AFTER HER MEETING with Sofia Zetterlund, Jeanette had trouble concentrating on work. She felt shaken, but couldn’t put her finger on why. But she was looking forward to seeing her again. In fact, she was almost longing for Friday to come.
As she turned off the Nyn?shamn road she nearly collided with a little red sports car pulling out from the right, and which ought to have given way. Just as she hit the horn angrily she realised it was Alexandra Kowalska.
Fucking moron, she thought as she gave a cheery wave. Alexandra waved back and shook her head apologetically.
She parked the car in the drive and went in, where she found ?ke standing in the kitchen frying meatballs. He was in an exuberant mood.
Jeanette sat down at the table, which was already set.
‘Do you know what this means?’ he said out of the blue. ‘Alex was here to say that the Copenhagen exhibition has been hung and that I’ve already sold two pictures. Look!’ He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and slapped it down on the table. She could see it was a cheque for eighty thousand Swedish kronor.
‘This is only the beginning,’ he said in delight, as he stirred the frying pan and got two beers from the fridge.
Jeanette sat there silently. So this is how it feels when things change fundamentally, she thought. That morning she had been worried whether they had enough money to get through to the end of the month, and now, just a few hours later, she was sitting here with a cheque worth more than two months’ salary.
‘OK, what’s wrong now, then?’ ?ke was standing in front of her, holding out an opened can of beer. ‘Don’t you think it’s good that I’m finally earning a bit of money from something you thought was a hobby for all these years?’ She could hear the disappointment in his voice.
‘Oh, ?ke, why are you saying that? You know I’ve always believed in you.’ She was about to put her hand on his arm, but he pulled away and went back to the stove.
‘Yeah, you say that now. But just a couple of weeks ago you were moaning at me and saying I was irresponsible.’
He turned and smiled at her. But it wasn’t his usual smile, more like an arrogant one.
She could feel herself getting angry as she noticed how smug he was. Hadn’t they made this journey together? Was he totally blind to the fact that throughout their time together she had been the one making sure there was food on the table and paint on his palette?
?ke came over and gave her a hug.
‘Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say,’ he said, but she thought it sounded hollow. ‘Alex says there’s going to be a review in Dagens Nyheter on Sunday, and they want to do an interview for the Saturday supplement. God, I so deserve this.’
He held his arms up in the air as if he’d scored a goal.
Vita Bergen – Sofia Zetterlund’s Apartment
‘LIKE I SAID, the kitchen’s uninhabitable for the time being, so we’ll have to stick to the living room,’ Sofia said as she opened the door.
Jeanette went in and detected an unfamiliar smell. At home there was always a smell of turpentine and old sports clothes, but here the air was tainted by something sharp, almost chemically pure, mixed with a faint scent of Sofia’s perfume.
‘All right for some,’ Jeanette said, looking around the large, sparsely furnished living room. ‘I mean living in the middle of the city like this, and on your own.’ She sat down on the sofa with a deep sigh of relief. ‘Sometimes I’d give anything to get home and be able to just sit.’ She leaned her head back against the cushion and looked through the door at Sofia. ‘How wonderful to escape all the obligations, all the running around, all the meal plans, all the excruciating conversations in front of the television.’
‘Maybe,’ Sofia said with a pointed smile. ‘But it can get quite lonely too.’ She came into the room. ‘There are times when I just want to sell the apartment and move.’ She got two wine glasses from the glass-fronted cupboard and poured the wine before sitting down next to Jeanette.
‘Are you very hungry, or shall we wait a while? It’s going to be Italian.’
‘I can certainly wait.’
They looked at each other.
‘So where would you like to move?’ Jeanette went on.
‘Good question! If I knew that, I’d sell it tomorrow, but I’ve got absolutely no idea. Abroad, maybe.’
Sofia raised her glass in a toast.
‘That sounds exciting,’ Jeanette said, raising her glass towards Sofia. ‘But I’m not sure it sounds any less lonely.’
Sofia laughed. ‘I’ve probably fallen for the myth of the reserved Swede, who imagines everything will be nice and lively the minute I reach the Continent.’
Jeanette laughed back, but picked up the serious tone behind the airy words. The coolness. As if she herself hadn’t felt the same. ‘I’m more tempted by the thought of avoiding understanding what people are saying.’
Sofia’s smile faded. ‘Really? Do you mean that?’
‘No, not really, but sometimes it would nice to be able to blame language when you don’t want to listen to all the chatter …’ Jeanette paused and took a fresh breath. ‘OK, you and I don’t really know each other that well yet.’ She looked deep into Sofia’s eyes and took a sip of her wine. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
She immediately regretted the dramatic tension caused by her choice of words. Like they were sitting in a teenage bedroom and were exploring the world together, as if words were the only guarantee you needed to feel safe.
She might just as well have asked if they could be best friends. The same naive desire to control a chaotic reality with words, instead of letting actual circumstances dictate what was said.
Words in place of action.
Words instead of security.
‘That depends on whether it’s anything criminal. But at the same time, you know I’m under an oath of confidentiality.’ Sofia smiled.
Jeanette was grateful for the way Sofia handled the adolescent question.
Sofia looked at her as if she wanted to see. Listened to her as if she wanted to understand.
‘If you were a Christian Democrat, you’d probably think it was criminal.’
Sofia threw her head back and laughed. Her neck was long and sinuous, simultaneously vulnerable and strong.
Jeanette giggled as well, moved a bit closer and pulled her knees up onto the sofa. She felt at home. She wondered if it could really be as straightforward as she had thought: that her friends had disappeared over the years because she had always prioritised work.
This was something else.
Something obvious.
‘I’ve been married to ?ke for twenty years, and I’m starting to get the hang of it.’ She turned so she was facing Sofia again. ‘And sometimes I’m so damn tired of knowing in advance exactly what he’s going to say.’
‘Some people would call that security,’ Sofia said, with an undertone of professional curiosity.