Authors: Hans Koppel
No. No, no, no.
What had she done? How could she do that and risk everything?
Anna lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. The glow from the streetlights slipped in through a gap in the curtains, making shadows that danced in the heat from the radiator.
Her heart was pounding, her thoughts bounced off the inside of her skull. The alcohol was working its way out of her body and amplified her anguish, her stomach was cold and bathed in sweat. She had slept with someone else, been unfaithful to her husband, the only man she had ever loved unconditionally, the father of her daughter. For what? It wasn’t the sex. Sex was sex and wasn’t such a big deal. Everyone knew that. Self-confirmation? Hardly, she wasn’t like Trude. Why on earth had she jumped into bed with someone else? A young pup at that. To prove that she was alive? That she didn’t say no to life, that she was liberated and independent? To show that she was more than just Hedda’s mum, more than a suburban wife with a career, a well-tended garden, a beautiful home and a vibrant social life?
Anna couldn’t understand it. It wasn’t like her. She didn’t do stupid things, she was stable and secure and ordinary. Exactly that, ordinary. No saint, but ordinary. And now that she’d done something stupid, she felt an overwhelming need to confess, take full responsibility, atone for her sins and start afresh. Never again. The first, last and only time.
I did wrong, let me walk with my eyes to the ground and slowly win back your trust, dear husband.
She couldn’t. Only inconsiderate people spilled their hearts. She still remembered the day her father had come home and told them he’d met a woman at work. Anna’s mother had thrown him out the same day. A few months later her father was abandoned by his new love. He never met anyone else and died only a few years after he retired. Anna was convinced that the real cause of his death was loneliness.
She got out of bed and went to the bathroom, peed quietly and drank some water from the tap.
What had she been thinking in the taxi on the way home? She’d seen it as a benefit. A moment to be remembered and celebrated, something that was her own. Hers and the pup’s.
He wasn’t actually that young. If it had been the other way round, if she had been younger, no one would have reacted.
Anna took a deep breath, released the air through rounded lips. She went back to the bedroom and crept in under the duvet. Magnus might well be awake, but she didn’t want to ask and risk waking him. They seldom talked at night, both happy in their own silence. They were comfortable in most situations. Magnus’ lower lip only started to quiver when he was threatened with violence. Like most middle-class men, his authority was fragile and the protective coating of ironic jargon was thin.
Someone they knew had lost his job a couple of years ago. He was humbled overnight and started to talk about other values in life, spewed up philosophical clichés. He managed to make an utter twit of himself before finding a new white-collar job with the help of some friends and returning to the stupid conservative ramblings that had previously been his trademark.
Anna had done the right thing. She had been made an offer and accepted it. It was a moment of madness, a film she could replay in her mind later when boredom set in. And in any case, what was done was done, she couldn’t rewind and delete.
And so what? She wasn’t exactly the first person in the history of the world to make a mistake. What was important now was not to be tempted by the false sense of relief that a confession might give. She would have to keep it to herself. Full stop. She turned over on to her side and pulled the duvet up towards her mouth. The motorbike position, comfortable and safe. Her husband sighed like a sleepless martyr of the night. Her secret, no one else’s. And if she felt compelled to open her heart she could talk to her mother.
Anna closed her eyes and was just on the verge of falling asleep when a noise outside made her jump. Something tapped against the window. A timid nail knocking against the glass. She nudged Magnus.
‘What?’ he said, drunken with sleep.
Anna turned on the bedside lamp and Magnus blinked his tired eyes.
‘What are you doing?’
‘It sounds like there’s someone outside the window.’
For some reason, Anna whispered.
‘It’s just the wind.’
‘Shhh…’
They listened attentively. Nothing.
‘I’m certain,’ Anna said.
‘Maybe a bird then,’ Magnus suggested.
‘In the middle of the night?’
‘Or a branch or something.’
‘Please…’
Magnus heaved a deep sigh and push himself up off the bed. He went over to the window and opened the curtains.
‘Nothing,’ he confirmed and pulled them shut again.
He crossed back to the bed with dragging footsteps and got back in.
‘Happy?’
Anna nodded and turned off the light. She stretched out her hand and stroked his chest.
‘My hero,’ she said.
Where are all the men?
