‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ he said in the end. ‘Not any more, and not with you. You’re my patient, not the other way round.’
41
It wasn’t good. Short contracts and the odd bit of freelancing. The only constant in Calle Collin’s life was the bills. He expended more time and effort on picking up work than he did on doing it. He needed a steady job, regular pages to fill, someone to commission him to write a series of articles.
He logged on to the Internet and surfed in the hope of finding ideas. Death and misery, never anything else. That was basically all the news consisted of these days: unusual ways to die.
Which celebrities were hot? What was on TV?
What was it the old actor had said? That he beat others up so they wouldn’t beat him. And of course he hadn’t wanted the only interesting thing he’d revealed in the whole interview to be published in the magazine. Calle would have got more out of interviewing the actor’s former classmates and writing about their recollections of him. Schooldays, childhood. You never got away from the past. Hence Jorgen Petersson’s fixation with the Gang of Four.
The Gang of Four – three of the four were dead. Only Ylva was still alive. As far as Calle knew, anyway. Maybe he should interview her? Under the headline:
She wouldn’t have many friends left after an article like that.
On the other hand, it touched everyone. Who didn’t know someone who’d died prematurely? Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea. A series of articles about people who had died young and left family and friends bereft and mourning. What would it be called?
Out of the Blue. No, no, no. It needed to be something poignant. She Danced One Summer? Perhaps not. So a Day Passes, Never to Return? A Moment in Time? The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh? In Your Shadow? Garden of Remembrance? Left Behind? The Days are Numbered? Seize the Day? It Happened Suddenly …?
Shit, come on.
Then the Game Was Over.
Calle mumbled the words to himself. Sounded good. Fatalistic, but still positive.
Then the Game Was Over.
Totally fucking perfect.
*
Future with no hope
A woman who succeeds in escaping from her captor has only a small chance of returning to her old life. It is of little consequence that she was forced into the situation; in most societies, it is still thought the woman has no one but herself to blame. She has brought dishonour on her family and often only a handful of her family and friends will be prepared to make the sacrifice needed to embrace someone who is a social outcast. As a result, the woman nearly always returns to her captor.
There was a world outside, and the only thing that separated Ylva from it was the cellar walls. She tried to remind herself of that, to recall the feeling she had had at first, before all her ambitions were thwarted. When she still imagined it was possible to escape. When she still tried to think logically.
Before she understood the price of her futile attempts, and the blows and threats had made her shrivel and accept. Her situation and who she was.
To clean the house.
The thought of being allowed up and being able to feel the sunlight had aroused something in her.
In her dreams, she jumped out of the window and ran across the grass to her own house and …
She never got any further. Her mind refused to dream on. Presumably it was trying to spare her the pain.
To clean the house.
They would never let her. It was just another way to torment her, a promise they waved in front of her eyes. They would snatch it away at the last minute. Just as they had done before.
Ylva looked around, thought about what was at risk, everything she had worked for.
The TV screen that gave her an eye on the world, food, water, electricity. Books to read.
The only thing they demanded of her was obedience. Otherwise, she was her own boss. The fact that Gosta took her body a couple of times a month didn’t bother her any more. His pleasure showed that she was good. As long as Gosta wanted her, she was safe. As long as Gosta came back for more, she would be kept alive.
If that was what she wanted.
In her darkest moments, she thought about the rope. That was what Gosta and Marianne expected from her in the end. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.
But Ylva wasn’t there yet. And Gosta’s half-promise about letting her up to clean the house had kindled a spark. She could almost visualise it. How, under supervision of course, she would go round with a vacuum cleaner and be blinded by the light that poured in through all the windows. Filled with colours and sounds from outside. Even in her dreams, Ylva felt overwhelmed.
She knew every nook and cranny of the cellar, every unevenness in the brickwork was etched in her mind. The cellar was her security.
Gosta seldom hit her. He only had to raise his hand. Ylva understood that he did it because it was necessary. To remind her who was in charge.
Marianne was worse, disdainful and patronising.
Sometimes Ylva fantasised that Marianne would die. That it was just her and Gosta. She wished the plague on Marianne, that she would suffer, not a sudden accident. It would give her great pleasure if it was drawn out.
‘You have to know your place,’ Marianne said time and again.
‘Don’t forget what you are. An outlet for my husband’s bodily fluids. Nothing more.’
The last time she was down in the cellar, she had grinned.
‘I think you’re dreaming about your old life. Yes. I do believe you are. That just shows how stupid you are. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? If you were only half as ugly, it would be bad enough. I’m trying to come up with a word to describe what you are, but I can’t. No, wait, I know. Spent. There you go. You’re spent. Finished. You should think about the rope.’
Ylva tried to remind herself of something she’d heard Christians say. That you chose to believe.
She didn’t believe. Not in the possibility of escape, nor that her old life was waiting for her outside.
To clean the house.
To be allowed to leave the cellar, if only occasionally. The thought made her giddy. It was almost impossible to take in.
Ylva’s stomach was in upheaval.
She wished that Gosta hadn’t said anything, not fed her that false hope.
Sanna watched them, as if she knew that Nour was a threat to her and Mike’s world. But it was confusing for her, because she liked Nour and didn’t know how to deal with the fact that her daddy also seemed to like her.
Sanna and Nour played badminton while Mike tended to the barbecue. Nothing to worry about. It was different later, when all three of them went to Hamnplan in the car to swim. Sanna insisted on sitting in the front as normal.
Mike said that the front seat was actually meant for adults, but Nour quickly and deftly managed to smooth feathers by jumping in the back.
Once they were in the water, Sanna showed all her tricks to Nour. She dived between her father’s legs,
