The food gave her energy that spread through her body. The graininess disappeared from her eyes and she tried to convince herself that it was important to think clearly. Not to feel, but to think.
She didn’t know what they wanted or had planned. Had they thought of keeping her there? Was she going to be kept prisoner in the cellar?
The thought grew and made her head spin with fear. She had to talk to them, find out, make them see sense. Hadn’t they achieved what they wanted by raping her? Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Why was she still here in this room?
This cellar … they had bought a house and soundproofed the cellar. They had fitted a kitchenette and bathroom, made a room within a room.
This was no sudden impulse, it was an expensive and well-executed plan.
They intended to keep her locked up.
Nour sighed loudly to herself. What did it have to do with her? Absolutely nothing.
It was Ylva’s own fault. She was so needy, which was why she fucked around, and she should be ashamed.
And that crybaby, who didn’t get anything. Didn’t he realise he was a laughing stock?
Why the hell had Nour offered to ring round? Who was she going to call? And what was the point?
Everyone would hook into it like the busybodies they were and the word would soon spread.
Nour was trapped. There was nothing she could do. No matter how she looked at it, the result would simply add insult to injury and Mike was the loser.
And in any case, Ylva would be home soon enough, ashamed and pleading.
Nour sat down on the bed, flopped back and stared up at the ceiling.
‘Ylva Ylva Ylva Ylva …’ she muttered to herself.
Most beautiful women didn’t seek attention, certainly not from men lower down the social, sexual or financial ladder. Ylva, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough. If there was a man there, she had her eye on him. The fact that that made it impossible for women to be friends with her didn’t bother her in the slightest.
As was so often the case with flirts, the attraction was a game, not real. And in most cases, it went no further than flirting and a bit of petting. The only man that Nour knew for certain Ylva had slept with was Bill Akerman.
Nour didn’t know much about him except that he’d wasted all the money his rich mother had invested in his stupid projects. It was only once his mother died that Bill, against the odds, managed to get a luxury restaurant up and running.
Nour was practically certain that Ylva was with him.
15
Mike cleared away the breakfast things, then took a shower. He closed his eyes and let the warm water stream over his face. The sound of the shower blocked out the rest of the world and made him realise that he couldn’t carry on living like this.
He contemplated divorce, imagined that he would push it all through with extreme generosity in order to avoid any problems with custody. He thought he could get himself a second-floor flat with a balcony on the northside, with the water stretching out below. An every-second-week agreement? It had its advantages.
He pictured a new and healthier lifestyle. He would be sociable, not just sit there quietly any more, nodding and smiling.
Internet dating? There were plenty more fish in the sea.
A sound outside the shower made him immediately turn off the water. He got out and opened the bathroom door.
‘Hello?’ he shouted.
No reply.
‘Ylva?’
Just the distant sound of Sanna’s cartoon.
‘Sanna!’
‘What?’
‘Did someone come in?’
‘What?’
‘Has Mummy come back?’ Mike shouted at the top of his voice.
‘No.’
‘It just sounded like someone came in.’
‘No.’
‘Okay.’
Mike dried himself and got dressed, went down to Sanna in the sitting room. Watched her as she dragged her eyes reluctantly from the screen and looked at him questioningly.
‘Thought we could go to Vala,’ he said, quickly.
He hated the shopping centre, especially on a Saturday, but he was too restless to potter around at home, waiting for the homecoming queen.
‘Now?’
‘Yes, before there are too many people.’
‘Can’t we wait until Mummy comes home?’
‘No, let’s go now.’
The remote control was lying on the table. He picked it up.
‘Go and put some clothes on.’
‘But stop the film. I want to watch the rest when we get back.’
Sanna jumped down from the sofa and ran to her room. Mike switched to teletext and skimmed over the various listings and headlines. Nothing interesting, he decided, and turned it off.
He went out into the kitchen, took a piece of paper from Sanna’s play box and wrote CALL ME on it. He left the piece of paper in the middle of the table, where it was visible.
Mike and Sanna left the house.
Ylva sat on the bed and stared at the screen. She saw her husband and daughter get into the car and drive away.
Ylva couldn’t see everything in detail, but their movements were familiar and it wasn’t difficult for her mind to fill in what her eyes couldn’t see. The normal movements, seen a thousand times before, nothing dramatic. The front door opened. Sanna ran over to the car. Stood waiting by the passenger door, having obviously been promised she could sit next to Mike. Mike locked the front door, turned off the car alarm from a distance. They got in. Mike helped to belt in his daughter. He shut the car door. The red backlights went on. The car reversed out, stopped a