It was a question that sixty-seven-year-old Kathrine Hansson and her friends often asked. Men of their age seldom seemed to travel any great distance, they didn’t go to the theatre or other cultural events, and only occasionally appeared at evening classes.
The sad truth, Kathrine guessed, was that men of her age sat at home in front of the telly and made negative remarks about the young people they were forced to watch.
It was a terrible waste of time. Why were men so self-destructive? Had they given up? Adopted the attitude to life that nothing really mattered as they were going to die soon anyway? It was like never making your bed as you were going to sleep in it again soon enough.
Kathrine Hansson went into the library and glanced quickly around the reading room. She counted no fewer than seven men there, and no women.
Of course. Grumpy old men always had to be up to date with what was happening. Not to be rapped on the knuckles and lose face in some pedantic word duel with another man. Kathrine was reminded of her own father, who, in his autumn years, sat in front of the news on television with such concentration that you might be forgiven for thinking that world peace depended on his total attention.
The need to always be informed. Kathrine couldn’t for the life of her understand it. Once a month she got a newsletter from a self-appointed intellectual with a career behind him, who was, incidentally, married to the managing editor of the magazine where her daughter worked. In his letter, the man gave his view on world events and finished off with recommendations for good restaurants and fine wines. In all seriousness.
Women blogged, mainly about the joys of their personal life. Men wrote newsletters, commented on world politics. Why? Did they seriously believe that the world was screaming out for their comprehensive analyses?
Kathrine wanted to sit down with the men, soak up their presence, try to understand. But what was her alibi? She had already read the paper and didn’t want to just sit there and pretend.
She went into the fiction section and looked for something good to borrow. She didn’t find anything and went back out into the reading room, wandered slowly along the shelves of newspapers. Someone sombrely turned the page. Otherwise there was silence.
Kathrine studied the men furtively. Of the seven, three were acceptable, one was definitely more than that. He had the slightly apish ugly-good looks that Kathrine had always fallen for.
She took a paper, something from Småland, and sat down in the chair next to him. He automatically moved, made a noise that might or might not have been to show his irritation at not being able to spread the pages any more.
‘What are you reading?’ Kathrine asked, when she thought she had sat in silence and turned the pages long enough.
The man gave her a blank look, uncertain whether it was him she was talking to or not.
‘Is there anything interesting?’ she continued, with a friendly smile. ‘In the newspaper, I mean.’
‘Why?’ he barked, aggressively.
Kathrine felt herself shrink.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Kathrine stood up swiftly, hurried along the wall of shelves, put back the paper she’d been reading, possibly in the wrong place, and left as quickly as she could.
‘Anna Stenberg.’
‘Hi, Anna, it’s Erik Månsson from Mölle. Am I calling at bad time?’
Anna looked around. Trude was in a meeting with the journalists, Sissela was over at layout making some last-minute changes.
‘No, no, not at all.’
‘Well, I thought I’d just ask if it would be possible to come and see you?’
Anna swallowed nervously. Fragmented images from the night at the hotel last week whirred through her mind.
‘Well, I’m not really sure whether that would be a good idea…’
‘Not like that,’ Erik interrupted. ‘About work. I don’t know whether your colleagues mentioned it to you, but apparently we’ve been given the go-ahead to make a pitch for your subscription campaign.’
‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘They did mention it. But to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure that I’m the right person. Perhaps you should . . .’
‘Work is work,’ Erik cut in. ‘A quick coffee in town. No nonsense.’
‘When were you thinking of?’
‘Whenever suits you. Preferably as soon as possible.’
‘Okay.’
Anna stood silent with the phone pressed to her ear.
‘Are you still there?’ Erik asked.
‘I’m still here.’
‘Well, what do you say? When would be a good time?’
‘Why me?’ Anna asked.
‘You’re the features editor and we want to focus on the reading material.’
‘I don’t mean that. I mean the other thing.’
‘I’ll tell you when we meet,’ Erik said.
Anna noticed that Sissela had finished with the layout and was approaching the desk.
‘Can I call you back?’
‘Of course,’ Erik said. ‘Do.’
Anna put the phone down and looked guiltily at Sissela, then pointed to the receiver.
‘The advertising guys.’
‘Okay. Which one? Sven or Olof?’
‘The young one.’
‘The beach boy?’ Sissela said. ‘What did he want?’
