
The boys were already in bed when she got home. Disappointed to have missed them, she tiptoed into their bedroom to kiss them goodnight. Every time she saw them sprawled across their beds, carefree and peacefully asleep, her heart felt warmer.
“Little rascals,” she whispered, quietly kissing their soft cheeks.
How amazing that she and Erik had been part of their creation. That thought always astonished her, that they were their children. Before she left the room, she lingered by the door for a few seconds, watching them. Snoring mouths and blond tousled hair. Miniature versions of Erik.
“It took forever to get them to sleep,” he complained when she returned downstairs.
She sighed. He didn’t enforce any rules, so what did he expect? She bit her
tongue though, but the spell of love she had just felt was broken.
“I’m going to Rob’s.” Erik grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
“I only just got home.” She couldn’t help herself. “What about dinner?”
“Leftover sausages in the fridge.”
She heard the front door open.
“Wait, Erik. Please.” She ran after him. Couldn’t he spend at least five minutes with her? “Please don’t leave me alone.”
Not tonight. He was already halfway out when he turned around.
“What’s going on?”
“I just… There’s this student…”
She sat down on the chair next to the hall table. Maybe she could talk to him about Daniel. Erik was a child at heart, perhaps he would understand and provide some insight.
“Right.” His face tightened. “It’s about work. Not: how were the boys today? Did they get up to anything fun at day care, did they behave, do we need to send extra clothes?” He was really going for it and she let him. He clearly needed to vent. “You care more about your students than your own children.”
A clear violation. She wanted to fight back but chose not to. It would only escalate; she had learnt that the hard way.
“Come on, Erik,” she said.
“Students and parents call you twenty-four hours a day, Anna. How the hell do they even have the right to have your number?”
“Let’s not do this.”
He was jealous. She had a purpose in life and he didn’t. He busied himself painting houses while dreaming of a music career. They could be stuck in this argument for ages. She needed to distract him.
“Kent and Märta are going to the theatre next weekend. Should we join them?”
“I won’t sit through another four-hour Hamlet, if that’s what you think?”
“I have apologised for that enough times, Erik. I didn’t realise it was going to be so long. This is a Strindberg play…”
“How great. No thanks.”
“Come on.”
“Unless it’s bloody sex on stage I’m not going.”
When I Wake Up Page 3