J
an-Erik heard the front door open and hurried to the refrigerator to take out the bottle of champagne. The glasses were already set in place on the kitchen table next to the candlesticks. He struck a match to light the candles. He had been waiting for several hours. When he had gone out to buy the champagne, Louise had apparently been at home, judging by the tube of caviar that was left out on the worktop, but when he returned the flat was empty. She hadn’t answered her mobile.
For a while he had debated the appropriateness of celebrating now that Alice was so seriously ill, but there was too much to lose if he held back. For once he intended to put the focus on him and not on her. She was not going to be allowed to take this moment away from him.
He was going to surprise Louise with champagne and Ellen with Appletiser and tell them about his prestigious prize. Maybe suggest that they take a holiday together. Put a stop to the disintegration that he’d been worrying about ever since Louise had collapsed in tears and voiced her doubts. The power of his reaction had surprised him. Realising how important it all was, and how much he had taken for granted. Their marriage must remain intact at any price; it was the base from which he proceeded and to which he must always return, the skeleton supporting his life and the foundation for everything he did. He would do everything he could to keep the three of them together. But he had not thought through everything that entailed. He had cleverly avoided
the thought of certain marital components. The consequence of this line of thinking would make his efforts impossible. Having sex with Louise was unthinkable. That’s why Ellen had to be there at the celebration. He had consulted her school schedule on the refrigerator door, and she would be home in half an hour. What still felt unthinkable must not be allowed to happen, however Louise might interpret his initiative.
He noticed his hand was shaking when he lit the last candle. He had refrained from easing his nerves with a few drinks while preparing the surprise. Even though he conducted most of his drinking outside the walls of the house, he sometimes grew afraid that Louise still knew how much he drank. But right now they were going to toast with champagne, a natural and legitimate way of celebrating.
When he looked up she was standing in the doorway.
He blew out the match.
‘Hi.’
Her gaze went right past him, over all his celebratory efforts, and wandered on out through the window.
‘Come and sit down, we have something to celebrate.’
He grabbed the bottle of champagne and tore off the foil, thinking she could at least say hello. He undid the wire, popped the cork and filled the glasses as quickly as the foam permitted.
She remained motionless in the doorway and clearly needed persuading.
He raised his glass to lure her to him.
‘Come on.’
Something about her was different, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Three days had passed since he’d last seen her awake. That was when he’d left her crying at the kitchen table which he had now decorated with champagne and candles.
He went over and handed her the glass.
‘Now listen to this – I’ve won the Nordic Council Literary
Prize. It’s the first time they’ve ever given it to someone who isn’t an author.’
‘Congratulations.’
She couldn’t even be happy about that. He saw it clearly in her face. But he knew what would persuade her, something she was good at squandering.
‘The prize is 350,000 kronor. Danish. So it’s worth even more.’
Without touching the champagne she went over and placed her glass on the worktop. There she stood with her back to him, and during the ensuing silence he grew angry. Never to receive any appreciation from her. Never to get recognition when he did something good. He worked like a dog and just once he ought to get a kind word or a little encouragement. He had even made a special effort, champagne and everything. He was trying to make her happy, trying to make an overture after their bitter conversation three days ago. But, as usual, it wasn’t enough. Sulky and unforgiving, she was now going to force him to make even more fuss over her.
‘I thought you’d be happy. I was going to suggest we take a trip together somewhere. But that’s probably not good enough, as usual.’
He emptied his glass and filled it again. The champagne foamed over and ran down his hand, and he shook off the worst of it. Seeing her back turned was driving him crazy. He blew out the candles and didn’t give a damn if tiny drops of wax landed on the table, which would annoy Louise. Then he grabbed the bottle, went out to the living room and sat down on the sofa. But he got up again and went instead to his office, kicked the door shut, and sat down behind his desk. He put down the champagne bottle among the piles of unopened fan mail for Axel Ragnerfeldt.
It was impossible to please her, he might as well admit it. She was a black hole into which all positive energy was sucked and obliterated.
He refilled his glass and ran his hand over the damp ring
that had seeped onto the oak desk. Without knocking she opened the door, walking in determinedly, and sat down in his reading chair. He looked the other way. He didn’t intend to be nice to her; now it was her turn to try. He sipped a little champagne; this time he was without guilt and had every right to be angry.
‘I’ve asked Ellen to sleep over at a friend’s house tonight, because you and I have to talk.’
