‘I understand. Doesn’t sound great,’ he interrupted, handing her a cup of steaming blueberry tea. ‘But I dare say it’ll pass. We’ve discovered that the journalist is some sort of environmental activist who once took part in a protest at a mink farm. When that comes out …’ He laughed and ran his hand across his neck to indicate what was going to happen to anyone setting themselves up against the big pharmaceutical company.
Sofia didn’t like his arrogance, but she didn’t feel up to having a debate. It was far too late for that. She stood, cleared the table and rinsed their cups before going into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Mikael fell asleep beside her for the first time in a week, and Sofia realised that she had missed him, in spite of everything.
He reminded her of Lasse.
Sofia woke up when a car’s headlights swept across the ceiling. At first she didn’t know where she was, but as she sat up in bed she recognised Mikael’s bedroom, and saw from the clock radio that she’d been asleep for little more than an hour.
Carefully she closed the bedroom door and went into the living room. She opened a window and lit a cigarette. A mild breeze blew into the room and the smoke disappeared into the darkness behind her. As she smoked she watched a white plastic bag drifting with the wind along the street below her, until it got stranded in a puddle of water on the opposite pavement.
I need to start from the beginning again with Victoria Bergman, she thought. There’s something I’ve missed.
Her bag was beside the sofa and she sat down, took out her laptop and set it up on the table in front of her.
She opened the document in which she had gathered some brief notes together to compile a short overview of Victoria Bergman’s case.
Born 1970.
Unmarried. No children.
Conversational therapy, focusing on traumatic childhood experiences.
Childhood: only child of Bengt Bergman, investigator for SIDA, the Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency, and Birgitta Bergman, housewife. Earliest memories the smell of her father’s perspiration, and summers in Dalarna.
Prepuberty: raised in Grisslinge, in V?rmd? outside Stockholm. Summer cottage in Dala-Floda in Dalarna. Highly intelligent. Private school from the age of nine. Started school a year early and was moved up from year eight to year nine. Subjected to sexual abuse from early puberty (father? other men?). Memories fragmentary, recounted as uncontextualised associations.
Youth: highly prone to risk-taking, suicidal thoughts (from the age of 14–15?). Early teenage years described as ‘weak’. Once again, memories recounted in fragments. High school years at Sigtuna boarding school. Recurrent self-destructive behaviour.
Sofia realised that her time in high school was a conflicted period for Victoria Bergman. When she started there she was two years younger than her classmates, and was considerably less developed both physically and emotionally.
Sofia knew from experience how mean teenage girls could be in the changing room after gym classes. And Victoria had basically been entirely at the mercy of her peers for her upbringing. But there was something missing.
Adult life: career success described as ‘unimportant’. Limited social life. Few interests.
Central themes/questions: trauma. What has Victoria Bergman been through? What’s her relationship with her father? Fragmented memories. Dissociative disorder?
Sofia realised that there was one more central question that needed work, and added a new note.
What does ‘weak’ mean? she wrote.
She could see great angst, a profound guilt in Victoria Bergman.
Over time perhaps together they would be able to dig deeper and find a way to unravel some of the knots.
But that was far from certain.
There was a lot that suggested Victoria Bergman was suffering from a dissociative disorder, and Sofia knew that problems of that sort were, in ninety-nine per cent of cases, the result of sexual abuse or similar recurrent traumas. Sofia had met people before who had been through traumatic experiences yet had apparently been entirely incapable of remembering them. On some occasions Victoria Bergman would talk about terrible abuse yet on others appear to have no memory of the events at all.
Which was actually a perfectly logical reaction, Sofia thought. The psyche protects itself from what it regards as disturbing, and, in order for her normal life to function, Victoria Bergman suppresses her memory of events and creates alternative recollections instead.
But what did Victoria mean when she talked about her weakness?
Was it the person who had been subjected to the abuse who had been weak?
She closed the document and switched off the computer.
On one occasion she had given Victoria Bergman one of her own boxes of paroxetine, even though that was beyond her authority. It wasn’t just illegal, but also unethical and unprofessional. Yet she had still managed to persuade herself to ignore the regulations. And the medication hadn’t done any damage. On the contrary, Victoria Bergman had seemed much better for a while, and Sofia concluded that what she had done had been OK. Victoria needed medication, that was the bottom line.
Alongside the dissociative tendencies there were also signs of compulsive behaviour, and Sofia had even made notes hinting at savant syndrome. Once Victoria Bergman had commented on Sofia’s smoking.
‘You’ve smoked almost two packs,’ she had said, pointing at the ashtray. ‘Thirty-nine butts.’ When Sofia was alone she had counted just to make sure, and found that Victoria had been right. But that could have been a coincidence, of course.
All in all, Victoria Bergman’s personality was undoubtedly the most complex Sofia had encountered in her ten years as an independent therapist.
Sofia woke up first, stretched, and ran her fingers through Mikael’s hair, then down through his beard. She saw that it was starting to go grey and smiled to herself.
According to the clock radio it was half past six. Mikael moved and turned towards her, put his arm across her breasts and took hold of her hand.
She had no appointments that morning, so decided to give herself permission to arrive late.
Mikael was in an excellent mood, and explained how, as well as digging up unflattering facts about the journalist, he had spent the week setting up a big account with a large hospital in Berlin. The bonus he was expecting could pay for a luxury holiday to anywhere.
She thought about it, but couldn’t think of a single place she wanted to go.
‘How about New York? A bit of shopping in the big department stores. Breakfast at Tiffany’s and all that, you know?’
New York, she thought, and shuddered at the memory. She and Lasse had visited New York less than a month before everything fell apart.
It would be far too traumatic for her to tear open those old wounds.
‘Or would you rather go somewhere sunny? A package holiday?’
She could see how eager he was, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t match his enthusiasm. She felt heavy as stone.
Suddenly she thought of Victoria Bergman.