particularly concerned and after a while they carried on walking, despite her loud cries for help.
Of course they couldn’t imagine that the couple who had recently moved in had locked someone up in the cellar.
Ylva tried to listen instead. She sat with the cardboard roll to her ear and pressed it up to the vent. She heard an electric fan, but nothing from outside. A couple of cars passed without the sound of the engine penetrating down into the cellar.
When finally Lennart, Virginia’s pathetic husband, glided silently past on his Harley Davidson, which didn’t have a silencer, she realised that the cellar room was cut off from the rest of the world, at least in terms of sound.
It was almost impossible to comprehend. That it was actually possible to build a cube under a house with air ventilation both in and out, and water, and yet not a sound could escape.
Ylva reminded herself to think constructively. So, she couldn’t attract attention using her voice. Instead of wasting energy thinking about that, she had to come up with another solution.
If she’d had a lighter or matches, she could set fire to the kitchen roll and let the smoke seep out through the vent and attract someone’s attention that way. The disadvantage of that would be that she risked burning to death or inhaling smoke, and if the vent opened into the chimney pipe, the smoke wouldn’t make anyone react, not even now, when it was warm outside. People would assume that the new couple were burning rubbish in the fireplace and not think any more of it.
And it was perfectly feasible that the vent was connected to the chimney. That would explain why her cries couldn’t be heard.
What else then? Fire, air … water.
There was water in the bathroom. It came in via the pipes and disappeared down the drain. Could she flush down some kind of waterproof message in the hope that someone at the sewage works would notice it? She pictured the tampons, condoms and rubbish in a revolting sludge of shit and toilet paper. No one would be exactly tempted to look any closer.
Paper. What about if she blocked the toilet so it overflowed? They’d be forced to open the door then.
She heard a sound outside. A key being inserted in the lock of the metal door that separated her from the outside world.
She looked around, grabbed the broken chair leg and held it in front of her.
She was prepared.
The policeman who filed Mike’s report over the phone was calm and understanding. He asked, without causing embarrassment, whether Ylva had a history of being down or depressed, if she had disappeared before without getting in touch, whether Mike and Ylva had perhaps quarrelled or disagreed recently.
‘So when she left her colleagues just after six, she said she was going home?’ he asked, when Mike had finished.
‘Yes.’
‘And she said to you that she was going out?’
‘She said that she might, but that nothing had been decided.’
‘And when was the last time you spoke?’
‘Yesterday morning, before she went to work.’
‘And her mobile has been switched off?’ the policeman probed.
Mike knew how it sounded. She’d spent the night with her lover. It had been wonderful and she didn’t want to break the spell, only to replace it with broken crockery and feelings of guilt.
‘Let me be frank,’ the policeman said. ‘We get calls like this more or less every day. And nearly always, the person reappears within twenty-four hours. Your wife has been missing for twenty hours now, so I suggest that if she hasn’t been in touch by the evening, you call me again. I’m here until nine.’
The policeman gave him a direct number.
‘One more thing,’ he added. ‘When she comes home, take it easy. Don’t do anything stupid.’
‘I won’t,’ Mike said, like an obedient schoolboy.
‘Remember that tomorrow is another day.’
‘Yes.’
Mike even nodded, standing there alone in the kitchen.
‘Good,’ the policeman said. ‘Then I hope that I won’t be hearing from you later. Take care. Goodbye.’
Mike put the receiver down and felt that he’d done the right thing. He’d phoned Nour, who had then phoned their friends and that slimeball of a restaurant owner. He’d contacted the hospital and now the police. There wasn’t anything else he could do.
Mike went out to his daughter in the sitting room. She looked at him.
‘When’s Mummy coming home?’
‘She’ll be here soon. Any minute, I reckon.’
‘Do you think she’s bought anything?’
‘What? No, I don’t think so.’
Mike turned to look at the TV and hoped that Sanna would do the same. He didn’t like her looking at him when he was weak.
The feeling that overwhelmed him now was guilt. His efficiency was swept to one side by a blast of regret. He’d run to the teacher and told tales. He could see Ylva’s accusing eyes.
One bloody night. Couldn’t she have one bloody night off and let her hair down? Without him getting hysterical and behaving like an idiot.
‘Do you want to build a tower?’
‘Lego,’ Sanna countered.
‘Okay, Lego.’
20
Violence / threat of violence
Violence and the threat of violence are constantly present in the victim’s life. A woman who continues to resist is subjected to violence. In those cases where the woman refuses to give in, the abuse can become so violent that it can lead to death.
The man smiled when he opened the door and saw Ylva holding the jagged chair leg up like a weapon in front of her. It wasn’t the reaction that Ylva had hoped for.
‘Let me go,’ she said.
She wished that her voice was stronger. The man closed the door.
‘I said LET ME GO!’
She sounded desperate now. The man didn’t answer. The door clicked shut behind him. Ylva thrust the chair leg around in front of her, threatening.
‘The key, give me the key!’
The man held the key ring out in front of him. He was finding it difficult to hide his amusement.
‘Drop it on the floor.’
The man did what Ylva told him.
‘Move away.’
She waved the chair leg at him.
‘The kitchen?’ he asked, and pointed towards the kitchenette.
Ylva realised that that wasn’t a good idea. There wasn’t enough distance to the door.
