find the buttons with fingers that won’t obey.
‘Mum.’
Beside the bed a long-haired, skinny boy trying to pull on a black T-shirt with some hard rock logo on it. His skin is unnaturally white. As if he’s never been out in the sun his whole life.
‘Mum, I—’
‘Not a word, Tove. Not a single word.’
‘I . . .’ the boy says in a voice that has hardly broken. ‘I . . .’
‘And you can keep quiet too. Both of you, quiet. Get dressed.’
‘We are dressed, Mum.’
‘Tove. I’m warning you.’
Malin leaves the bedroom, shuts the door behind her, shouts, ‘Come out when you’re dressed.’
Feels like shouting a whole load of things, but what? Can’t shout: Tove, you were a mistake, a condom that broke, and do you want to do the same as me? Do you think it’s fun being a teenage mother, even if you do love your kid?
Whispers and giggling from the bedroom.
Two minutes later they come out. Malin is standing in the hall, and points to the sofas in the sitting room.
‘Tove, sit down there. And you, who are you?’
Handsome, Malin thinks, but pale. But, good God, he can’t be more than fourteen, and Tove, Tove, you’re a little girl.
‘I’m Markus,’ the pale boy says, pushing his hair out of his face.
‘My boyfriend,’ Tove calls from the sofa.
‘Yes, I worked that out,’ Malin replies. ‘I’m not that stupid.’
‘I go to Anestad school,’ Markus says. ‘We met at a party a few weekends ago.’
What party? Has Tove been to a party?
‘Have you got a surname, Markus?’
‘Stenvinkel.’
‘You can go now, Markus. We’ll have to see if we ever meet again.’
‘Can I say goodbye to Tove?’
‘Put on your coat and go.’
‘Mum, I’m actually in love with him.’
The front door closes as Tove says the words.
‘That’s a bit serious.’
Malin sits on the sofa opposite Tove. The sitting room is dark around them. She closes her eyes and sighs.
Then starts to feel angry again.
‘In love? You’re thirteen, Tove. What could you possibly know about love?’
‘As much as you, apparently.’
And the anger vanishes as quickly as it came.
‘Studying with Filippa, Tove? Did you have to lie?’
‘I thought you’d be angry.’
‘What about? About you wanting a boyfriend?’
‘No, because I haven’t said anything. And because we were here. And, well, because I’ve got something you haven’t.’
These last words cut straight to Malin’s core, with no warning, and rather than think about what her daughter had just said, she chose to say, ‘You have to be careful, Tove. This sort of thing can lead to no end of problems.’
‘That’s what I was afraid of, Mum, that you’d only see the problems. Do you think I’m stupid enough not to realise that you and Dad had me by mistake? I mean, who’d be mad enough to have a child at that age otherwise? I’m not that careless.’
‘What are you saying, Tove? You weren’t a mistake. Whatever makes you say that?’
‘I know, Mum. I’m thirteen, and thirteen-year-olds have boyfriends.’
‘The cinema with Sara, studying with Filippa . . . God, how stupid am I? How long have you been seeing each other?’
‘Almost a month.’
‘A month?’
‘It’s hardly surprising that you haven’t noticed anything.’
