Betrayal (16 page)

Henrik and Eva.

So long ago.

How had it come to this? When had it reached the point that everything was suddenly too late?

She was all alone. He had already found himself a new travelling companion to lean on, someone to whom he could calmly lay out the alternatives for the future. It was an intolerable feeling suddenly to be exchanged,
rejected, replaced by someone who was apparently better at fulfilling his expectations from life. Which she had not been able to do. And not a word had he spoken about his disappointment. He didn’t even intend to show her respect by explaining, giving her a fair chance to understand what had actually happened.

She turned off the TV and the room became black. She hadn’t even thought to turn on a lamp, although darkness had already fallen.

She sat down in the easy chair in front of the picture window facing the balcony. It was black as coal outside. Not even the moon could manage to light up the garden she had declared dead. She turned on the reading lamp and reached for the book she had started reading before the line in the datebook. It lay unopened in her lap.

It didn’t interest her any more.

Had Linda had a chance to read the email she had sent? She had written the text herself, after all. Eva wondered how they would react when they saw the familiar words, what Henrik would think when he recognised Linda’s declaration of love that he kept behind lock and key in his gun cabinet. Maybe he would suspect something, but how could he ever dare ask? She smiled at the dilemma she had created for him. Well, Henrik, what are you going to do now? When your lawfully wedded, understanding wife and the mother of your son might possibly be your worst enemy.

She looked at her reflection in the black windowpane. Linda’s words had taken up residence, uninvited, in her memory bank, burned their way in like
a disfiguring tattoo. She knew that they would haunt her for the rest of her life.

I realise that I am ready to lose everything as long as I can be with you. I love you, your L.

To be allowed to be so loved.

To be allowed to be as loved as Henrik was.

She wondered how he had answered that letter. Whether he suddenly found words that he had never used before, never had any occasion to use. Words which during their entire marriage had been biding their time because they weren’t needed. Words that were too big, too strong and powerful, exaggerated even, but that were finally given the opportunity to break free and be put to use.

To help him maintain and preserve what he had found.

To be allowed to be so loved.

And to dare to let oneself be loved that way.

She closed her eyes when she was forced to admit that what he was experiencing just now was what she had always dreamed of for herself. Real passion. The kind that could go straight through her and force her to let herself go completely, not be able to resist. The kind she had never ever experienced. To be able to love unconditionally and be loved in return without having to perform, be talented, be the best every second of her life. To be the one she really was behind the façade she had so successfully managed to construct, hiding her fear of failure. Of not being good enough. Of being abandoned.

You’re so strong. How many times had she heard those words? She played her role so well that no one ever saw through her, no one ever got to see the other
woman hiding in the background. She felt a longing to show all her weaknesses for once without losing everything. And not have to fight to deserve it, to dare to let someone all the way inside without being afraid.

If only someone would say ‘I love you’ to her and mean every syllable of it, and wish there were even greater words because not even ‘I love you’ was sufficient.

She took a breath and opened her eyes. The realisation had given her palpitations. She looked at her face in the black window-pane and was ashamed at her weakness. She was strong and independent and all the rest was nothing but romantic fancy.

And yet.

Was it possible that someone could love her that much?

Out of a sense of duty and guilt, she had not allowed herself to express her secret wish even to herself. Bound by her vows and commitments she had repressed her longing in a shameful corner and barred the door.

Out of loyalty to Henrik.

He was the one she had selected to share her life, the one with whom she had experienced so much. She would never be able to do him such wrong. She had tried to fill her time with work and conversations with friends that might give her everything she knew Henrik couldn’t give her.

All to hold the family together.

Now she sat here, alone.

He had found everything she had dreamed of finding.

And he had lied to her as if their relationship had never existed, she and their life together had never existed, had never been worth a thing.

She sat there for a long time, staring into her own eyes until the face around them was distorted and transformed into the face of a stranger.

