You're Mine Now (10 page)

He looked down at his hands.

‘Thank you,’ Anna said. ‘Now open your iPad. If you’ve got nothing to show me, you can pretend to point.’

He pulled his tablet over and turned it on. Then he looked up.

‘I can’t pretend,’ he said.

‘No, perhaps that was silly of me. Maybe it’s best if you just go.’

Anna got up and held out her hand. Erik stood up and took it hesitantly.

‘Good luck,’ Anna said. ‘With whatever you do. You’ve got all the opportunities in the world, don’t you believe anything else.’

Erik looked at her defiantly, picked up his iPad, left the room and walked over to the lift. Anna took a deep breath, held it in and then went back to her desk.

‘Well?’ Sissela said.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘They’re on the wrong track. You might as well call and tell them.’

‘Shame about the big boy.’

‘Yes, maybe.’

Sven hesitated. Twenty hours or twenty-five. They had grumbled last time, but it was dangerous to drop your prices. Clients believed that they got what they paid for, and no one wants to take the cheapest.

How many hours had he done? It was impossible to say. Actively at his computer and on the phone, maybe seven. On the other hand, you couldn’t time the creative process. Sven remembered an author who had been asked how long it took to write a book. The author had given his age as the answer. Pretentious and stupid, but true all the same.

The bigger agencies never had any problems. They set a price. If the shoe didn’t fit, thank you very much. It was the customer who stood with his cap in his hand there. And when the marketing managers went over budget, they never opposed the consequences. They simply bought themselves out, paid a high price so they didn’t have to choose.

The little agency often came up with identical solutions, but had far greater difficulties in selling their ideas. When the small agency presented their proposals, the client started to squirm and came out with the most ridiculous objections.

‘Well, I took your adverts home and showed them to my daughter. She thought…’

Imagine if an auditor was treated in the same way.

‘Yes, yes, that’s okay, but my daughter thought it looked nicer with more figures on the next line.’

And not only did the clients question Sven’s work, he was even assailed privately too. He’d been at a fiftieth birthday party recently and ended up sitting opposite some left-wing person who regurgitated seventies nonsense all night. Life was easy for those who could afford to stick to their ideals, there was no question about it.

Sven wrote twenty-three hours. He calculated the hourly rate and wrote in the total on the right.

Twenty-three, uneven numbers. Sounded reliable and good. He printed out the invoice and wrote the client’s address on an envelope. The telephone rang and he answered.

‘Hi, Sissela here.’

Sven didn’t make the connection.

‘From
Family Journal
.’

‘Oh, hello, hello. How’s things?’

‘Good, thank you. And you?’

Sven told her about the daily trials and tribulations of an advertising man in a light and social manner. Small talk was something everyone in his business had mastered.

‘Sorry to have kept you waiting,’ Sissela said.

Sven leaned back in his chair and scratched his neck with his free hand.

‘Not at all, it’s always a process.’

‘Yes, however, having given it considerable thought, we have decided not to go ahead with the campaign right now.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘I talked to the marketing department recently and we agreed that we should wait until the spring and then go for a more traditional subscription drive. We don’t really believe that we can get men interested.’

‘You don’t? Personally, I’ve always found the magazine a very interesting read.’

‘Men read their wives’ magazines and give them subscriptions as a present,’ Sissela said. ‘But they wouldn’t subscribe themselves. Unless it was for tax reasons, that they could subscribe through the company or something like that.’

‘I understand,’ Sven said. ‘It’s possible we did go a bit off-piste in our enthusiasm for your product. Could we perhaps submit a new proposal?’

‘From what I understand, that’s what Erik has just done. Yes, he was here just now and spoke to Anna. And she wasn’t particularly impressed. No, I think we’ll just leave it for the moment. But thank you so much for all your hard work, and of course, it was delightful to meet you at Mölle. Maybe we’ll get in touch again on another occasion.’

I am not interested
.

Erik slapped his hand against the dashboard. Who did she think she was? She was old and ordinary, he was young and attractive. He had made her scream. Erik found it hard to believe that her husband managed to do that.

‘Very hard,’ he said out loud to himself.

I love my husband, we have a daughter.

‘You love your husband?’ Erik said. ‘Is that why you jump into bed with anyone? Because you love your husband?’