‘The campaign. To ask some questions.’
Sissela nodded slowly.
‘Okay.’
‘He wanted to meet me,’ Anna said.
‘How nice. Have fun.’
‘I didn’t think it was serious.’
‘What? The campaign?’
Anna nodded. Sissela shrugged.
‘Anyone who wants to can put in a bid. But it’s on spec. I’ve got no intention of forking out if it’s not worth it.’
Kathrine was riddled with angst. Picking up pensioners at the library? And what’s more, being rebuffed.
She wandered restlessly around the flat before ending up by the window. She stared blankly into space. The fact that even her best intentions were dismissed as an unworthy annoyance was soul-destroying.
Kathrine started to worry about the next time she went to the library. What if the apeman was there? Kathrine could just imagine them meeting in the door. They both moved to the side, but the same side, and several times, so the whole thing became awkward, protracted and unbearable.
The potential humiliation made Kathrine smile. In a moment she was chuckling to herself, almost laughing out loud. That was the advantage of getting older. She had already done so many stupid things that one more wouldn’t make a difference. The pain passed quicker, as there were far better things to use your energy on.
A newsletter, for example. Perhaps she should start one where she commented on world events with absolute confidence, drew her own conclusions and bored people. Not such a bad idea. But it was far simpler to pick up the phone and tell Ditte about her fiasco at the library. Certainly more entertaining. She thought that she might also tell her daughter, Anna. Even though, generally, children weren’t so amused to hear that their parents might have dreams and hopes of a more amorous nature.
Kathrine went to get the phone.
Erik put two mugs of tea on the table, then sat down.
He smiled. Anna looked around. She didn’t feel comfortable. To sit in a café with a man who was too young and too good-looking was to tempt fate in such a small town. And Helsingborg would never be anything else, no matter how big it grew. The social constraints were more sophisticated than anything George Orwell could make up. At the same time she felt proud to have been intimate with the young man on the other side of the table. All wandering eyes stopped at him, did a double take and then rested there. Erik Månsson had chosen her, if only for one night. And it had been fantastic.
‘Nice to see you again,’ he said, and smiled.
Anna looked at him, answered his smile.
‘Likewise.’
Erik tried the tea.
‘Are you nervous?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Anna said. ‘Or yes, a little.’
She pointed at the table.
‘Are you not going to write anything?’
Erik didn’t understand.
‘Shouldn’t you at least have a notebook or something?’
‘You’re right,’ he said, and dug a spiral-bound notebook and pen out of his bag, which was still strapped diagonally across his chest.
She glanced around again. No other guests within earshot.
‘What happened last time…’ she started.
Erik’s head jerked up. ‘Yes?’
‘That was a one-off.’
Erik nodded.
‘Totally,’ he said.
‘It won’t happen again.’
‘No.’
‘I just want that to be absolutely clear if we’re going to work together. Okay? No nonsense.’
‘Of course.’
He nodded and picked up the pen, pressed the nib against the paper. Anna took a deep breath.
‘Just sitting here makes me feel uneasy,’ she said. ‘As if I have to project my voice so that no one misunderstands.’
Erik put down the pen.
‘If it would be easier for you, we can go back to my place.’
Anna turned her head, looked at him from the side. Was he joking?
‘I live straight across the street,’ he said, earnestly, pointing in the direction with his thumb. ‘To the right of the big brown building. Number sixty.’
‘Are you seriously suggesting that I go home with you?’
She laughed, and he shrugged.
‘I’ve got tea as well. Might even be able to rustle up some biscuits.’
‘And you think that’s a good idea?’
‘Biscuits? Maybe not in bed, given all the crumbs, but otherwise, I love biscuits.’
‘You think it will be easier to talk in your flat?’
‘It won’t be any harder. You’re not comfortable here.’
‘It’s not that bad.’
‘You keep looking over your shoulder. I’d even go as far as to say it’s a bit suspect. And we don’t have to jump into bed. I can in fact control myself.’
He was right. Her behaviour was erratic. Better that no one saw them.
‘Just talk? No nonsense.’
Erik nodded.
‘Absolutely.’
Anna studied him.
‘What’s the code?’ she asked, in the end.
Erik didn’t get it.
‘I’m not going in with you. I’ll come a couple of minutes later.’
