Babylon (34 page)
In his mind, women wanted another half that fitted perfectly with their half, rather than a complete person. Seja had always been independent and did not need him to complete her. But still, that feeling of being irrevocably trapped loomed over their short holiday. A door was slowly closing. This was his last chance to make his voice heard and to change the way they were going.
‘What are you thinking about?’
He relaxed and leant back in his chair.
‘I’m thinking about this evening,’ he said.
Why can’t I just come out with it?
‘About the rest of our lives,’ he added.
‘How do you mean?’
He was skating on thin ice. He had to answer her somehow.
‘I’m thinking that you and I are pretty similar. Well, I hope we are. What I mean is . . . I’d be happy to build that sauna for you. At the back of the house, like you said you wanted.’
‘You want to build me a sauna?’
‘Well, have one built . . .’
‘But I’ve never said—’
‘No, I know you’ve never asked me to do it, but that’s why I thought I’d like to do that for you . . .’
He hiccupped and suppressed a belch, then continued with what he thought was turning into quite a deep discussion.
‘But what I
can’t
say, in all honesty, is that I’ll always . . . No, fuck it.’
He let his head drop. ‘Seja. I’m forty-five years old. Every decent, serious relationship I’ve had has ended in . . . recriminations, bitter recriminations. Hmm. What I mean is I’m not even sure I want to. Maybe I haven’t got married and started a family simply because I
don’t want to
. Maybe I’ve subconsciously . . . wrecked—’
‘What exactly are you trying to say?’
Tell realised he would regret every word as soon as he sobered up, and tried to backtrack. ‘I . . . Actually, I’m too drunk to talk about or even think about anything . . . remotely sensible. Shall we go home?’
He didn’t wait for her answer, but got to his feet slightly unsteadily and went over to the bar to settle up. She stayed where she was, her arms firmly folded. He felt sorry for her, but it was true nonetheless: he was too drunk, too tired and too unsure of what it was he really wanted to say.
How could he get her to understand his feelings when he didn’t understand them himself? Why was he trying so hard to destroy the first good thing that had happened to him in years?
They were walking through the park in silence when a shadow appeared behind them.
‘Speed?’
The wary voice repeated its monosyllabic question, a little more boldly this time. A man in his twenties with cropped hair brushed
against the sleeve of Tell’s jacket; Seja was shocked when Tell spun around and pushed him up against a tree.
‘Are you trying to sell me speed? Is that what you’re trying to do?’
Seja grabbed hold of Tell’s arms and pulled him back. ‘Stop it, what’s the matter with you? Leave it!’
Tell wobbled and let go of the terrified dealer, with one final shove in the direction of Vasaplatsen. The lad took to his heels.
‘I’ll have that little bastard.’
Tell managed the last few steps to his door, while Seja remained where she was. Perhaps she was considering going back to the cottage, leaving him alone in his pathetic drunken rage. He keyed in the security code, still aware of her in his peripheral vision. She passed him on the stairs when he stopped to catch his breath.
‘Yes, you’re definitely too drunk to do any thinking.’
They went for a walk in the Botanic Gardens the following day. Seja showed Tell the lily pond and the viewing points in Änggårdsbergen. Raindrops were dripping from the leaves. Seja loved the smell of the wet ground, the feeling that the world was once again reborn and unspoilt. She loved the feeling of sinking into the earth. As long as her shoes were waterproof.
Tell’s shoes were not waterproof, of course, so for him the best part of the outing was the French toast at the local pub in Änggården. He had insisted on that, even though Seja had proved almost as obstinate in her desire to have coffee in the pavilion at the Botanic Gardens.
They didn’t mention the previous evening’s performance. Tell was ashamed of himself, more because of his pathetic, alcohol-related sensitivity than because he might have upset her. As evening fell, his doubts about love began to seem foolish.
‘You look so lovely, sitting there.’
Seja didn’t reply, just smiled to herself as she sat in the living-room window. And even though she reached out to squeeze his hand, it was only then, when she remained silent, that he suddenly felt afraid that he might have ruined everything. Had he given her the idea that their relationship wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t worth holding onto?