What happened happened
.

‘Yes, it was convenient. No guilt, a victim of circumstances.’

Erik turned the key and pulled out into the road.

Until yesterday, I thought it was something positive, a memory that I could enjoy with real pleasure and warmth. Now, I don’t know any more.

‘No, because it has to be on your terms, when you feel like it. Well, I’ve got news for you, Anna Stenberg. You don’t rule the world.’

Erik drove back to work, looked at himself calmly in the mirror as he took the lift up. He had no intention of showing any of his inner chaos to Sven and Olof. He went into the office and was met with an accusing smile. Erik looked at them.

‘What?’

‘I was just speaking to Sissela at
Family Journal
,’ Sven said.

Erik went over to his desk, tried to look busy.

‘Right.’

‘And they’ve said no to the campaign.’

‘That’s a shame.’

Erik studied them. Unsuccessful advertising men, but a necessary springboard for him to the career that was without doubt waiting just around the corner. Within a couple of years, Sven and Olof would be telling anecdotes about how they discovered him.

Sven nailed him with gimlet eyes.

‘Sissela said that you’d run up there with another proposal. That you’ve been out sailing your own sea.’

Erik looked up, felt his cheeks flush. What had Anna said? That he was following her?

‘It’s all well and good that you take the initiative,’ Olof said, ‘but you have to pass things by us first. We have to show a united front.’

‘You can’t just give the client an alternative,’ Sven said. ‘That way you’re communicating uncertainty.’

Anna hadn’t said anything. Of course not. What could she say? Nothing. Not without telling.

‘It wasn’t anything concrete,’ Erik said. ‘I was just sounding it out. Trying to get a handle on what they wanted.’

‘What did you find out?’

Erik shrugged.

‘I don’t think they’re willing to pay anyone outside the company for their advertising.’

‘So we’re wasting our time?’

Erik didn’t answer.

‘Well,’ Sven sighed, ‘there’s nothing to be done. We’ll just have to find a new client. But next time, talk to us first.’

His expression was paternal, nurturing. Erik couldn’t help smiling. What a boor! The uneducated, mediocre, overweight small-town failure was being strict with
him
. That was very funny.

Sven and Olof exchanged uncertain glances.

‘We’re serious,’ Olof said.

Erik nodded.

‘I am too,’ he said, and picked up his computer and left.

‘Hello, love, what are you doing here? What a nice surprise.’

‘Have you got a minute?’

‘Of course.’

Anna went into her mother’s flat and closed the door behind her. She took off her shoes.

‘I’ve just put on the kettle. Come in, sit down. Don’t you want to take your coat off?’

Anna sank down on to one of the kitchen chairs, and immediately and automatically turned into a morose teenager.

‘And to what do I owe the honour?’ Kathrine asked.

‘Nothing in particular, just thought I’d say hello,’ Anna said, playing with the salt cellar on the table.

‘I see,’ her mother said, and opened one of the kitchen cupboards. ‘I’ve got Earl Grey and Söder tea.’

‘Earl Grey.’

Kathrine looked at her daughter on the sly as she scooped the tea into the sieve. Anna was staring out of the window. It was windy and wet, typical Helsingborg weather. The kettle boiled and switched off.

‘It’s always nice to get visitors,’ Kathrine said, as she poured the tea. ‘Doesn’t happen every day. Milk?’

‘Mm.’

‘Do you want anything to eat with it?’

Anna shook her head.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Kathrine put the cups on the table and sat down.

‘Have you done something stupid again?’

‘What? No, never.’

‘You haven’t told him? Magnus, I mean.’

‘No.’

‘Good. What’s up then?’

Anna pulled the cup towards her, took a careful sip but still managed to scald her lips.

‘Well…’ she started.

This time she left nothing out. She told her that he’d lied about his mother, about the broken glass, about the camera on his mobile phone, that he’d just appeared from behind the bus, phoned her drunk and come to the office without calling first.

‘Gosh,’ Kathrine said, when she was finished. ‘That’s quite a lot to take in over a cup of tea.’

She looked at her daughter, who was sitting all hunched up and staring blankly at the table.

‘Are you sure that you deleted the photographs on his phone?’

Anna nodded absentmindedly. She was off in her own world.

‘Good, you have to be careful with things like that.’

