Betrayal (4 page)

And then the slaps on the back from the men urging his father on to new conquests, and more overtime to keep alive his reputation as an irresistible ladykiller, while Jonas stayed at home covering for him. Constant lies that were compensated for by the growing pressure to perform his rituals to dull the sense of dread.
And then new lies, to hide the compulsion.

How he had wondered about all those women. Who were they, what were they thinking? Did they know that his father had a wife and a son somewhere, waiting for the man they were seducing? Did it mean anything to them? Did they care? What made them give their bodies to a man who only wanted to fuck them and then go home and deny them to his wife?

He never could understand it.

The only thing he knew was that he hated each and every one of them.

Hated them all.

The bubble burst a few months before his eighteenth birthday. Something as trivial as a little lipstick on a shirt collar. After five years of lies the constant betrayal was revealed, and his father had used Jonas’s knowledge like a scared rabbit to protect himself from her pain. To avoid bearing all the guilt himself.

She had never been able to forgive either of them.

She was doubly betrayed.

The wound they gave her was so deep that it could never heal.

He had remained in the house in silence after his father moved out, watched her from a distance in the destroyed home. It reeked of shame and hatred. She refused to talk to anyone. In the daytime she seldom left her bedroom, and if she did it was only to go to the toilet. Jonas tried to make up for his betrayal by taking care of shopping for food and other errands, but she never came out to the table when he fixed their meals. Every night at two-thirty he set off on his moped to his job delivering newspapers, and when he came home at six he could see that she had taken
something to eat from the refrigerator. The dishes she used stood carefully washed in the dish rack.

But she never spoke a word to him.

‘I don’t have time to talk now.’

He cut off the connection and leaned over the steering wheel.

This is the third embolism she has had in two months. And each time her level of consciousness drops.

How could she do this to him? What more did she want from him to convince her to stay?

He wouldn’t be able to stand the loneliness in the flat. Not tonight.

He looked over his shoulder and backed up. He didn’t know where he was going.

Only one thing.

If she didn’t touch him soon, he would go crazy.

E
va had a hard time remembering the last time she had left work early, if ever. The biggest advantage of the fact that Henrik worked at home was that he could collect Axel from day-care or dash over there on short notice if the boy was sick. This went without saying ever since she became a partner and also contributed the major part of their common income. But she tried never to get home later than six.

Today she was going to surprise him and come home earlier than usual.

No one could claim that she got very much done that day. With her eyes on structural efficiencies and profitability calculations, the grinding anxiety had constantly intruded on her thoughts. She had a feeling of unreality. He had suddenly put in question the only thing she had never questioned.

The family.

Everything else was replaceable.

She raised her eyes from the computer screen and looked out the window. The only thing she saw was the façade on the other side of Birger Jarlsgatan. Another office full of other people; she had no idea what they were working on, she didn’t know a single
one of them. Most of the daylight hours, day after day, year after year, they spent thirty metres from each other and saw one another more than they saw their own families.

A nine-hour workday, if she didn’t work through lunch, and half an hour’s travel time in rush-hour traffic. It gave her scarcely an hour and a half each day with Axel, an hour and a half when he was tired and cranky after eight hours with twenty other children at the day-care centre, and she was tired and cranky after nine hours of demands and stress at her job. And then at eight o’clock, after he went to bed, she and Henrik would have their time together. The grown-up hour. That was when they were supposed to sit in peace and quiet and see to it that their relationship was fantastic, talk about their day, take an interest in each other’s work, what had happened, share their thoughts. And then somehow manage to make heartfelt love with each other when they finally tumbled into bed. According to the Sunday supplements, that was how they should ensure their marriage would last. And then, of course, plan short romantic trips and get a babysitter so they could have their own gilt-edged time together. If there had been a slave available who could go grocery shopping, drive Axel to swimming lessons, get involved in the parents’ group at the day-care centre, prepare dinner, wash clothes, call the plumber and ask him to fix the leak underneath the kitchen counter, do the ironing, make sure all the bills got paid on time, clean the house, open all the window envelopes and take care of all the family’s social contacts, then it might have been possible. What she wanted most of
all was to be able to sleep an entire weekend. Undisturbed. To see whether there was any possibility of getting rid of the exhaustion she felt, the weariness that permeated marrow and bone and longed only for things to get done without her participation.

She thought about the seminar the company held last autumn. ‘Taking responsibility for your life.’ She had felt energised afterwards; many truths had been uttered that sounded so simple though she had never thought of them herself.

Every moment I choose whether I want to be a victim or the creator of my own destiny.

Full of inspiration she had hurried home to tell Henrik about her experience. He had sat silently and listened, but when she offered to get tickets for the next lecture the man would be giving, he wasn’t interested.

What would you do if you were told you had six months left to live?

That was the question he opened the seminar with.

When it was over it hung in the air unanswered.

She still had done nothing about finding an answer.

On the way home she took a detour past Östermalms Market Hall, bought two lobsters at Elmqvist’s Fish Shop and then continued on to the wine shop on Birger Jarlsgatan.

She had booked the trip during lunch and had the tickets sent by courier to the office.

Everything was going to be fine again.

It was only four thirty when she got home. Axel’s
jacket lay flung on the floor inside the front door, and she hung it up on the elephant-shaped hook that she had put up for him at the proper height.

She heard Henrik’s voice from the kitchen.

‘I have to go now. I’ll try to ring you a bit later.’

She took off her coat, hiding the bags with the lobsters and champagne inside the closet, and went up the stairs.

He was sitting at the kitchen table reading
Dagens Nyheter
. Next to him lay the cordless phone.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

He kept looking at the newspaper. She closed her eyes. Why couldn’t he even make an effort? Why did he always leave the responsibility to her?

