the top drawer, couldn’t bear to look at it. Then she sat down on the bed again, took the book and weighed it in her hand. He knew quite well that she didn’t keep a diary, so why in the world had he bought this one? She unhooked the little padlock and opened the first page. Something fell out and landed in her lap. At first she didn’t see what it was, and when she did she couldn’t believe it was true. Once again it was clear that she didn’t know the man she had lived with for fifteen years. The Henrik she thought she knew would never in his life think of cutting off a lock of his hair, lovingly placing it in a diary in which he thought she ought to start writing. She read the words on the first page; she didn’t even recognise his handwriting.
‘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.’
Astonished, she read the lines again. Who was he, really? What other secret sides did he have that she hadn’t managed to discover or coax out during all their years together? All she knew was that what she held in her hand was an honest attempt on his part to show that he loved her. That he was ready to do whatever it took. Perhaps this was what he had realised over the past few days. That he really wanted to try again.
She suddenly felt tears welling up, and the rage and hatred that had been driving her forward in recent days yielded to a tremendous sorrow. The weariness that came over her when she relaxed a little was overwhelming. She crawled under the bedspread, exhausted. Maybe there was another possibility? But how could she ever forgive him? Ever trust him again? But what kind of mother would she be if she didn’t give him a real chance, for Axel’s sake? It wasn’t the fact that he had fallen in love with another woman that was unforgivable; considering the state of their marriage, it was even understandable. It was the wound from his betrayal and his lies that would never heal. The insulting fact that he never told her, explained, gave her a chance to react and take a stand. The fact that the person she thought stood closest to her could do her so wrong, all for his own benefit. How could she ever feel respect for him again?
She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes. Just to be able to sleep, close her eyes to it all, and then wake up from this nightmare with everything back to normal.
Perhaps only a few words from him would be sufficient. A few words, uttered sincerely and in complete honesty, perhaps that was all she needed to give him another chance. To be able to respect him as a man.
A sincere and honest: I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
She woke up when the bedroom door was thrown open. With a bang the handle made a deep dent in the soft plaster wall, and the sound made her sit up in sheer terror. He was standing on the threshold, and the expression on his face scared her.
‘God, what a fucking pig you are!’
She glanced at the clock radio. Quarter past five. She had slept for over six hours.
‘What is it?’
Careful now.
He snorted.
‘What is it? Well, what the hell do you think it is? It never occurred to you that I ought to be the first to find out we’re getting a divorce and that you intend to throw me out of the house?’
She stopped breathing.
‘How the fuck do you think it feels to find out from your parents? Standing there like a fucking idiot, not understanding a thing.’
Her heart was pounding. Drop by drop the control was seeping out of her.
‘Why were you talking to them?’
Her question was idiotic, she could hear that herself. He thought so, too, and shook his head in utter disgust.
‘Because they wondered when we were going to pick up Axel.’
Shit. Everything was going to pieces.
‘What would it be like if you decided to cut off that umbilical cord one day? Living with you is like being fucking married to your parents too. They’re like a . . . like a fucking sticky slime that covers everything. Oh, they were
He mimicked her mother’s voice and said:
‘
His whole body showed the repugnance he felt.
‘How the hell can you go to them and blab about everything before you talk to me? But it’s obvious, because that’s what you’ve always done. Why should a little divorce make any difference? It’s their damned fault it turned out like this.’
Her fury was instant.
‘My parents have always been willing to help us out. That’s a hell of a lot more than I can say about yours!’
‘At least they leave us in peace.’
‘You can say that again!’
‘It’s better than the way yours carry on. You’ve always put your parents ahead of me. As if they were the ones who were your real family.’
‘Well, they are.’
‘There, you see! Why don’t you go and have a kid with them, too, then? And move in with them. Then you can keep on fucking your lover as usual.’
He slammed his fist into the door jamb and rushed out to the kitchen. She followed him. He was leaning over the counter and breathing hard, his chest heaving with the effort.
How could he have the nerve?
‘What the hell do you mean by that?’
He turned his head and looked at her.
‘You can stop playing games now. He told me all about it.’
‘What fucking ‘he’ are you talking about?’
A condescending smile slid across his face.
‘How can you be so pathetic? There’s a lot I could say about you, but I had no idea you were such a coward.’
‘You’re calling
He didn’t reply. She realised that her remark had hit home and that she had the upper hand again. But for how long? What was she allowed to know and not know? She wasn’t allowed to know about Linda, who at the same time was her only defence for what she had done. But now her well-devised scheme had been shattered and ended up in disarray. Everything could be turned against her.
‘Who is this “he” and what did he say?’
‘Come off it, Eva. I’m telling you that I already know what you’re up to, so you can stop playing games. Did you think he was going to move in here after you threw me out?’
‘Who is this fucking ‘he’ you’re talking about?’
With a sweep of his arm he knocked the fruit bowl to the floor. Apples and oranges rolled across the polished hardwood floor, scattering around the sharp ceramic shards.
He headed for the bedroom.
She followed.
‘Why don’t you answer instead of diverting your rage to something else? It wasn’t the fruit bowl’s fault that you don’t have an answer.’
He pulled out the top drawer of the bureau and started rummaging round in her underwear.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Where is it?’
‘What?’
‘That fine new diary that you’ve got.’
‘Do you want to take it back or what?’
He stopped and stared at her.