Kathrine reached across the table and took her daughter’s hand.

‘It feels creepy,’ Anna said.

‘Oh, I’m sure he’s just a little in love. And I can understand that.’

Anna pulled a face at her mother’s compliment.

‘I lay awake all night.’

‘But now you’ve told him and you don’t have to work together any more. Everything is as it should be again. It’s a good thing you put your foot down.’

Anna looked up, leaned forwards over the table.

‘And the guy he said he was visiting, Johan Andersson. He doesn’t exist.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No, but…’

‘In which case he’s out there, hiding behind the bushes. And so what? Have you never gone past the home of someone you’re secretly in love with and hoped that you might bump into them by accident?’

‘No.’

Kathrine looked at her daughter, with amused arched eyebrows.

‘That was at high school, Mum. That’s not quite the same thing. Erik is an adult.’

‘Has he been nasty or threatening? Violent?’

Anna shook her head.

‘No, apart from the glass.’

Kathrine nodded as if she were digesting all the information she’d been given.

‘Don’t worry, just take it easy. He’ll tire of it soon enough.’

‘But I have to tell Magnus,’ Anna said in despair.

‘If he goes far enough, you’ll have to, yes.’

‘But don’t you understand? If I tell him, he’ll leave me.’

‘No, he won’t. He’ll play the self-pitying martyr for a while. Until it gets to the point where it’s so ridiculous that you tell him to stop. And then he’ll be quiet. And when he’s cowed and suppressed, you’ll gradually lose all respect for him. I can’t imagine anything else. If you want to keep him, the wisest thing to do is to keep it to yourself and don’t spill your heart.’

Anna opened the door and took in the smell. Clean, roast pine nuts, flickering light from the candle flame.

‘Hello?’

‘In the kitchen.’

She took off her shoes, hung up her coat and went in. Magnus was grinding basil and the pine nuts in a mortar. He took a short break to hand her a glass of wine.

Anna scrutinised him.

‘Where’s Hedda?’

He clinked his glass against Anna’s.

‘Cheers. At Louise’s. She’s having dinner there.’

Anna held the wine glass up to the light and the beautifully laid table.

‘And this is?’

‘Dinner on Monday.’

‘Dinner on Monday?’

Magnus nodded.

‘Am I missing something? The date or something else?’

Magnus put down his glass.

‘Exactly fifteen years ago today,’ he started, with great ceremony. ‘Nope, you’re not missing anything.’

‘Have you got a new job?’

‘No. Just thought that for once. You know, the days slip by, and you forget the most important thing.’

‘The most important thing?’

‘That I got the best.’

‘The best?’

Anna smiled, bewildered. Magnus nodded earnestly.

‘Best luck of all,’ he said. ‘Nothing special, just home-made pesto.’

‘Just and just,’ Anna said, and sat down. ‘I popped into Mum’s on the way home.’

‘Why?’

‘Don’t know, just felt like it. We had a cup of tea.’

‘We both just felt like it on the same day,’ Magnus concluded.

‘If it’s a Monday, it’s a Monday,’ Anna smiled.

Her phone pinged. A text message from Erik. She turned away from Magnus and read it.

She turned all the way round and peered out of the window. The street was dark. She saw her own reflection in the window and felt her heart hammering hard inside her ribs.

‘Who was that?’ Magnus asked.

Anna swallowed hard.

‘Oh, just work.’

She put her hand on her stomach and forced a smile.

‘Just have to…’

She pointed in the direction of the bathroom and left the kitchen. She locked herself in and caught her breath, without turning on the light. She opened the message and read it again. The bathroom was illuminated by the text on the screen.

Was he standing outside?

‘Are you okay?’ Magnus called, from the other side of the door.

‘Yes, fine. Just a bit of a sore tummy. Will be there in a minute.’

She heard her husband go back out into the kitchen. She deleted the message and held the screen up like a torch. The stool that Hedda had used when she wanted to reach the sink had for many years now stood under the high window that they opened when they wanted to get rid of the steam after a shower. Anna turned off her phone and stepped up on to the stool, looked out cautiously. The wind was dancing in the treetops. Otherwise deserted. No people.

Hope you have a nice dinner
.

It was a normal enough expression. An ironic dig from a hurt young man. I’m unemployed and you’re having a feast.

