knew that it existed.
Soon it too would be ashes.
But his body was alive. For the first time it was alive and really alert. No longer like an enemy that he constantly had to deny, restrain, force back. All longing was suddenly permitted. The desire pulsing inside him was not a threat but a basis for all the fantastic things that awaited him.
He put his hand on his neck, then ran it slowly down over his chest and closed his eyes. Followed the memory of her hand and continued down over his belly. Just like this she had touched him. Just like this her hands had liberated him.
Why didn’t she call?
The phone lay on the floor next to him at a right angle to the rug, and he no longer knew how many times he had looked at it, placed his hand on it as if it could reveal how much longer he would have to wait.
He wanted so much. He wanted so much and finally it was all possible, and yet it was almost more than he could bear to sit and wait. It was like torture.
He thought about all the wonderful possibilities that their meeting had created. Everything they could do together. Everything he had dreamed that he would do with Anna. It had all been taken away from him, and now he had been given a new chance. He would start working again, it shouldn’t be difficult to get his job back as a postman, but that was only the beginning. Now he would realise his dream and take that course in trigonometry. He would sign up for it on Monday.
Why didn’t she call?
He got up and went into the kitchen. The only thing edible in the refrigerator was a sausage wrapped in plastic with processed risotto. The date stamp said that it should have been eaten no later than the day before, but that couldn’t be helped. He dumped the contents into a saucepan.
How could he have been so stupid not to ask for her phone number? What if she didn’t dare ring? What if she thought he wasn’t interested since he had fallen asleep without asking for her phone number? Damn it, he didn’t even know her last name. What must she think?
It was so strange that they hadn’t talked more. But actually he knew why. They had so much to say to each other that they chose to remain silent.
After all, they had all the time in the world.
What if she had been sitting there, hesitating with the receiver in her hand and didn’t dare call? The thought made his stomach knot up. What an idiot he was for not asking! The only thing he knew about her was her first name. Her first name and the fact that he would never leave her. If he had to turn all of Stockholm upside down he would find her.
The thought of not knowing where she was was unbearable. If he didn’t hear from her soon, it would come over him again, but for the time being he was safe. Her touch was still all over his skin, protecting him.
But for how long?
He had just put the first spoonful of risotto in his mouth when the phone rang. He rushed over to the sink, spat out the food and rinsed his mouth. He then dashed to the phone in the next room. Two rings.
Everything he had practised, everything he had planned to say, was all gone.
Four rings.
‘Jonas.’
‘Hi Jonas, this is Yvonne Palmgren at Karolinska. I just wanted to hear how things were going for you now.’
He sat in silence and felt the rage growing. There was nothing he wanted to say to this woman. She was ringing from another life that he had left behind. Nobody but Linda had the right to call him, no one had the right to block the line.
That bloody woman at the other end had asked him to let go and move on, and that was precisely what he had done. He had absolutely no obligations to report his feelings to her; he had done precisely what she asked him to do.
He hung up.
Shit. What if Linda had called just now and heard that the line was busy? She may have just gathered up the courage and finally dared ring him and then
Fucking bitch!
He straightened the phone, which had been moved out of its right angle to the rug, pulled on a pair of slippers and went back to the kitchen. The risotto swelled up in his mouth, it was impossible to swallow.
What if he disappointed her, what if he couldn’t live up to her expectations? What had she actually seen in him? What had made her, without suspicion, with such trust, come back to his flat with him and give herself to him, so utterly and without reservations? It must have been fate. They had found everything they were looking for when they met each other. That must be exactly how it feels to find the right person at last. All this couldn’t have happened without a reason, it must have had a meaning. The fact that on that evening, the first one, he had met her and had dared let go. It was the beginning. He knew it!
Why didn’t she call?
He got up and went to the phone to make sure he had replaced the receiver properly. He wanted to pick it up to make sure that the conversation with the Monster Psychotherapist had really been broken off, but he didn’t dare. What if she tried to call right now?
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
What if he never saw her again? That thought was impossible to bear.
What if she didn’t want to call, if that was why she didn’t wake him before she left? What if he had disappointed her? What if he had lost her?
It had to be worth something, had to be right. Otherwise Anna would win. Her betrayal would give her the revenge that he didn’t deserve.
It had to be worth something! He had been so sure, felt so strong. Suddenly he no longer knew anything.
He couldn’t stay in the flat, he had to go out. All these questions would drive him mad, he had to find her. Had to regain control of events.
He went to the wardrobe and took out a pair of beige trousers and a jumper. He ought to buy himself some new clothes, but how could he afford it? He wondered what kind of work she did. He had to find out. He had to find out everything about her. Be with her, share her thoughts, sleep with her. Everything. He wanted it all.
He took the underground to Slussen and walked the last stretch across to Gamla Stan. The clock on the Katarina Lift showed 21.32. He held his mobile in his hand so he’d definitely hear it if it rang; before he left the flat he had forwarded his home number. Halfway across Jarntorget he stopped and looked at the red awnings. That was where she had been sitting. Yesterday he had stood right here on this square, and that was when it had all begun. Only twenty-four hours had passed since then, but everything was changed. Everything was new.
A man in his thirties, dressed in a suit, was sitting on the chair where he had sat, and on both sides of him were more well-dressed men. What if she were inside? What if he were only thirty metres away from her right this minute?
He started towards the door. The possibility that he might soon see her made him quicken his steps.
The bar was full of people. All the seats were taken, and there was a crowd along the bar area. He quickly swept his gaze across all the faces but she wasn’t among them. That might be her over there, the one sitting with her back turned, in the black jumper. He forced his way forward through the crowd. In his haste he ran into someone’s elbow sticking out, and the glass the person was holding sloshed over. An annoyed look. He didn’t care. With heart pounding, he moved over to the opposite wall so he could see her face. And then the disappointment when he met the unfamiliar eyes.
It was unpleasant with so many people. A bustling hubbub in which no words could be heard, only waves of unfamiliar voices arching over the music.
Where was the toilet? Maybe she was in there. He continued past the bar and found two toilet doors in a hallway near the kitchen. The lock on one of them said Vacant, but to be on the safe side he opened the door to make sure she wasn’t in there. The second said Occupied, and he took up position to wait, heard someone flushing. He saw her hand before him, felt how it caressed him over his hip and found its way further to his groin. The lust again.