‘One six three two, top floor. It says ‘Månsson’ on the door. Give me five minutes to tidy up.’
He stood up.
‘And I can’t promise,’ he said, ‘that I’ve got any biscuits. I may have run out.’
Anna stared up at the ceiling and gave a deep, contented sigh. Erik lay beside her, breathing heavily.
‘Sweet Jesus,’ she said.
‘What?’
She shook her head.
‘This. I don’t get it.’
‘Water.’
He got up and walked naked out into the kitchen. She turned her head and followed him with her eyes. He came back with two glasses, his package hanging free.
‘That must be the biggest I’ve ever seen,’ she said.
‘“Little consolation in a poor home,”’ he sang the popular song to her, and handed her one of the glasses.
Anna sat up and drank it down in great gulps.
‘Good,’ she said, out of breath, and looked around.
Her opinion of him had changed having seen his flat, now that the tension had been released and she could view it with a clear eye. It wasn’t very homely. There was hardly any furniture and, judging by the mess, not much storage space. There were more films than books on the shelves and the bed was a mattress on the floor. An ironing board stood permanently by the nearest socket in the wall and his shirts were on hangers on the cupboard door.
‘I thought you said you were going to tidy up?’
‘I’m sorry, it was worse than I thought. I’ve only been living here a few months and haven’t got everything sorted yet.’
‘Where did you live before?’
‘Stockholm, I thought I told you.’
‘Yes, but where in Stockholm?’
‘Huddinge, to the south of the city. The first thing people ask about down here. I barely have a chance to open my mouth before someone asks where I’m from, in an accusing voice. I normally say Huddinge. Most people have no idea where it is, so, unlike Stockholm, it doesn’t have negative connotations.’
‘Do you have any connections here?’
‘None. Other than work.’
‘So you just moved down here?’
‘My mother died, and I thought, What the hell.’
‘Oh, how awful. She can’t have been very old.’
‘No.’
‘What did she die of?’
‘She committed suicide. Hanged herself from the banister.’
Anna pulled her chin in.
‘What? Are you serious?’
Erik took a deep breath.
‘Nearly two years ago now. I found her.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Anna said, and reached a hand out to him. ‘That must have been terrible.’
Erik looked at his glass.
‘How noble I am,’ he said. ‘A glass of fortifying mineral-rich tap water.’
He looked at her and broke into a big grin.
‘You do realise that I’m having you on?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s alive.’
Anna got up abruptly.
‘How the hell can you say something like that?’
‘It was a joke.’
‘Well, it wasn’t a very funny one.’
‘Oh, come on. I didn’t mean any harm.’
Anna went to the toilet.
‘Do you have a towel I can borrow?’
Anna ran the water until the temperature was right, got into the bath and pulled the curtain. She pressed the shower head to her chest and said to herself that it had been a mistake. Lying about his mother in that way. Not matter how seductive he might be, she did not want a relationship with someone who made such tasteless jokes.
She smelt the soap. It wasn’t the same as at home, but at least it was neutral. Magnus’ sense of smell was not particularly well developed, thankfully.
She washed herself quickly, and dried herself, then wrapped the towel around her body. She went out into the room, past Erik and over to the bed. She pulled on her pants before turning her back and taking off the towel. She could feel that he was looking at her.
‘What?’ she said as she did up her bra.
‘You’re so sexy.’
Anna snorted.
‘But you are,’ he assured her.
‘Very good. Worth about five kronor.’
She pulled her blouse over her head and looked around to check that she hadn’t forgotten anything.
‘It’s not going to work,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
Anna filled her lungs with patience, went over to Erik and patted him on the chest.
‘It was…’
She looked for the words but couldn’t find them.
‘You know what I’m trying to say. Good, fantastic in every way, but it was the last time. Okay?’
She stroked his cheek and gave a fleeting smile, feeling that she was pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable. She was the one who made the rules and he had to play by them.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Or, something like that. Sorry, that doesn’t sound right either.’
The seconds of silence were uncomfortable.
‘I have to go,’ she said, and as if to make it clearer, pointed to the front door.
She lowered her head and looked at him, a kind of appeal.
‘Are you okay?’
His nod was barely noticeable and his smile was faint.
‘Good,’ Anna said, as if to convince herself. ‘I’ll go then.’