Unemployed? Had he really lost his job? It sounded improbable. And surely it had nothing to do with Sissela saying no to their stupid campaign proposal? Had he resigned in a huff? Whatever, it wasn’t her problem.

Anna got down from the stool, turned on the light, flushed the toilet. She splashed her face with cold water and looked at herself in the mirror.

‘Take it easy,’ she said to herself. ‘Don’t lose it.’

Kathrine logged on to birthday.se, the website where you could look up people’s birthdays. She had spent a whole afternoon looking up old friends and checking their birthdays, so that she could surprise them with cards or a telephone call on the right day. It was perhaps a bit extreme, but it was one of the many things she had done in order to avoid sitting at home alone in front of the TV. All you needed was the person’s name and possibly an address when they had a usual name, like Erik Månsson. So much the better that her daughter had told her that she had gone to his flat on Drottninggatan.

Kathrine typed in the information and got a hit that informed her Erik Månsson had been born on 29 July 1984. In other words, he was twenty-eight years old. Not an unusual age for a bachelor, but definitely unsuitably young to be chatting up a woman who was fifteen years older with a family.

She wrote down his address and his six-digit personal ID number. Then she went out into the kitchen and rummaged around on a shelf full of recipes she’d torn out, batteries, paperclips, pens, card games, boxes of toothpicks, almost empty nasal sprays, scraps of paper with long-since forgotten names and telephone numbers, plus half a million other bits and pieces that had no special place in the home but that weren’t to be thrown away immediately.

Kathrine was sure that she’d pulled out a newspaper article about how to find information about people. She’d kept it for the day when she was going to write a crime novel, which was more or less a grassroots movement these days, certainly among middle-aged women. The phenomenon had caused considerable indignation among middle-aged writing men, who, as soon as the opportunity arose, declared that such works could not be considered Literature. The male genius was a sensitive organism that required constant care.

Finally she found the article.
HOW
TO
CHECK
UP
ON
YOUR
NEIGHBOURS
was the appealingly small headline. It said clearly that the first thing she should do was contact the Swedish Tax Agency. Which, to be honest, she could have worked out for herself. Who knew anything, if not Big Brother?

Kathrine looked at the clock. It was past six. Her snooping would have to wait until tomorrow. It was high time to get some food in her stomach.

Anna twisted away. Magnus looked up from between her legs.

‘No?’ he asked.

‘I’m too stressed.’

He crept up and lay down beside her.

‘I’ll give you one.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘No, really.’

‘Another time.’

They both looked up at the ceiling. Anna had glanced over at the gap between the drawn curtains, screwed up her eyes and was almost certain that she saw Erik outside. Obviously it was just her imagination, but it was enough to stop her relaxing.

‘Is it work?’ Magnus ventured.

Anna sent him a quick look.

‘It’s all a bit much at the moment,’ she said.

Magnus nodded.

‘You have to learn to relax.’

‘I know.’

The whole evening with candles and wine and home-made food was an easy ticket into the sack. Which Anna didn’t mind, quite the opposite. The sex was predictable, a well-practised routine, but Magnus was a gentle and sensitive lover, ambitious to the extent that he always satisfied her first. After that, things generally moved along swiftly. A few seconds of extra effort. You scratch me and I’ll scratch you. The fact that he was so content irritated her sometimes, the smug smile that assumed that she couldn’t possibly want anything else. Maybe she had too high expectations of life. A deep desire that it should be greater, more intimate.

Why couldn’t Anna allow herself to be fooled by the sort of philosophical messages and thoughts you got on fridge magnets? Life is what happens when you’re thinking about something else. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life.
Carpe diem
.

Not bad advice for those who were susceptible. That’s to say those who were under fourteen or soft in the head. Often both.

Magnus got out of bed, pulled on his pants, apparently unbothered by the decline in his physique.

‘How’s the car sale going?’ Anna asked.

‘Good. I’ve got someone coming to look at it tomorrow. He asked about the price, so I guess we have to be prepared to knock off a few thousand.’

‘Still more than we would have got for trading it in.’

‘Hopefully.’

Anna slipped past him out of the room. He reached out his arm and gave her a quick, loving stroke as she passed. She smiled in answer.

