Unspoken (12 page)

She opened the refrigerator and her mood sank. Her mother hadn’t gone grocery shopping today, either.

Never mind. Right now she was going to do her homework. She was worried about Thursday’s math test; math had never been her strong suit. She had just taken out her books and sharpened her pencils when the phone rang. The sound gave her a start. The phone hardly ever rang in their apartment.

To her astonishment it was him, and he wanted to invite her to dinner. She was both surprised and uncertain. She didn’t know what to say.

“Hello, are you still there?” His smooth voice in the receiver.

“Yes,” she managed to say, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

“Can you? Do you want to?”

“I’ve got homework to do. We’re having a test.”

“But you still have to eat, don’t you?”

“Sure, of course I do,” she said hesitantly.

“Is your mother home?”

“No, I’m here alone.”

He sounded even more determined.

“Well then, it should be fine. If you study for the test now like a good girl, I can pick you up around seven. Then we’ll have dinner together and I’ll drive you straight home afterward. Surely there can’t be any harm in that. And you’ll have time to study, too.”

He sounded so anxious that she felt compelled to say yes. But what were they going to talk about? At the same time, the invitation to go out to a restaurant was tempting. She could count on one hand the number of times she had gone out to eat. The last time was during a disastrous vacation the previous summer. Her mother had rented a car for a week and they took the boat to Oskarshamn so they could drive around Skåne and stay in youth hostels. It poured the whole time, and her mother drank every single day. On the last evening they went to a Chinese restaurant, and her mother got to talking to a group of Danish tourists. They drank a lot and started making a ruckus. Her mother got so drunk that she fell off her chair and pulled the whole tablecloth down with her. Fanny wanted to sink right through the floor.

She sat down at the kitchen table with her math books, wondering which restaurant they would go to. As long as it wasn’t too fancy. What was she going to wear? Now she really couldn’t concentrate on her math homework. Why had she said yes? Why was he inviting her out? Even though these thoughts were whirling around in her mind, she couldn’t help feeling flattered.

Suddenly she heard keys rattling in the lock and then her mother’s voice in the entryway.

“All right, Spot. Good dog. What dirty paws you have! Where’s the towel?”

Fanny stayed where she was at the table without saying a word. She counted off the seconds: 1, 2, 3, 4 . . .

Then it came. Four seconds this time.

“Fanny.
Fanny!
”

Slowly she stood up.

“What is it?” she called.

“Could you come and help me, please? My back hurts. Could you rinse off Spot? He’s so filthy.”

Fanny took the dog by the scruff of his neck and led him to the bathroom.

Her mother kept on chattering. She was clearly having one of her “up” days.

“We walked all the way out to Strandgärdet. I met a nice lady with a poodle. They just moved in. The dog’s name is Salomon—can you imagine that? Spot really liked him. We took off their leashes, and they both went into the water, even though it’s so cold. That’s why he’s so filthy, from rolling in the dirt afterward. God, I’m hungry. Did you go grocery shopping?”

“No, Mamma. I just got home from school. We have a math test, and I need to study.”

As usual, her mother wasn’t listening. Fanny heard her opening and closing cupboards in the kitchen.

“Don’t we have anything in the freezer? Oh, look, this is great: fish casserole. I need to eat. How long does it have to be in the oven? Forty minutes. Good God, I’ll starve to death. Oh, I really have to pee. Oooh.”

She came rushing into the bathroom and sat down to pee while Fanny resolutely rinsed off the dog’s dirty paws. Why did her mother always have to announce all her needs loud and clear so that everyone would know how she felt at every second? Her head was pounding with irritation.

“Make sure you dry him off properly so he won’t catch cold,” said her mother as she wiped off her crotch.

“Yes, Mamma.”

How wonderful it would be if her mother showed the same concern for her daughter once in a while.

When Fanny came out of the bathroom, her mother was lying on the sofa with her eyes closed.

“Are you tired?”