‘It’s been a good day,’ she said eventually. ‘I think I’m going to head
home now. I’m tired and hungover and I’d like to get some work done tomorrow.’
‘You can sleep here; you said you were taking some time off.’
‘I need to catch up on my sleep.’
He gave a short, humourless laugh as he followed her into the hallway.
‘Oh, I see what you’re doing. It’s OK, maybe I made a fool of myself yesterday. I’ll take my punishment. But I just want you to know that I didn’t mean what came out.’
‘So what did you mean?’
‘Well, I meant it at the time, and it’s true that I do have a problem with the idea of lifelong commitment. But the problem’s really me, the way I am in relationships. Things always go wrong, sooner or later.’
‘Have you finished talking about yourself?’
‘What?’
She dropped her rucksack to her feet with a thud. ‘Have you finished talking about yourself and what
you
feel and what
you
think?’
Tell threw back his head and groaned.
‘For fuck’s sake! All my adult life women have told me I don’t talk about my feelings . . . and now I’m trying, I’m fucking trying because I don’t want to make the mistakes I’ve made in every single other relationship. I really want to make things work with you, Seja. But it’s as if I’ve got—’
‘Christian, forget what every other woman has told you. I’m not every woman. And the problem isn’t that you’re talking about your feelings, but that you’re
only
talking about
your
feelings. You’re talking about our future but you’ve left me out of the equation.’
She tore the rubber band out of her hair, which fell like a mane over her shoulders, making her look even angrier.
‘You with your fucking vague, self-satisfied guilt trip: just give it a rest! And you’re so full of yourself . . . oh, I don’t know. Do you have any idea how self-indulgent you’re being? And another thing – I just don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about! What’s the problem?’
Despite everything, he couldn’t help laughing at his own self-indulgence. She was angry and confused, and he tried to straighten his face but it was too difficult, and now she was laughing too; she
lowered her guard and she beamed, and there was nothing more beautiful than Seja when she beamed.
‘Stay.’
‘No, I’m going. Not because of anything you’ve said, but because I’ve got loads to do at home. And we’ve been together for several days; I need to be alone.’
Seja closed her eyes and sighed. ‘OK. It’s because of something you did and said as well. Actually, because of everything you say and do.’
Tell looked startled. ‘Go on . . .’
She started to button her denim jacket, her eyes fixed on a point just above his eyes and slowly shook her head. ‘You talk about marriage and children . . .’
‘I do not!’
‘You were certainly talking about marriage and children yesterday, and you always assume – we’ve talked about this before – that it’s what I want. And you know what?’
He tried to talk but she waved away his words as if they were persistent flies.
‘It doesn’t matter. What I mean is that I love you, Christian. I don’t
want
to be infected by your agonies over whether you’re letting someone get too close, and I don’t want to be embarrassed or ashamed because, God forbid, I might show my feelings. I’m so happy that we met. And I have never said I want to be with you
all the time
. But nor do I want to have to keep repeating that I
don’t
want to be with you all the time. Nor can I promise – just like you! – that I’ll love you for the rest of my life. There’s no need to make that promise. But I don’t want to live in some kind of atmosphere of doom and gloom, convinced that nothing ever lasts.’
She shrugged on her rucksack and Tell felt an overwhelming urge to stop her from leaving, even though he knew he couldn’t.
‘I want to be with you,’ she went on, ‘but not at the expense of all the good things I had in my life before you came along. I want to keep all those. Just like you, I had a good life before I met you, although I did feel lonely sometimes. And I thought you and I could fill the empty space we used to have in our lives. We don’t need to reorganise our lives or stifle ourselves, or encroach on one another just because we feel close to each other.’
She tilted her head on one side, took a step towards him and touched
his cheek. ‘It feels as if we’ve been through all this before.’
‘Do I have the right to reply?’
Seja sighed. ‘At the moment, I couldn’t give a toss what you reply. There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you for quite some time. And it’s difficult, so I want you to listen until I’ve finished.’
He was afraid he could see tears in her eyes.
