of farewell. For the second time in her life.
In the little cell Lilian felt safe for the first time in many years, oddly enough. She lay on her side on the narrow bunk, taking calm, deep breaths. She didn't understand the frustration of the people asking her all those questions. What difference did it make
She could have talked to them about the cellar. About the heavy, sweet scent of Mother's perfume. About the voice that was so seductive when it called her 'darling'. And she could have told them about the rough, dry taste in her mouth, about the monster that lived inside her, still vigilant, still ready to act. Above all she could have told them how her hands, trembling with hatred, not with fear, carefully put the poison in Father's cup and then scrupulously stirred it, watching it dissolve and vanish into the hot tea. It was lucky that he always took his tea with so much sugar.
That had been her first lesson. Not to believe in promises. Mother had promised her that everything was going to be different. Once Father was gone, they would live a completely different life. Together, close. No more cellar, no more fear. Mother would touch her, caress her, call her 'darling', and never let anything come between them again. But promises were broken as easily as they were made. She had learned that back then and would never let herself forget it. Sometimes she had allowed her mind to consider the thought that what Mother had said about Father might not have been true. But she immediately dismissed that idea to the very depths of her soul. She couldn't even think about that possibility.
She had learned another important lesson as well. To never let herself be abandoned again. Father had abandoned her. Mother had abandoned her. Then she was shuttled from one foster family to another like a soulless piece of baggage, and they all had abandoned her too, if only through their lack of interest.
When she visited her mother at the prison in Hinseberg, she had already made up her mind. She would create a new life, a life in which she had the control. The first step had been to change her name. She never again wanted to hear that name that trickled like venom over Mother's lips. 'Mary. Maaaryyy.' When she had sat in the dark of the cellar, that name had echoed between the walls, making her cower and curl up into a ball.
She chose the name Lilian because it sounded so different from Mary. And because it made her think of a flower, frail and ethereal, but at the same time strong and supple.
She had also worked hard to change her appearance. With military discipline she had denied herself everything that she previously gorged on, and with astonishing rapidity the pounds vanished from her body until her obesity was only a memory. And she never again permitted herself to get fat. She had watched scrupulously that her weight did not increase by a single ounce, and she showed contempt for those who didn't display the same fortitude, like her daughter. Charlotte's weight disgusted her, bringing back memories of a time she didn't want to think about. Anything flabby, loose, and slack aroused a feeling of rage in her, and sometimes she'd had to fight a desire to tear the flesh from Charlotte's body with her bare hands.
They had scornfully asked her if she felt disappointed that Stig had survived. She hadn't responded. To be honest, she didn't know the answer herself. It wasn't as if she had planned what she did. It had merely happened naturally somehow. And it all started with Lennart. With his talk about how it might be best for both of them if they separated. He'd said something about the fact that after Charlotte moved out, he'd discovered that they no longer had much in common. Lilian wasn't sure whether it was then, with those first words, she'd decided that her husband had to die. She felt that it was something she was destined to do. She had found the can of rat poison back when they'd bought the house. She couldn't explain why she never threw it away. Maybe because she knew it might come in handy one day.
Lennart had never done anything in haste in his whole life, so she knew that it would take time before he got around to moving out. She had started with small doses, small enough that he wouldn't die immediately, but big enough to make him seriously ill. Gradually his health had been broken. She had enjoyed taking care of him. There was no more talk of separating. Instead he had gazed at her with gratitude when she fed him, changed his clothes, and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Sometimes she had felt the monster stirring restlessly again. Losing patience.
It had never occurred to her that she might be found out, oddly enough. Everything happened so naturally, and one course of events succeeded another. When Lennart was given the diagnosis of
Guillain-Barre syndrome, she took it as a sign that everything was as it should be. She was just doing what she was intended to do.
In the long run he left her anyway. But it was on her terms – through death. The promise she had made to herself, that no one would ever be allowed to abandon her, still held.
And then she met Stig. He was so loyal, so confident by nature that she was sure he would never entertain the thought of leaving her. He did everything she said, even accepting staying in the house where she had lived with Lennart. It was important to her, she explained. It was her house. Bought with money from the sale of the house she'd had Mother sign over to her, the house she had lived in until she married Lennart. Then, to her great sorrow, she'd been forced to sell it. There wasn't enough room in the little house. Yet she had always regretted it, and the house in Salvik had felt like a poor substitute. But at least it was hers. And Stig had understood that.
Eventually, as the years passed, she began to notice signs of discontent in him. It was as if she could never be enough for anyone. They were always chasing after something else, something better. Even Stig. When he began talking about how they were growing apart, about feeling a need to start over on his own, she hadn't made any conscious decision. Her actions had simply followed his words as naturally as Tuesday followed Monday. And just as naturally he, precisely like Lennart, had turned to her in gratitude because she was the one who took care of him, who nursed him, who loved him. This time too she knew that parting would be inevitable, but what did that matter when she controlled the pace and determined the moment.
Lilian turned over on her other side and rested her head on her hands. She stared at the wall, seeing only the past. Not the present. Not the future. The only thing that counted was the time that had passed.
She did notice the loathing in their faces when they asked about the girl. But they would never understand. The child had been so hopeless, so intractable, so disrespectful. Not until Charlotte and Niclas had moved in with her and Stig did she realize how bad the situation was. How evil the girl was. It had shocked her at first. But then she had seen the hand of fate in it. The girl was so much like Agnes. Maybe not in appearance, but Lilian had seen the same evil in her eyes. Because that was what she'd come to realize over the years. That Mother was an evil person. She enjoyed watching as the years gradually broke her down. She had moved her to a place nearby. Not so she could visit her, but for the feeling of control it gave her to deny her mother the visits she desperately yearned for. Nothing made her happier than knowing that Mother was sitting there, so close yet so far away, rotting from the inside.
Mother was evil and the girl was too. Lilian had seen how the girl was slowly splitting the family apart and destroying the fragile mortar that held Niclas and Charlotte's marriage together. Her constant outbursts and demands for attention were wearing them down, and soon they would see no other way out than to go their separate ways. She couldn't let that happen. Without Niclas, Charlotte would be nothing. An uneducated, overweight, single mother of small children, without the respect that came with a successful husband. Some people in Charlotte's generation would probably say that such a view was obsolete, that it was no longer fashionable to win social status through marriage. But Lilian knew better. In the town where she lived, status was still important, and she liked having it that way. She knew that people, when they talked about her, often added, 'Lilian Florin? Oh yes, her son-in- law is a doctor, you know.' That gave her a certain respect. But the girl was going to destroy all that.
So she had done what was demanded of her. She noticed when Sara turned back on her way to Frida's because she'd forgot her cap. Actually Lilian didn't know why she had done it right then. But suddenly the opportunity presented itself. Stig was sleeping soundly from his sleeping pills and wouldn't wake up even if a bomb exploded in the house; Charlotte lay exhausted in the cellar flat, and Lilian knew that not many
