bothered her, since her lover was a decade younger than she was.
He felt the anger taking over, and soon he would no longer be able to stop himself before he let it loose. She had set down the vase on the coffee table and now stood straightening up the roses as if they were going to be entered in a symmetry competition.
He turned and headed for the bathroom, feeling a great need to take a shower and wash off everything that had clung to him in the past day.
He checked the bathroom cabinet. No forgotten toothpaste. The wastebasket had been recently emptied and lined with a new plastic bag. There was washing in the machine, and he opened the lid to hang it up. Axel’s dark- blue sweatsuit, Eva’s black pullover. And then a pair of black lace panties that he had never seen before. He held them up between thumb and forefinger, disgusted at the thought of . . . God. So that’s the way she dressed when she was out with her lover. She had certainly never dressed like that for him.
He took two clothes-pegs and hung the panties up in the drying cabinet so that they would be the first thing she saw when she came into the bathroom, would know that he had discovered them. And start to worry why he didn’t comment on them.
He went back upstairs and into the bedroom. The bed was made and the bedspread in place. How could he ever sleep in that bed again?
He pulled out the top drawer in the chest of drawers where she kept her underwear, searched among the sensible panties that he usually saw her wearing. Then to the left, among her bras, another unknown piece of paraphernalia. A black lace bra with padding that he had never seen before. He heard her clattering in the kitchen, held up the bra, and was assaulted by the image of her and the other man together in the double bed behind him, how his feverish hands managed to undo the little clasp he saw before him and expose her breasts. He resisted the impulse to rush out to the kitchen and throw it right in her self-pitying face, forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He was just about to push the drawer back in when he caught sight of something else. A corner of something red. A diary with a lock but with the key hanging on a silver thread from the little heart-shaped lock. A diary? Since when had she spent time on something like that? The sounds from the kitchen assured him that she was still out there. He quickly opened the lock with the little key and started to page through the diary. Blank and not written in. Not a word on the white pages. He was just about to lock it again when something fell into his hand and he discovered hand-written words on the inside of the cover.
‘To my Beloved! I am with you. Everything will be fine. A book to fill with memories of all the wonderful things that await us.’
Then he looked down at his palm and didn’t want to believe what he saw.
Disgusting, and tied with a light-blue thread, was a light-blond lock of that bastard’s hair.
Almost thirteen thousand kronor per month. Just in living expenses. The papers lay in piles spread out on the kitchen table in front of her: mortgage, electric bills, insurance. She could handle the operating costs and the mortgage herself, but she would have to change her habits radically. A cheaper company car. Buy wholesale at discount stores. Write precise shopping lists and buy economy size.
She looked at the folder the real estate agent had given them when they bought the house. A colour picture of a smiling house on the cover. A dark spot right above the chimney. Henrik had spilled his wine when they celebrated the occasion at the Cafe Opera’s sidewalk restaurant on the way home.
Eight years ago.
Her father had asked her to call a surveyor to ascertain the value of the house, and then she could figure out how much she would have to borrow. She would certainly see to it that all the papers were in order the day her husband finally dared to confess his betrayal. In an hour she would be able to withdraw the money and tell him to go to hell.
Suddenly she thought she heard the sound of a key in the door. He wasn’t supposed to come home until the following day, so she must be hearing things. It occurred to her that this had happened often in the past few days, that she heard sounds she didn’t recognise. Last night when she was in the shower she could have sworn that she’d heard someone upstairs. The balcony door was open and for a moment she had been afraid. Pulled her robe tight around her and went upstairs, looking through all the rooms and the cupboards too, to make sure the house was empty. Axel was staying with her parents, so it wasn’t him. For the first time she had a chance to feel what it would be like in the future. Alone in the house. Fear of the dark would upset her. And the other evening she was so sure that someone was standing on the balcony looking at her through the dark windowpane. She had to conquer the fear that was trying to ensnare her, she had to be strong.
Then she heard the sound of the front door opening. Someone came into the hallway.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s only me.’
Henrik. Why in hell was he home early?
There could only be one explanation. He had decided to confess and couldn’t contain himself a minute longer so he could relieve his guilty conscience. Now here he came, running home a day early and she hadn’t managed to finish everything. She had put the magazine article about Linda in Simon’s mother’s mailbox yesterday, she must have read it by now, but she hadn’t yet heard any reaction from the day-care centre. No urgent call to set up another crisis meeting. And it would be two days from now before she could take out the money she would toss in his face.
He couldn’t tell her before that!
She got up and went towards the stairs. She had to collect herself and appear normal, like the understanding housewife she was. Ask him how he was, if he was feeling well, seem glad that he was home early. Not make it easy for him to blurt out what he intended to tell her.
Halfway down the stairs she saw it, even though he was hiding it behind his back, and all her intentions toppled like bowling pins. How could he be so tasteless? He had never bought flowers for her before. Now, of all times, he came home dragging red roses, now that he was going to confess that he had been unfaithful, that he wanted a divorce. What the hell was going on inside that head of his anyway? Did he expect her to be happy? Did he think a bunch of bloody roses would justify his betrayal and make her forgive him? I see, you have a relationship with our son’s day-care teacher and want a divorce, so that’s it. Awfully sweet of you to finally buy me a few flowers.
She took a deep breath.
‘I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow night.’
‘No, I know. I changed my mind.’
She could see how nervous he was. A foolish smile flitted across his face.
Damn it, you could at least take off your jacket.
‘Why aren’t you at work?’
Because I called in sick and now I’m spending my days sabotaging your future. Just the way you sabotaged mine.
‘My throat is a little sore.’
She went back upstairs. Continued on to the kitchen table and started gathering up the papers. She didn’t manage to put away everything before he appeared in the room.
‘What are you doing?’
There was fear in his voice. The anger she had got used to encountering seemed blown away. Confused, she realised that the Henrik she knew, the one she had lived with for fifteen years but who had been unapproachable lately, was back. He was standing here in the middle of the kitchen trying to reach her.
She looked up at him. A scared little boy with a bouquet of flowers that was much too big held out in front of him. So pitiful, so utterly helpless.
But one thing she knew for sure, even though many other things were confused just now, she definitely didn’t want his flowers.
‘Did someone send you flowers?’
‘No, they’re for you.’
He held the bouquet out to her. Accepting the flowers would signal a defeat, a tiny opening for an approach, which she certainly did not intend to give him. She could see that her hesitation annoyed him; for some reason he