‘It’s not just your fault, your fears, your patterns of behaviour. I’ve also been afraid of destroying . . . the image of myself I’ve worked to create. Perhaps I thought that as long as I didn’t mention it, there was still a chance that you
would
understand me if I just explained. That I’m not independent; on the contrary, I need lots of things. Attention, approval, security. I’m happy with my life, but I’m not content just to live in the present – although I know that’s probably what I’ve given you to believe – or to settle for making no demands on you. I’m so tired of being strong because you’re not, sometimes I just want to close my eyes and fall, knowing that someone will catch me, without anxiety, without hassle . . .’
She took a deep breath. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think this relationship is good for me in the long run. I’m tired of arguments and misunderstandings. It’s not enough.’
‘So you’re dumping me?’ he asked suspiciously, wishing his voice didn’t sound quite so desperate. ‘I can’t help feeling this is a punishment for yesterday.’
‘Dumping you? For God’s sake, we’re not sixteen! Shall I spell it out? I can’t live with you. It would just make me unhappy.’
Tell wanted to keep her there. He had a bad feeling: if she walks out that door now, she might never come back.
‘And what can I do to stop you feeling like this? Or is it all too late?’
She shook her head. ‘Stop it, Christian. Don’t lay everything at my feet, we can talk about it later.’
Once the sounds of Seja’s steps had faded, he let the door close. It was dark. Very little light came into the hallway. His back started to hurt from standing, so he crouched down while he thought about what to do next, overwhelmed by the idea that he was unbearably lost.
Perhaps he could watch a film. He hadn’t read the newspaper yet.
He had absolutely no idea what to do next.
Gothenburg
Annelie Swerin would miss Henrik. The fire within him, the naivety which was as endearing as it was infuriating. Henrik was a flirt, a gambler with an eye for the ladies, that was part of the deal, that was who he was. Annelie had chosen not to get involved in the issue of Henrik’s love life. It was none of her business. She believed in love, whatever form it took.
Murdered. She couldn’t take it in. Marie Hjalmarsson had been the first to tell her, the very evening Annelie got back from Bangalore. Her first emotion had been fear. That was only natural, Marie had said; you don’t think that sort of thing could happen to someone you know, someone like you. Not the stuff you see in the papers and on
Crimewatch
: murder, torture, rape.
Annelie had thought she could detect melodrama in Marie’s voice. The Marie she had a problem with came crawling out. The Marie who had once categorically condemned Annelie’s relationship with David, as if Annelie’s decision to embark upon a relationship with a married man had been a simple, well-thought-out choice. As if Annelie had never thought in terms of morality or female solidarity, as if the brief relationship hadn’t torn her apart before she finally decided to give up and let him go back to his wife. Annelie had even left the country to put distance between them, and it had worked. Until now.
The trip had been a distraction; she wasn’t sure it had changed how she felt deep down. Only a few hours after she had set foot in her apartment, after passing David’s shop and glimpsing his wife inside, the old feelings of abandonment had threatened to resurface.
Then Marie had called.
Axel had been the last straw. Annelie just couldn’t deal with his torment as well. He had turned up in the car park outside her apartment
block shortly after she had got back. Since then she had seen him several times. Did he want to talk? They’d never spent time together alone before.
It was perfectly understandable that he was upset. Henrik was a close friend and she was perhaps one of the few people who understood how important he had been to Axel; so why was she so reluctant to go down and talk?
Seeing Axel reminded her of that night in Istanbul. Jefferson Airplane had been playing at full volume in the bar and he had sat very close to her, grabbed her hand across the table and squeezed it unbelievably hard; she didn’t know why she hadn’t stopped him.
Hesitantly, she slipped on her shoes and picked up her thin jacket. She needed to talk to someone, to David.
Gothenburg
That evening at the Nefertiti had been a meeting of minds. After the obligatory small talk, he and Henrik had discussed faith and the future of the universe – it was like a new language he hadn’t completely mastered; he had stumbled, started again, gone round in circles, but Henrik had listened patiently. Taken it all in, thought it over . . . it was such a long time since he had talked to anyone, really.