For a few seconds his anger remained entrenched until the gravity in her voice made him pay attention. Treacherously it came slithering with its foul breath. When he looked at her he realised that something really
had
changed. Her face was open and her gaze unwavering, and the minefield that usually surrounded her had dissolved.
‘I’m sorry this is such bad timing, because you’re so excited about the prize and surely worried about Alice, but I might as well come straight out with it.’
His senses held their breath.
‘I want a divorce.’
The air in his lungs emptied out as if he’d been punched in the stomach. She sat calm and composed in the easy chair as if what she’d said was entirely normal.
‘Both of us know it’s the right thing to do.’
What scared him most was her decisiveness. As if everything had been fully discussed before they even spoke. He gritted his teeth and tried to hide his panic, grasping for the one fact he had relied on in the muddle of thoughts that had passed through his brain in recent days. She was dependent on him, destitute without access to his wallet. Only until the day his father died, of course, but Axel could live a long time yet if all went well. That circumstance was his best defence. The fact that she knew nothing about the provisions of Axel’s will.
He gave a little smile, rested his elbows on the desk and leaned his chin in his hands.
‘And how do you intend to make ends meet, Louise? You don’t have any money.’
‘It’ll all work out somehow. I’m going to go back to university and finish my degree, so I’ll take out a student loan. Then I’m going to go back to work as a civil engineer.’
He swallowed. It was all planned out.
‘Where will you live?’
‘I talked to Filippa. I can sublet her flat for the time being, then I’ll have to see.’
Plans forged and executed behind his back.
‘Ellen will be staying here, just so you know.’
‘Maybe. She’s twelve years old, and at that age children usually get to decide where they want to live after a divorce.’
He took a deep breath and could hear that it gave him away; he raised his glass but set it down again when his hand shook. Their roles were now reversed. So many times he had been the target, cleverly dodging her missiles, refusing to fall no matter what she threw at him. Her composure frightened him, the self-confidence she radiated. He fumbled for something that would break her supremacy, neutralise her advantage and give him control. Her sheer will-power was evident. No threats from him would alter her decision. She had slipped beyond his control and landed out of reach. Suddenly he felt terrified. She really intended to leave him, leave him all alone.
‘It doesn’t have to be this way. Every marriage has its problems, but we can solve this together, Louise. I promise I’ll change, I can go to that therapist if you like. Just tell me what you want me to do.’
‘Jan-Erik, please.’ She cocked her head to one side, pleading as if with a child. ‘Don’t you see that we’re destroying each other?’
‘No, I don’t. We can’t just throw away everything we have together because things are a bit difficult right now. Damn it, we have to fight back a little.’
‘Haven’t we been doing that long enough?’
He tried to find something to say, but the words weren’t part of his vocabulary. Her impossible questions. Having to
plead. Having to put into words what he felt. What she was demanding was unreasonable. All he wanted was for this whole thing to be over. Go back to the way it was. When he could still choose.
‘But what about Ellen?’
‘Ellen will always be our daughter even if we’re divorced. Seriously, Jan-Erik, we may live at the same address, but that’s
all
we have in common.’
She shifted in the chair, clearing her throat a little, as if only now did she feel uncomfortable.
‘Lena rang for you. She wants you to call.’
There was no anger in her voice. She was merely stating a fact.
‘Lena who?’
‘Lena in Göteborg.’
At first he didn’t know what she was talking about. As far as he knew he didn’t know any Lena in Göteborg. But then he remembered, and to his dismay he felt himself blushing.
‘I don’t know any Lena in Göteborg.’
But his gaze had slid along the wall however much he tried to keep it steady.
On the rare occasions when he gave his phone number to women he met, he always used his mobile number. As a final precaution he would change one digit to give them a hint of how little he wanted to hear from them.
‘It doesn’t matter, Jan-Erik. It’s odd, but I even feel happy for you.’
Her comment amazed him.
‘What do you mean? You think I’ve been having an affair with some woman named Lena in Göteborg?’
‘Yes, I do.’
He snorted.
‘But I haven’t. I have no idea who Lena in Göteborg is. Probably someone who heard one of my lectures. Is that why you want a divorce, because you think I’m unfaithful?’
‘No, that’s not why.’
He couldn’t understand how she was managing to stay so calm. How could she sit there unafraid, facing the dreadful change she was setting in motion? She must be getting her strength from somewhere. And all at once he knew. There was someone else. There was a man who had taken his place and was driving her to do all this. Her path was already staked out. When she broke up their marriage, all she would have to do was to follow the straight line. All the fruitless searching had already been done, any threatening loneliness had been precluded; all that was left was for him to be pushed aside and replaced with a better model.