“Yes, I need to rest for a while before going to work. Could you put the casserole in the oven when it’s preheated?”

“Okay.”

She sat down in the kitchen. Her mother seemed to have fallen asleep.
She acts like a big baby
, thought Fanny as she set the table. It was four o’clock. She now had three hours left. Two to study, she hoped, and one to get ready.

“What are you going to eat?” asked her mother when Fanny put the casserole on the table.

“Nothing. I’m not hungry yet. I’ll fix something later.”

“All right,” said her mother, who already seemed to be thinking about something else.

Fanny was on the verge of telling her about the fun theater performance they had seen at school, but she could see that her mother wouldn’t be able to concentrate enough to listen. Just as well to keep quiet.

His disappointment over the tape was still bothering Knutas as he drove the short distance home in the evening.

He shivered in the ice-cold car. Lina was always complaining about the fact that he stubbornly insisted on keeping the old Benz, even though they could afford a new car. So far he had managed to fend off her ideas about buying a new one. It was too expensive and too much trouble to have two cars, and besides, there wasn’t room for more than one outside their house. And he would have a hard time giving up his Mercedes—there were too many memories and experiences attached to these comfortable old seats. It was as if he and the car felt a mutual affection for each other.

When he parked outside their house, he saw lights on in all the windows. A good sign; it meant that everyone was home. He was looking forward to a peaceful evening at home, but he found anything but an idyllic family scene when he opened the front door.

“Like hell I will! I don’t give a shit about what she says!”

Nils pounded up the stairs and slammed his door. Petra was sitting at the kitchen table. Lina was standing at the stove with her back turned, clattering the pots and pans. He could see from the way she stood that she was angry.

“What’s going on?”

Knutas asked the question even before he took off his coat.

His wife turned around. Her throat was flushed, and her hair was sticking out in all directions.

“Don’t talk to me. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“So what have you two been up to?” asked Knutas, patting his daughter on the head. She instantly leapt up from her chair.

“What have the two of
us
been up to?” she shot back at him. “You should be asking what
he’s
been up to. My so-called brother!”

And then she also pounded up the stairs.

“I had an awful day at work, and this is more than I can stand,” said Lina. “You’re going to have to deal with it.”

“Did something bad happen?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

He hung up his coat, took off his shoes, and then took the stairs in a couple of bounds. He summoned both children to the bedroom and sat down on the bed with them.

“Okay, tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, we were supposed to help set the table, but first we had to empty the dishwasher while Mamma cooked,” said Nils. “I took out the silverware basket and started emptying it. But then Petra came and said that she wanted to do it.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Quiet! I’m talking right now. That
is
what happened. You yanked it out of my hands even though I had already started.”

Petra began to cry.

“Is that true?” asked Knutas patiently, turning to his daughter.

“Yes, but he always gets to do the silverware basket, just because it’s easier. I thought it was my turn. I wanted to trade jobs, but he wouldn’t. Then Mamma got mad and said that we should stop fighting and then Nils said that I was stupid.”

Nils’s face flushed with indignation.

“Yes, but I’d already started! You can’t just come and yank it away from me! And then Mamma started yelling at me that it was all my fault!”

Knutas turned to his daughter.

“I agree that you can’t just come and take away the silverware basket if Nils has already started to empty it. At the same time, Nils, you need to take turns when you empty the dishwasher from now on. And keep in mind that your mother is tired, and it’s not much fun for her to listen to you fighting when she’s trying to cook. And don’t call your sister stupid, Nils.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said sullenly.

Knutas put his arms around both children and gave them a hug. Petra relented, but Nils was still mad and pulled away.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Leave me alone,” snapped Nils, giving his father an angry glare.

Knutas took Nils aside, and after some persuasion, his son reluctantly agreed to come downstairs for dinner.

Lina looked tired and worn out.

“So what happened?” asked Knutas when peace had once again settled over the household.

“Oh, we had a problem at work. I’ll tell you later.”

“But we want to hear about it, too,” objected Petra.

