‘Well?’ he said, as soon as Mike came into the room. ‘Who is she, the woman you were holding hands with?’
Mike felt almost bashful.
‘Nour,’ he said. ‘One of Ylva’s old workmates. We ran into each other by accident, had a coffee. Then she came to dinner, and, well …’
‘And, well …’ Gosta prompted, with arched eyebrows.
Mike smiled in response.
‘Congratulations,’ Gosta said. ‘You deserve it. You see: life returns.’
‘Yes, it does,’ Mike said.
Gosta moved a piece of paper on his desk, put it on top of some other papers.
‘So,’ he said, with a friendly smile, folding his hands. ‘What do you want to talk about today? Butterflies in your tummy?’
Mike laughed.
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘It’s that obvious.’
‘I never thought I’d feel like this again.’
‘Life is strange.’
‘I’m almost scared that it will pass,’ Mike said. ‘And it always does.’
‘It can pass on into something else.’
‘Yes, of course. And that’s how it feels.’
‘Well, there you go then. Nothing to talk about.’
‘I don’t think I felt like this even with Ylva.’
‘Really?’
‘Not this natural high, being in love.’
‘What does Sanna think about it?’
Mike laughed and then looked at Gosta, serious again.
‘You’re amazing,’ he said. ‘You always put your finger on it. She was a bit wary at first. But that’s so often the way with change. I think that’s a very human trait, to be wary of change. Things are better now, though. The other night she even came in and lay between us in the bed. Almost like a family again.’
Gosta and Marianne were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and looking out of the window. They had both read the newspaper that lay on the table between them.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It seems … I don’t know.’
He looked at his wife.
‘You think that we should carry on living like this?’ she said.
Now it was Gosta’s turn not to say anything. Not for tactical reasons, but because he couldn’t. He couldn’t live up to his wife’s expectations.
‘You like it,’ she said, full of reproach.
‘I don’t.’
‘Yes, you like it. And what’s worse, she likes it. The little cunt thinks you’re a couple, you and her. I don’t think she’s ever going to commit suicide. You should rape her, not satisfy your own needs.’
Gosta shook his head.
‘Stop it,’ he said.
‘Stop it?’
She glared at him. ‘She’s going the same way as Annika. Have you forgotten that? She’ll take her own life. And if she doesn’t do it of her own accord, then we’ll have to help her fit the noose.’
Gosta sat in silence. Marianne looked up at the ceiling and breathed deeply until she was calm again.
‘How long do you intend to keep this up?’ she asked, eventually. ‘It won’t work, you must realise that. It’s a miracle that it’s worked until now. You can’t blame me for thinking that you’re drawing it out for your own sake.’
‘Stop!’
Gosta slapped his hand on the table, but it was a feeble gesture. Marianne chose not to remark on it, and instead waited for him to speak.
‘I want the same as you,’ he said. ‘I just don’t see how. Practically, I mean.’
Marianne shrugged.
‘A tiled bathroom,’ she said.
Gosta took a deep breath and stared out of the window. Marianne studied him. He looked out of sorts.
‘Good God,’ she said. ‘This is hardly the time to be lily-livered.’
She stood up, and took the coffee cups over to the sink.
44
Ylva was so close to the screen that the picture was fuzzy. She took half a step back and refocused.
Nour was at home with Mike. She was playing badminton with Sanna, without a net. Their enthusiasm was greater than their skill.
Nour was wearing shorts and a bikini top, not the clothes she’d had on when she arrived. Sanna was relaxed and happy, Nour playful and lively. At home, and yet not.
The relationship with Mike was blossoming. Nour was starting to take her place.
There was a knock at the door.
Ylva hurried over to where she had to stand, put her hands on her head, pouted and pulled back her elbows to push out her bust, like he said she should.
She was made up and ready, in her underwear and high heels. It was an arranged visit and Gosta Lundin had told her what he wanted.
He closed the door behind him, placed a bag of food on the worktop, then came over to her. He gestured for her to get down on her knees and she instantly obeyed.
She moaned in anticipation as if she wanted him to fill her. He undid his belt and unzipped the fly.
She took his penis and put it in her mouth, then splayed her painted nails like a porn star. He was quick to harden. She looked up and saw his disdainful expression. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back and forth.
‘Play with your pussy, I want you wet.’
She put her hand down her knickers, touched herself, felt the lubricant she had rubbed on and moaned as she had learned.
Afterwards, he noticed she was interested in what was going on on the screen. He wondered whether she still imagined, hoped, planned.
‘Your husband has been coming to see me,’ he said.
Ylva stared at him.
‘For several months now. Some crazy woman at a party accused him of being responsible for your disappearance. Claimed that everyone else thought the same, that he was involved.’
Gosta laughed.
‘Funny. He could cope with you disappearing, but not with innocent accusations and gossip.’
The new information made Ylva’s head spin. It was the same horrid feeling she’d had when Marianne told her that she’d bought May flowers from Sanna. Mike was Gosta’s patient, he discussed his innermost feelings with him, opened himself to the man who was holding her prisoner and who had raped her systematically and ritually for over a year. Ylva was not the only victim. Gosta and Marianne’s abuse had spilled over on to her family.