Sitting on the toilet, she wondered if she was looking for the wrong things in Magnus. Looked for them too actively, as it were. Constructing a defence in her own favour.

An unfaithful man could blame his animal lust, that it was against nature to let an opportunity go. A woman could construct a world of underlying causes.

Sissela often said that someone who was happy at home didn’t play away. What grounds did she have to make such a claim? It sounded like the Old Testament. Sissela said it with good intentions, to free the unfaithful Trude from guilt. Maybe it wasn’t true at all. Maybe Trude had a fantastic sex life at home, which only increased her interest in the activity, outside the confines of her home as well.

There were surveys that claimed that men were more unfaithful than women. A mathematical impossibility if you didn’t accept the myth of the fallen woman, the absolutely abnormally active temptress. The truth was probably something else. Being unfaithful was probably a matter of subjective judgement. Men had a bit on the side, women fell in love. And under the guise of love, no wrong could be done.

Half an hour later, Anna turned on her phone and saw to her relief that there were no text messages or missed calls. Magnus was outside walking round the car in the dark, rubbing off the spray from the bottom edges of the body and wiping the windows before taking out the mat on the driver’s side and giving it a shake. Hedda came cycling home on tyres that badly needed pumping.

‘Hello, sweetie, have you had a good time?’ Anna called when her daughter came into the house.

‘Yes.’

‘What did you eat?’

‘Burgers.’

‘Umm, yummy,’ Anna said, quickly.

‘It was okay.’

‘And how’s Louise?’

‘Okay.’

‘And her mum and dad?’

‘Okay.

‘I was just about to have some ice cream. Do you want some?’

‘What flavour?’

‘Don’t know. Vanilla, I think.’

Anna opened the freezer.

‘Yes, it’s vanilla.’

‘Okay.’

‘Ask Daddy if he wants any.’

Hedda went to the front door, opened and shouted.

‘He doesn’t want any,’ she informed her mother when she came back to the kitchen.

‘Have you got homework?’

‘Nah, not really. We did it together.’

‘You and Louise?’

‘Yeah.’

The situation eased Anna’s anxiety. Something as simple as scooping the ice cream into dessert bowls reminded her of the greatness of everyday life and pushed back thoughts about her mistake, which in turn threatened to destroy her daughter’s world.

‘Can I borrow your phone?’ Hedda asked. ‘I want to play games.’

‘Not if you’re having ice cream.’

‘But I can play with my left hand.’

Anna handed her the mobile. Her ten-year-old daughter tapped her way skilfully through the files and apps.

‘Why’s it on silent?’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes.’

Hedda switched it to normal. A stupid tune accompanied by action sounds from screeching tyres and exploding barrels filled the kitchen. Anna looked at her daughter with the same look of loving indulgence that her mother had given her only a couple of hours ago. The sound of the game suddenly stopped and was replaced by a ping.

‘Text message,’ Hedda said, and handed it over.

Anna recognised the number, and anxiety returned immediately. Didn’t he understand? What was wrong now?

Anna deleted it and reluctantly handed the phone back.

‘Who was that?’ Hedda asked.

‘Work.’

‘Are you not going to answer?’

‘Not now, I’ll do it in the morning.’

Hedda went back to her game. Anna looked out of the window, watched Magnus do a final inspection of the car and he seemed to be pleased with the result.

‘Can’t you just do one thing at a time?’ Anna said, and reached for her phone.

Hedda turned away.

‘Can I have my phone, please?’

‘In a minute, I just want to finish this game.’

The sound of a water drop announced a death and the game was over. Hedda gave her the phone.

‘Thank you,’ Anna said, and turned it off completely. ‘Don’t understand why you have to use mine when you’ve got your own.’

‘What does it matter?’

Magnus came in.

‘What are you quarrelling about?’

‘We’re not quarrelling.’

‘Mum won’t let me use her mobile.’

‘You’ve got your own.’

‘That’s what I said,’ Anna exclaimed. ‘Are you sure you don’t want any ice cream? There’s not much left.’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Magnus turned to Hedda.

‘Just leave Mum’s phone alone. Maybe she’s got a secret lover who’s sending her juicy text messages.’

‘Very funny,’ Anna said.

‘Juicy?’ Hedda repeated.

‘Quite funny,’ Magnus smiled.