example it was Maria who drove them to football training. No actual decision had ever been taken, it was just the way things were.
Maria wanted to
Her favourite activity was making necklaces with plastic beads. Goran had acquired every plastic bead in the toy shop in Rimsta, in every imaginable shape and colour, and had even got the assistant to go down to the storeroom and dig out some boxes they had taken off display. Teresa had an entire shelf stocked with at least sixty little plastic containers into which she had sorted the beads according to a system only she understood. Sometimes she would spend days altering the system.
The beads were threaded onto coloured wool or fishing line, and after patient instruction Teresa had learned to tie the knots herself. It was a constant production line; the only problem was the product.
Maria’s parents had been given theirs. Goran’s parents had been given theirs. Family and friends and relatives of friends had been given theirs. Anyone who might possibly deserve a necklace made of plastic beads had been given one. Or two. Goran’s father was the only one who wore his. Probably to annoy Goran’s mother more than anything.
But it would have taken a family of biblical proportions to generate a demand to meet the supply. Teresa made at least three necklaces a day. Goran had put up lots of tacks above her bed to hang the necklaces on. The wall was now more or less full.
One Wednesday afternoon in the middle of October, Goran picked his daughter up from the childminder as usual. She got out her beads and thread as usual and put them on the kitchen table, and Goran sat opposite her with his usual evening paper. Concentrating hard, Teresa tied a stop-knot at one end of a length of fishing line. Then she made a selection from among her containers, and started threading.
When Goran had finished looking for news about the EU decision on Sweden’s state monopoly on alcohol sales and found nothing but more misery from Hallandsas, he lowered the paper and looked at his daughter. She seemed to have decided on a necklace in red, yellow and blue. Using her fingers as tweezers, she skilfully picked up one bead at a time, threading them onto the line as she breathed audibly through her nose.
‘Sweetheart?’
‘Mm?’
‘Couldn’t you make something other than necklaces with your beads? It’s just that you’ve got such a lot.’
‘I want a lot.’
‘But what for?’
Teresa stopped dead, a bright yellow bead between her fingers. She looked at Goran with a frown. ‘I collect them.’
She held his gaze, as if she were challenging him to question her. His eyes flickered down to the newspaper, open at a picture of some lake somewhere. Pollution. Dead fish. Local population up in arms.
‘Daddy?’ Teresa was studying the yellow bead, her eyes narrowed. ‘Why do things
‘What do you mean?’
Teresa’s eyebrows moved even closer together, and she looked as if she were in pain. She took a few breaths through her nose as she always did when she was concentrating. Eventually she said, ‘Well, if this bead didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be holding it.’
‘No.’
‘And if I didn’t exist, then nobody would be holding this bead.’
‘No.’
Goran sat there as if he had been hypnotised, staring at the bright yellow dot between his daughter’s fingers. The grey October day outside the window had gone. Only the yellow dot existed, and Goran felt as if something was pressing against his eardrums, like when you’re sinking towards the bottom of the swimming pool.
Teresa shook her head. ‘Why is it like that?’ Her gaze swept over the containers on the table, their multi- coloured contents. ‘I mean, all these beads might not exist and there might not be anybody to make necklaces with them.’
‘But the beads do exist. And so do you. That’s just the way things are.’
Teresa put the yellow bead back in its container and crossed her arms tightly over her chest as she continued to look at the kaleidoscope of coloured dots in front of her. Gently Goran asked, ‘Have you all been talking about this at Lollo’s?’
Teresa shook her head.
‘So what made you think about it, then?’
Teresa didn’t reply, but stared at her array of beads with an expression that could best be described as furious. Goran leaned forward with his chin resting on his hand so that he was closer to her level, and said, ‘There is actually one person who hasn’t had a necklace; do you know who that is?’ Teresa didn’t react, but Goran gave her the answer anyway, ‘It’s me. I’ve never had a necklace.’
Teresa bent her head so that her nose was pointing at the floor, and her voice broke as she said, ‘You can have them all if you want.’
Goran got up from his chair. ‘But sweetheart…’
He knelt down next to his daughter’s chair and she fell into his arms, rested her forehead on his collarbone and wept. Goran stroked her head and said, ‘Sssh…’ but Teresa just carried on weeping.
When Goran said, ‘Couldn’t you make me a necklace? I’d like a yellow one. All yellow,’ she banged her forehead against his collarbone so hard that it hurt both of them, and kept on weeping.
Since Teresa had been born late in the year, she started school before she turned seven. She could already read simple books and add up and take away, so the schoolwork itself wasn’t a problem. At the first parents’ evening Goran and Maria heard a great deal of praise for their daughter, who approached every task with diligence and great seriousness.
Nor did gymnastics or practical subjects pose any difficulties for her. She found it easy to understand instructions, and her fine motor skills were very good. She was always well-behaved.
The teacher closed her file. ‘So…all in all I think we can say things have gone very well indeed. She’s a… serious little girl, Teresa.’
Goran had reached for his jacket and started to put it on, but Maria thought she picked up a change of tone in the teacher’s last remark, and asked her to elaborate. What did she mean, serious?
The teacher smiled as if to smooth things over. ‘Well, as a teacher I couldn’t wish for a better pupil, but…she doesn’t play.’
‘You mean…she’s not with the other children?’
‘No, no. When they’re given things to do, she has no problem working with others. But, how can I put this, she doesn’t like to use her imagination. Play. Make things up. As I said, she’s…serious. Extremely serious.’
What Goran had accepted long ago, Maria now perceived as a warning bell. Since she herself was a sociable person, she found it difficult to see her daughter as a serious-minded lone wolf. For Maria, loneliness was not to do with inclination or choice; no, loneliness was a failure. She had a number of hobby horses, but the most important was: ‘People are made to be together.’
Goran was not about to contradict her, particularly as he thought she was right, theoretically. He was popular at work as a conscientious and reliable person, but he wished he took greater real pleasure in the company of others.
The work at the liquor outlet suited him down to the ground. A customer came up with their numbered ticket, you exchanged a few words and dealt with their purchase. You might perhaps chat for thirty seconds or so if there weren’t too many people waiting. He looked smart in his green waistcoat and shirt, he was polite and knowledgeable about the stock, he was
Maria, on the other hand, was pally with lots of her customers. Practically every day she came home with long