‘Ah, now I understand. You’re trying to blame all this on me and on some bloody Lena in Göteborg, when it’s really you who’ve met someone else!’
Louise lowered her eyes. Then she looked at him with the hint of a smile, neither spiteful nor indulgent.
‘Admit it! Admit you have someone else!’
‘No, Jan-Erik, I don’t.’
He didn’t believe her. He knew she was lying in order to cast herself in a better light. But then she continued, and the words shattered his brilliant conclusion.
‘If you only knew how much I wish I did have someone else.’
He clenched his fists, letting himself be attacked by images of how his territory was about to be stolen. He would have to witness the invasion, incapable of repelling the attack. For ever more unwelcome in the very domain he sought to defend.
‘You are Ellen’s father and you always will be. I don’t want to hate you, Jan-Erik, but I will if I stay here. I was at Alice’s today. You know, I’ve never seen her so happy before, now that she believes she’s about to die. I realised that I’m starting to become just like her, and I don’t want that to happen. And you’re becoming more and more like your father with each passing day.’
Her insult cut straight to his heart. Rage came rushing in
from every direction to staunch the leak and prevent what was inside from flowing out and drowning him.
‘If we share custody of Ellen you’ll see her every other week. The two of you will finally have a chance to get to know each other.’
His throat hurt. A lump was blocking his vocal cords. He pushed out the chair and got to his feet, left the room and pulled his suitcase from the hall cupboard. In the bedroom he threw into it whatever clothes he could grab. On his way back through the living room he stuffed in some bottles without bothering to look at the labels. The only thing that mattered was how much was left in each one.
She was still sitting in the chair. He saw her legs as he passed on his way to the front door.
With his hand on the door handle he finished the conversation.
‘I’ll sleep at the house tonight. When I come back tomorrow you have to be gone. If there’s anything else you have questions about, call my lawyer.’
W
ith what right?
Kristoffer pulled another length of books off the bookshelf.
With what right was everything taken from him?
Another gulp burned his throat, but like a rejected lover it refused to come to his rescue. The image of Jesper was scorched onto his retina, refusing to be dissolved by the solvent he was pouring into himself.
He had rung Jesper’s parents and received confirmation of his death. Two days before they had found him in his flat. A police report had been filed and a search had been launched to find the masked man. What crime he might be charged with, the police couldn’t yet say.
Another length of books crashed to the floor, and when he was finished with them he knocked over the bookshelf too. Gasping, he looked around for something else he could pull over. Nothing could be allowed to stand, pretending to be whole. All these books at his feet that he was ploughing his way through. Written by smug scholars who had fooled him into thinking there was a logic to existence.
He raised the bottle to his mouth. The liquid he’d been longing for ran down his throat, but all he sensed was a shrill ringing in his ears.
He turned to the desk and swept the computer to the floor. The screen went blank and he gave it a kick to make sure that it would never light up again.
Jesper was gone.
Jesper had left him.
Jesper was dead and had taken with him all that he had meant to Kristoffer. The closest thing to love he had ever dared feel.
Outside the window, Katarina Church still stood there. The branches of the trees were still attached to the trunks. No windows were blown out in the surrounding buildings. And down in the cemetery someone was walking as if the air were still fit to breathe. Only in his flat was the catastrophe apparent. The rest of the world seemingly intended to go on as if nothing had happened.
He was gone. Would never exist again. All that he’d had ahead of him would never happen now. His brilliant power of observation had in the end been beaten by cynicism. Evil had been permitted to triumph.
Exhausted, Kristoffer sank down in a chair. He sat there, listening to the sound of his own breathing. The involuntary repetition. The prerequisite for his survival. The instinct to keep himself alive.
Gratefully he felt it take over. The feeling of liberation when his brain went numb. When he was no longer capable of comprehending the depth of his pain. Why weren’t human beings born this way? With their blood spiked from the start with a small percentage of alcohol. With the defence mechanism disconnected and the soul in a state of peace.
Was survival really so important that it outweighed all suffering?
He took another gulp from the bottle. On the desk before him lay a letter. He had picked it up from the hall when Jesper was still alive. Having a reason to reach out his hand felt like an achievement.
Sender: Marianne Folkesson.
He tore open the envelope. Inside was a note and another letter.
I found this in Gerda’s flat. See you at the funeral.
Yours truly,
Marianne
A white envelope with his name on it. Written in a flowing script.
To be delivered after my death.
He opened the envelope lethargically and began to read.