Read the situation. Ask something personal.
Sofia notices how moist Jeanette’s eyes are, and realises it’s not just tiredness.
‘How are you doing? You look sad.’
Eye contact. Show sympathy. Maybe a little smile.
She looks Jeanette in the eye and gives her an understanding smile.
Jeanette looks down at the table without speaking. ‘Fucking ?ke,’ she suddenly blurts out. ‘I think he’s in love with that gallery owner. How stupid can you get? To be honest I don’t know if I even care. I’m sick of him.’ Jeanette takes a deep breath. ‘What’s that smell?’
Sofia thinks of the glass jars in the kitchen, of Gao behind the bookcase, and at the same time detects the acrid stench of chemicals filling the flat.
‘Something to do with the drains. The neighbours are renovating their bathroom.’
Jeanette looks sceptical, but seems satisfied with the explanation.
Steer the conversation onto a different subject.
‘Have you heard anything more about Lundstr?m? Or is he still in a coma?’
‘He is. But it doesn’t really change anything. The prosecutor has got hung up on his medication and all that … Well, you know …’
‘Have you checked out what Spider-Man told you?’
‘You mean Petter Christoffersson? No, we haven’t got any further with that. I don’t really know what to think. If I’m honest, I think he was mainly interested in my breasts.’ She laughs, and it’s infectious.
Sofia feels relieved.
‘Did you get much of an impression of him?’
‘Just the usual, I suppose. Full of complexes, insecure, fixated on sex,’ Jeanette begins. ‘Probably violent, at least when it comes to things that are important to him. And by that I mean everything that goes against his wishes or questions his ideology. He’s definitely not unintelligent, but his intelligence is destructive and seems to be self-defeating.’
‘You sound like a psychologist.’ Sofia sips her wine. ‘And I have to confess that I’m a bit curious about your diagnosis of the young man …’
Jeanette sits quietly for a while before going on with exaggerated seriousness. ‘Suppose Petter Christoffersson is forced to interpret the meaning of an unclear situation. Let’s say his girlfriend has spent the night at a male friend’s. He’s going to see it as a betrayal, and will always choose the interpretation he finds most negative to himself and everyone involved, specifically that she’s been unfaithful –’
‘Whereas she actually slept alone on her friend’s sofa –’ Sofia interjects.
‘But,’ Jeanette goes on, ‘spending the night at a friend’s is the same to him as fucking the friend, in every position his imagination can come up with –’
Jeanette stops herself and lets Sofia go on.
‘And afterwards they’d have talked about what a moron he is, sitting at home and not suspecting a thing.’
They burst out laughing, and when Jeanette falls back on the sofa Sofia catches sight of a brownish-red spot on the pale upholstery. She quickly grabs a cushion and playfully tosses it to Jeanette, who catches it and, thankfully, puts it down beside her, hiding the spot of Samuel’s blood.
‘God, you sound like you could be one of my colleagues. Are you sure you’ve never studied psychology?’
Jeanette looks almost embarrassed.
‘And what do you think about the woman he says he saw?’
‘I think he saw a fair-haired, attractive woman with Samuel. He reckons he even stared at her backside. He’s young and has sex on his mind all the time. Register, stare, register, stare, fantasise and then masturbate.’ Jeanette laughs. ‘But on the other hand, I don’t think it was the same woman he delivered building materials to.’
Seem interested.
‘Oh? Why not?’
‘This is a guy who only sees a woman’s chest or her backside. All women become one and the same.’
She drinks the last of her wine and refills her glass.
They sit in silence for a while just looking at each other. Sofia likes Jeanette’s eyes. Their gaze is firm, curious. They reveal how intelligent she is. But there’s something else as well. Courage, character. It’s hard to put a finger on what it is.
Sofia realises she is growing more and more fascinated by her. Within the space of ten minutes all of Jeanette’s feelings and characteristics have been visible in her eyes. Happiness. Self-confidence. Intelligence. Sorrow. Disappointment. Doubt. Frustration.
In another time, another place, she thinks. All she has to do is make sure that Jeanette doesn’t catch sight of her darkness. She must hold it back whenever they meet, and Jeanette must never meet Victoria Bergman.
But she and Victoria are shackled to each other like Siamese twins and, as a result, also dependent on each other.
They share the same heart, and the blood flowing through their bodies is the same blood. But while Victoria despises Sofia’s weakness, Sofia admires Victoria for her strength. And feels inferior to her.
She recalls how she used to shut herself away inside when anyone teased her. The way she used to eat her food up like a good girl and let him touch her.
She had adapted, which Victoria had never been able to do.
Victoria had hidden herself away deep within.
Victoria had waited and bided her time. Waiting for the moment when Sofia was forced to let her out to stop herself from sinking.
If she had just looked inside herself she would have found the strength. But instead she had tried to erase Victoria from her memory. For decades, Victoria had tried to get Sofia to realise that it was she rather than Sofia who held the key, and very occasionally Sofia had actually listened.
Like when she got the whining boy down by the river to shut up.
Like when she took care of Lasse.
Sofia can feel her headache easing, as the rubber band of her conscience stretches closer and closer to the breaking point. She feels that she’d like to tell Jeanette everything. Tell her how her father abused her. Describe the nights when she didn’t dare sleep in case he would then come into her room. The schooldays when she couldn’t stay awake.
She wants to tell Jeanette how it feels to wolf down food and then vomit it up. To feel the pain of a razor blade.
She wants to tell her everything.
Then suddenly Victoria’s voice comes back.
‘You’ll have to excuse me, but the wine’s had an effect and I have to go to the toilet.’
Sofia gets up and feels the alcohol rush to her head, and she giggles and steadies herself on Jeanette, who responds by putting her hand over hers.
‘Sofia …’ Jeanette looks up at her. ‘I’m really glad I’ve met you. It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in … well, I don’t know how long.’
Sofia stops, overwhelmed by the sign of affection.
‘What happens to us when we don’t have to meet any more? Because of work, I mean.’
Smile. Answer honestly.
Sofia smiles. ‘I think we can continue seeing each other anyway.’
Jeanette goes on. ‘I might like you to meet Johan some day. You’d like him.’