“I don’t know. . . . It’s such an awful story,” cautioned Lina.

“Please, Mamma. Tell us.”

“Well, okay. A woman who was supposed to give birth to her first child came in this morning with labor pains. Everything looked fine, but when she started to push, we couldn’t get the baby out. Anita thought we should give the mother an epidural to ease the contractions, but I wanted to wait.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she talked. Knutas reached for her hand under the table.

“Then the baby’s heartbeat suddenly got fainter, so we had to do an emergency cesarean. But it was too late. The baby died. I feel like it was my fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t your fault. You did the best you could,” Knutas assured her.

“Oh, that’s so sad. Poor Mamma,” said Petra, trying to console her.

“I’m not the one you should feel sorry for. I’m going upstairs to lie down for a while.” Lina gave a big sigh and got up from the table.

“Shall I come with you?” asked Knutas.

“No, I’d rather be alone.”

Usually her work was a source of great joy for Lina, but when things went wrong, she was very hard on herself. She would go over and over everything that had happened, brooding about what they could have done differently, whether they could have done this instead of that.

It wasn’t really so strange, thought Knutas. She had to deal with life and death all day long. Just as he did.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 21

Pia Dahlström was a tall, dark, and very beautiful woman. Completely unlike her parents, both in appearance and demeanor. She was wearing a jacket, black pants, and high heels. Her hair was pinned up in a knot. She had arrived early because she had to leave that same morning. It was only 7:00 a.m., and police headquarters was still deserted.

Knutas had offered her coffee, which he had taken the trouble to make himself. It was rare that anyone bothered to make real coffee, even though the coffeemaker stood right next to the dreary office coffee machine. They chatted while they waited for the coffee to brew. She reminded him of Audrey Hepburn in the old movies from the fifties. Her big, dark eyes were rimmed with dark eyeliner, just like the movie star’s eyes.

When the coffee was done brewing, she sat down on his visitor’s sofa.

“Could you describe your relationship with your father?” Knutas asked, thinking that he sounded like a psychiatrist.

“We weren’t close at all. His alcoholism prevented that. He started drinking more and more the older I got, or maybe I just noticed it more as I grew up.”

She gave her beautiful head a slight shake. Not a strand of hair was out of place.

“He didn’t care about me,” she went on. “He never came to watch any of my riding lessons or gymnastics routines. Mamma was always the one who went to the PTA meetings and the quarterly teacher conferences. I can’t remember him ever making a single sacrifice or doing anything for my sake. No, I really couldn’t care less about him.”

“I can understand that,” said Knutas.

“You speak Gotland Swedish, but you sound like a Dane,” she said with a smile.

“I’m married to a Dane, so I guess some of it has rubbed off. How did you react when you heard about your father’s death?”

“I just felt empty inside. If he hadn’t been murdered, he probably would have ended up drinking himself to death. When I was younger I was angry at him, but that feeling is long gone. He chose the life he was living. He used to have everything: a stimulating job, a family, and a house. But he chose booze over me and my mother.”

“When did you last have contact with him?”

“The same day I passed my school exams,” she said without changing expression.

“But that must be more than fifteen years ago,” exclaimed Knutas in surprise.

“Seventeen, to be exact.”

“How could it be that the two of you haven’t had any contact since then?”

“It’s very simple. He never called, and I never did, either.”

“And you didn’t have any contact with him after the divorce?”

“Sometimes I would spend the weekends with him, but it wasn’t much fun. The fact that I was there didn’t stop him from drinking. He never had any ideas about what we should do except stay in his apartment, and then his buddies would come over. They’d drink without paying any attention to me. Watch the races and soccer games on TV, or sometimes they’d sit there and look at girlie magazines. It was disgusting. Usually I’d end up going back home after an hour. Then I stopped going there at all.”

“What about your relationship with your mother?”

“It’s fine. I suppose it could be better, but I think it’s at an acceptable level,” she said, sounding as if she were talking about stocks and bonds.