And then, suddenly, a movement outside. Something quite close out there passed like a shadow beyond her reflection. The terror came like an electric shock: there was someone standing on the balcony staring in at her. Quickly she turned off the lamp, got up and backed away. The pressure over her chest. It was pitch dark out there, only diffuse shadows from the branches of the trees against the dark sky. She stood with her back to the wall and didn’t dare move. Someone had sneaked round the house, carefully climbed up onto the balcony, and stood there protected by the darkness, looking in at her, standing only a few metres from her and looking straight into her most secret thoughts.

A sudden longing for Henrik. For him to come home.

Cautiously she moved towards the kitchen with her eyes fixed on the black window. She backed away and hurried over to the phone on the kitchen counter and quickly pushed the speed-dial number for his mobile. Two rings, three, four. And then silence, as he turned it off.

Not even the voicemail went on.

She was alone.

Inside the house.

And out there on the balcony, in the pitch-black darkness, stood someone who knew it.

I
t was undeniably a lovely house she lived in, this woman who had lied to him. Probably a hundred years old with yellow wood panels and white gingerbread trim, surrounded by gnarled bare fruit trees waiting for spring. Two cars in the driveway, a Saab 9-5 combi and a white Golf. Both considerably newer models than his own old Mazda. Inside this well-to-do suburban idyll is where she lived, then, the woman who had misused his body and seduced his soul. She and the one who went under the designation ‘us’.

He had parked the car a couple of blocks away and approached on foot. He had been in agony all morning before he left the flat, but when he finally ventured out on a foray it had gone surprisingly easily. Perhaps it was the new feeling inside him that helped him, the feeling that an injustice had been committed and that he was the victim; a need to defend himself against an external enemy instead of the inner one.

He passed the house’s mailbox, a cobalt-blue metal contraption that required a key to be emptied, with a small opening that required two hands to stuff the mail inside. An object hated by all postmen and newspaper boys. And there they stood so beautifully, the names of the couple who shared the home he saw before him. Eva & Henrik Wirenström-Berg.

Eva and Henrik.

To the left of the house the lot extended into a wooded common, with only a low hedge in between. He looked around and, since there was not a soul in sight, he took his time as he stepped on to the common amongst the trees. He stood behind a tree trunk with his hands on the rough bark and looked in at the back side of the house. A balcony, a lawn, several fruit trees, flower beds, in the corner of the yard a yellow-painted shed. All well-tended and nicely laid out, someone’s cherished home. With his eyes still fixed on the house he leaned his cheek against the tree, feeling its roughness against his skin, and a shiver went through him. He wondered whether she was behind the windowpanes. And if
he
was there, the one called Henrik who was worthy, even though she had been unfaithful.

A whore is what she was.

He may have stood for half an hour behind the tree trunk when the balcony door opened. At first he couldn’t see who had opened it, but the next moment she stood before him. His reaction shocked him. He hated her, but suddenly having her right there before him aroused a desire unlike anything he had ever felt before. During all the years of longing, all the nights at the hospital with Anna’s mute body close to his, he had never desired anything as much as the woman he saw before him. But he hated her; she had seduced him, used him. These irreconcilable feelings fought for space inside him, forcing him to take a tighter grip on the tree in order to stay upright at all.

So close now, and yet so far away.

Over there on the balcony she sat down; in one
hand she held a phone and in the other a white sheet of notebook paper. A light-blue cardigan hung over her shoulders.

At first she sat utterly still, looking out across the lawn. Then she straightened up, looked at the phone in her hand, and dialled a number. He couldn’t hear what she was saying; only a few words reached him behind the tree trunk.

The conversation took perhaps five minutes, and as soon as she hung up she looked at the paper and dialled another number.