She tried to push aside her annoyance.

‘I came home a little earlier today.’

He raised his head and glanced at the digital clock on the microwave oven.

‘I can see that.’

‘I thought I’d drive Axel over to Mamma and Pappa’s and let him sleep there tonight.’

This time he looked up at her. A quick, embarrassed look.

‘Oh? Why?’

She tried to smile.

‘I’m not telling. You’ll see.’

For an instant she thought he looked almost scared.

‘Axel!’

‘I have to work tonight.’

‘Axel! Do you want to stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s tonight?’

Quick steps came running from the living room.

‘Yes!’

‘Come on then, let’s get you packed.’

The familiar drive out to Saltsjöbaden took only fifteen minutes. Axel sat quietly and expectantly in the back seat, and the temporary calm was enough for her to realise that she was nervous. She and Henrik hadn’t slept together since they were in London, and that was almost ten months ago. She actually hadn’t thought about it before now. Neither of them had taken the initiative and so neither of them had been rejected. They probably just hadn’t felt like it, it was no worse than that. And of course Axel always slept between them.

She drove up and parked on the paved driveway. Axel jumped out of the car and ran the short distance up to the porch.

She looked at her childhood home through the windscreen. Large and secure, the yellow turn-of-the-century house with its white gingerbread trim stood where it had always stood, surrounded by gnarled, well-pruned apple trees. In a couple of months they would be covered with white blossoms.

In a couple of months.

By then everything would be back to normal.

All she had to do was muster enough energy to fight a little harder.

Suddenly it occurred to her that she had to ring up the garage and make an appointment to have the winter tyres removed.

The front door opened and Axel disappeared inside. Eva climbed out of the car, took Axel’s bag from the back seat and went towards the house.

Her mother came out on the porch.

‘Hi, have you got time for a cup of coffee?’

‘No, I have to get back right away. Thanks for being able to take him on such short notice.’

She set the bag on the floor of the entryway and gave her mother a quick hug.

‘His toothbrush is in the outside pocket.’

‘Did something come up?’

‘Yes. Henrik got a new client, so we thought we should celebrate a little.’

‘Oh, how nice. Who’s the client?’

‘It’s some kind of series of articles for a big magazine, I don’t know exactly. Axel! I’m leaving now.’

‘I’ll pick him up in the morning. We have to leave by seven thirty if we’re going to make it.’

Axel popped up in the doorway, followed by her father.

‘Hi, sweetheart. You’re not leaving already, are you?’

‘Yes, otherwise I won’t make it.’

Her mother filled in the lie for her this time.

‘Henrik apparently got a great new job that they’re going to celebrate.’

‘There, you see. You’ll have to tell him congratulations from me. And what about you? How did it go with that merger you were having such problems with?’

‘Oh, that worked out fine. We managed to push it through at last.’

He stood in silence, smiling. Then he reached out his hand and put it on Axel’s head.

‘You know, Axel, you have a very talented mamma. When you grow up she’ll probably be just as proud of you as we’ve been of her.’

She suddenly felt like crying. Crawling into his lap and being little again. Not thirty-five and a management consultant and a mother responsible for saving her family. She had always been able to rely on them. A solid foundation. They had always believed in her, supported her, made her believe in her own abilities and that nothing was impossible.

This time there was nothing they could do.

This time she stood utterly alone.

How could she ever admit to them that Henrik might not want to live with their daughter any more. The one they were so proud of, the one who was so talented and strong and successful.

She squatted down in front of Axel and pulled him close to hide her uncertainty.

‘I’ll pick him up in the morning. Have a great time tonight.’

She forced a smile and went down the steps and over to her car. Through the windscreen she could see them standing on the porch and waving.

Together.

Pappa’s arm around Mamma’s shoulders. Forty years and they still stood there, side by side, content with their life and so proud of and grateful for their only daughter.

She would like to stand like that someday herself. It was this childhood home that she wanted to recreate for Axel. The security. A total faith that no matter what happened it would be there.

The family.

Unwavering.

It was what you could always fall back on if everything else went to hell. She had been privileged to
grow up that way. With Mamma and Pappa always there if she needed them. Always ready to help out. And the older she got, the less she needed them, as long as she knew they would always be there.

As long as she knew that.

Their boundless faith in her, that she would make it, that she was capable. No matter what she chose to do.

What was wrong with her own generation? Why were they never satisfied? Why did everything and everyone always have to be measured, compared, evaluated? What was this unresolved restlessness that kept driving them onward, forward, to the next goal? A total inability to stop and be happy about the goals they had already reached, a constant fear that someone might pass them by, that they had missed something that might have been slightly better, made them slightly happier. So many choices, but how could they manage all of them?

The older generation had fought to realise their dreams: education, a home, children, and then the goal was attained. None of them had ever suspected that they might need so much more. No one accused them of lacking ambition if they stayed at a job more than a couple of years; on the contrary, loyalty was honourable. They had had the ability to sit down and feel content with their lives. They fought hard and then enjoyed their successes.

She opened the front door as quietly as possible and sneaked into the kitchen, putting the champagne in the freezer. She didn’t see Henrik around; the door to
his office was closed. A quick shower and then take out the new lacy lingerie she had bought at lunch-time. The nervousness came over her again when she looked at her face in the bathroom mirror. Maybe she ought to make an effort more often. But how would she manage? She took off the silver clasp at the nape of her neck and let her hair fall over her shoulders. He had always liked it best when her hair was down.

For a moment she considered putting on only her robe over the black lingerie, but she didn’t dare. Good Lord. Here she was standing in her bathroom where she had stood naked with her family every morning and evening for almost eight years, and she was nervous about asking her husband to come to dinner.