‘Of course it feels secure having someone so close, but even so … It’s like living with your own brother. Oh, I don’t know what closeness is … It can’t just be purely a question of geography. God, I feel like I’m being really mean.’ Jeanette shrugged helplessly, even though she knew Sofia wasn’t likely to judge her.
‘It’s OK.’ Sofia smiled gently, and Jeanette smiled back. ‘I’m happy to listen, as long as you’d like me to do so as a friend.’
‘OK, so I love ?ke, but I don’t think I want to live with him. Actually, I know I don’t want to. The only thing keeping me there is Johan, my son. He’s thirteen. I don’t know if he could cope with a divorce. Well, maybe “cope” is the wrong word. He’s probably big enough to realise that things like that happen.’
‘Does ?ke know you feel this way?’
‘He probably suspects that I’m not one hundred per cent engaged in the relationship any more.’
‘But you’ve never talked about it?’
‘I … not really. It’s more of an atmosphere between us. I do my thing, he does his.’
‘Constantly present and constantly absent?’ Sofia said sarcastically.
‘And I think he’s having an affair with a gallery owner,’ Jeanette heard herself say.
Was it the fact that Sofia was a psychologist that made it so easy to talk to her?
‘To feel secure you also have to feel that someone understands you.’ Sofia took a sip of wine. ‘But that’s a fundamental failing in most human relationships. People forget to pay attention to each other, to appreciate what the other person does, because the only path that seems worth following is your own path. I blame individualism. It’s become a sort of religion. It’s actually damn weird that people despise security and loyalty in a world so full of war and suffering. It’s one hell of a paradox!’
Jeanette saw that something had changed in Sofia, and her voice had got darker and harder. She couldn’t quite keep up with the sudden mood swing. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘Never mind, it’s just that I’ve had personal experience of being taken for granted.’ Sofia stood up. ‘Well, what do you say? Shall we have some food?’
Jeanette could hear even more clearly that Sofia’s voice had got deeper and significantly less melodious, and realised she’d touched a very raw nerve.
Sofia put out the dishes, filled their glasses and sat down. ‘Have you told him how you feel? Financial stress is one of the most common causes of tension in a marriage.’
‘Of course we’ve had the occasional fight, but it’s like … I don’t know, sometimes it feels like he can’t imagine what I go through when we can’t pay the bills and I have to call my parents to borrow money. As if that’s just my responsibility.’
Sofia was looking at her seriously.
‘It sounds to me as if he’s never needed to take responsibility. As if he’s always had someone to take care of everything for him.’
Jeanette nodded mutely. It felt like the pieces were falling into place.
‘Oh, enough of all that,’ she said, putting her hand on Sofia’s shoulder. ‘We were going to meet to talk about Samuel, weren’t we?’
‘I dare say we’ll have time for that, even if it doesn’t happen tonight.’
‘Do you know,’ Jeanette whispered, ‘I’m really pleased I’ve met you. I like you.’
Sofia moved closer and put her hand on Jeanette’s knee. Jeanette heard a rushing sound in her head when she looked into Sofia’s eyes.
In there I might be able to find everything I’ve ever looked for, she thought.
At the same moment she heard one of the neighbours putting up a picture.
Someone was hammering.
Stockholm, 2007
WHEN YOU LOOK back sometimes you can identify the birth of a new age, even if at the time it merely seemed that one day was following on from another, just like normal.
For Sofia Zetterlund this starts after the trip to New York. By the time Christmas arrives, her private life is occupying more and more of her consciousness.
The first day after the holiday she decides to call the tax office to get detailed information about the person she had once thought she knew everything about.
The tax office needs just an ID number for everything they have on Lars Magnus Pettersson to be sent to her.
Why has she waited?
Has she not wanted to know?
Has she already realised?
At the pharmaceutical company they don’t know who she means when she asks for Lars Pettersson, but when she insists they put her through to the sales department.
The receptionist is helpful, and does all she can to assist Sofia. After a bit of searching she locates a Magnus Pettersson, but he left over eight years ago, and only worked for a very short time at the German office in Hamburg.
The most recent address they have for him is out in Saltsj?baden. P?ln?sv?gen.
She hangs up without saying goodbye, and pulls out the piece of paper where she wrote down the unknown number she found in Lasse’s phone. According to directory enquiries, the number belongs to a Mia Pettersson, listed at P?ln?sv?gen in Saltsj?baden. Below that address is another number, for a Pettersson’s Flowers in Fisks?tra, and even though she is starting to realise that she is sharing Lasse with someone else, she still wants to believe that it is all just a huge mistake.
Not Lasse.
It’s as if she’s standing in a corridor where one door after the other is opening up ahead of her. In a fraction of a second all the doors have been thrown open and she can see that the corridor stretches into infinity, and there, right in the distance, she can see the truth.
At one and the same moment she sees everything, understands everything, and everything becomes crystal clear.
Lasse has had his hands full with two families. One in Saltsj?baden, and one with her in the apartment on S?dermalm.
Obviously she should have realised much sooner.
His gnarled hands that suggested physical labour, even though he claimed to work in an office.
Insecurity and jealousy are gnawing away at her, and she realises that she has stopped thinking logically. Is she the only person who doesn’t understand how everything fits together?
He needs help, she thinks. But not from her.
She can’t save someone like him, if there is any salvation to be had.
She gets up and goes into the study, and starts looking through his drawers. Not that she knows what she’s hoping to find, but there ought to be something there that could cast some light on who the man she has been living with really is.
Beneath some brochures with the logo of the pharmaceutical company she finds an envelope from S?dermalm Hospital. She pulls out the contents and reads.
It’s an appointment notification, dated nine years earlier, saying that Lars Magnus Pettersson had been given an appointment in the urology clinic for a vasectomy.
At first she understands nothing, then she realises that Lasse had himself sterilised. Nine years ago.