the new things from the vast range of what was on offer. Mike, on the other hand, hurried through the indoor streets that had sprung up, terrified that the rubbish would stick to him.
Sanna was somewhere in between. The pet shop was an attraction, as was the ice-cream stall and all the people.
The hustle and bustle, sounds and impressions, were the highlight of the week for many.
Ylva would lay her newly purchased finds out on the bed when she got home, as if they were prey or a trophy. Admiring her own skill. She’d tell Sanna what she’d bought, why she’d bought it and how the various new items of clothing could be combined with the ones she already had.
Mike wondered whether it was some kind of training, whether that was how new consumers were generated.
And he certainly didn’t have the peace of mind to wander round and pretend that nothing was wrong now.
‘So, what do you reckon, sweetheart? McDonald’s and then home?’
‘But we’ve just got here.’
‘Well, aren’t you hungry?’
‘Not really.’
‘Okay, let’s go round the shops a bit and then we can have a bite to eat. Okay?’
Ylva still hadn’t called and a nagging worry was starting to keep his anger company.
The thought that something might have happened, that there was a legitimate reason why she hadn’t phoned, was almost comforting. Being worried was easier than being frightened.
But he was frightened, frightened of being dumped and written out of the plot.
At least as a consoler – or, God forbid, a mourner – Mike would have a role to play.
Sanna chewed slowly and surveyed the world around her with big eyes, and in here that meant overweight families, dirty tables and stressed staff.
Mike had finished his food and was bouncing his foot nervously under the table.
‘You enjoying that?’
He smiled at his daughter and did his best to hide the fact that he would happily pay a substantial part of his salary if he could leave the place immediately. McDonald’s was their last stop. They had been to the pet shop, browsed through the DVDs in the bookshop and looked for cheap jewellery in the accessories shop.
Sanna nodded, took a bite of a fry. Everything was slow. Mike had finished before his daughter had even picked the cucumber out of her burger.
‘If you concentrate on your burger, then maybe we could take the fries with us,’ he said and forced a smile.
‘Are we in a hurry?’
‘What? Um, no. We’re not in a hurry.’
Sanna chewed her deep-fried potato thoughtfully as two little boys at the next table squabbled over the toys they’d got with their happy meal.
Mike resigned himself to the fact that he had at least another half-hour of torture ahead of him.
He got his mobile out from the inside pocket of his jacket, checked the screen to make sure that he hadn’t missed any calls and tried Ylva again. Straight to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message. He dialled the house and let it ring about six times before ending the call.
He looked at his daughter and then held the phone up with the exaggerated explanation of a parent.
‘I have to make a phone call,’ he said. ‘I’ll be standing just over there where I can see you. Okay?’
‘Can’t you ring from here?’ Sanna asked.
‘There’s someone I need to talk to.’
‘But you just phoned someone.’
‘That was someone else. I don’t want there to be a lot of noise in the background. Just sit where you are, I’ll be right outside.’
He went to the door, waved over at his daughter and dialled Nour’s number.
‘Hi, it’s Mike.’
‘Hi, has she shown up yet?’
‘No, she hasn’t. At least, I don’t think so. I’m at Vala with Sanna, but I left a note to say she should call. And she hasn’t. And there’s no answer on her mobile or at home. Have you heard anything?’
‘Well … I … Nothing much, no, but I’ll carry on. I’ll let you know if I do hear anything.’
‘Okay, thanks. And, Nour, listen …’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, if she is … you know, if she has done something stupid, well, I’d still like to hear from her. It doesn’t feel right like this. I’m getting worried.’
Nour rang the restaurant that was owned by Ylva’s ex-lover. It was just after one and she guessed that they would be open. She said who she was and asked to speak to Bill Akerman. Luckily he was there, which lowered the chances that he’d spent the night with Ylva or knew where she was, but Nour wanted to make sure.
‘Hello.’
His voice was aggressive, just like his personality.
‘Hello, my name is Nour. I work with Ylva Zetterberg.’
Bill waited for her to finish and to say more.
‘I’ve seen you a couple of times,’ Nour continued. ‘But I don’t think you know who I am.’
‘I know who you are.’
His voice was cold and businesslike, there was no hint of invitation or intimacy. But Nour still felt flattered in a way. She wondered whether Bill’s success with women was simply due to social ineptitude. Or was it disinterest? Bill didn’t care, which aroused a competitive spirit in women who were normally spoilt for attention.
‘I’m sorry to call you like this, but it’s kind of urgent. Ylva’s disappeared. She didn’t go home last night. Her husband’s called me a couple of times and asked if I maybe know where she is.’
‘I have no idea.’
‘So she wasn’t with you?’
‘Why the hell would she be?’
‘I know that you—’
‘That was a hundred years ago. Was there anything else?’
‘No.’
Bill hung up. Nour sat with the telephone in her hand. Her immediate impulse was to go to the restaurant and apologise. She didn’t feel good, like an old gossip sniffing out scandal.
Ylva would be furious when she found out that Nour had phoned Bill.
Nour was ashamed. She had let herself be drawn in by Mike’s anxiety. Instead of reassuring him, she had taken his hysteria a step further.
Did Mike even know that his wife had had an affair with Bill? Nour wasn’t certain.
If Ylva didn’t turn up soon, Mike would ring her again to find out who she’d spoken to. She couldn’t really say that the only person she’d contacted was Bill. Nour had to phone a few other people, so she could say that she had. Despite the fact that she already knew that none of them would have any idea where Ylva might be. The phone calls would only reinforce the image of Nour as some hysterical gossipmonger.
Nour felt her irritation growing. How come she should be tidying up after Ylva? She wasn’t the one who’d fucked around.