The realisation that he could watch her without her knowledge made him excited. She was exposed to his eyes and utterly defenceless; he had power over her. Again and again she dialled a new number, and he wondered who she was calling and what she was saying. He wanted to know. She looked serious as she talked, didn’t smile once. Then she took off the light-blue cardigan and placed it beside her on the bench. He could see the contour of her breasts under her jumper, the breasts his hands had caressed only a couple of days ago. He wanted to have that cardigan that had just rested on her body, inhale the smell of it, put it on.

The phone in her hand rang. She pressed the button and he could hear her answer with her name. The name that she didn’t want him to know. He had to hear what she was saying. Cautiously and with infinite slowness so that his movements wouldn’t attract her attention, he moved forward through the trees. Then he reached the last tree trunk, the one bordering the yard. A couple of metres ahead of him was the yellow shed.

She looked down at the floor of the balcony.

He didn’t hesitate but seized the moment and ran the short distance to the protective wall and slipped quickly behind it. Through the gap between the panels and the drainpipe he could see her with one eye, but her voice was still undetectable. He was too far away.

She made a few more calls before suddenly getting up and vanishing back through the balcony door. The light-blue cardigan still lay on the bench.

He stood there for a while, unsure what to do. The sun had disappeared behind the treetops of the common, and he was suddenly aware that he was cold. As long as she was in front of him, no physical sensations were able to reach him, but she’d gone. He wondered whether it had something to do with her aura. Something about her body shielded him.

He ran the short distance back into the trees, then he walked without hurrying out to the street to the front of the house and stopped. It was the other one he had come to have a look at. The one who evidently was named Henrik and who was included in the designation ‘us’. So far he hadn’t seen any sign of him. At a slow pace he again walked past the mailbox with their names on it. He realised that he couldn’t stand there without attracting attention, so he started walking in the direction of the street where he had parked. He was feeling quite cold now, and when he got back to the car he turned up the heat all the way.

The thought of driving to his flat didn’t appeal to him. It was as though a magnet were drawing him towards the yellow house with the white gingerbread trim. He put the car in gear and let the force- field draw him to it. He drove slowly a short distance
around the neighbourhood and then he was back. She was inside. Along with her, the other, the one who was worthy.

Just as he passed the mailbox the front door opened.

There he was.

His foot hit the brake without being told to do so by his brain. The man outside the front door locked it after him and looked curiously in his direction. Jonas turned his face away. He had wanted to see more, look more closely, but he didn’t want to be seen. Not now. Not yet.

A hundred metres farther along was a roundabout. When Jonas passed the house on the way back, his superior was sitting in the Golf and just backing out of the driveway. Jonas slowed down and let him back out. A hand in the side window waved to thank him; Jonas nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

You’re welcome. I’ve fucked your woman too.

He followed at a safe distance. From the irregular streets of the residential neighbourhood to the motorway leading towards the city. He kept a few cars in between them. No one must know that he was there, watching, checking, in control. Calm filled him. The compulsion was far away.

After Danvikstull they turned off to the left towards the newly built-up area in Norra Hammarbyhamn, first to the right and then right again. He knew this part of Södermalm. He had filled in there for a week several years ago when half the city called in sick during a flu epidemic. The car in front of him turned right up Duvnäsgatan and vanished out of sight for a moment. Jonas slowed down when he saw it pull into a parking space but kept going straight ahead,
parked and climbed out. He rounded the corner towards Duvnäsgatan and at the same moment the other man’s car door opened. A blonde woman about his age, maybe a couple of years older, came out of the building about ten metres farther down. Jonas pulled up his hood and started walking up the hill on the other side of the street, stopped by a shop window across from the parked Golf and stood there. He could see them in the reflection in the window, and nothing would ever surprise him again. The pieces didn’t fit together any more. For a brief second his eyes refocused and he suddenly read a sign inside the shop window: ‘To Let’. There was nothing else displayed in the empty window. But the reflection had even more to reveal. The woman who had just come out of the building and the man named Henrik who had just left his beautiful suburban home now stood embracing each other across the street. Quite still and almost convulsively they held on to each other, as if they might fall over if either of them let go.