champagne spill slowly down his balls.
She filled her mouth with what was left in the glass and pulled his chinos down. He let her because he didn’t want to get them wet. He stepped out of his trousers and underpants and even let her take off his socks.
She put the clothes in a pile on the bed and took him in her mouth again. The bubbles ran out of her mouth and down the inside of his thigh as she eagerly held up her glass for more, without taking him out of her mouth. He filled the glass, and then continued to pour directly from the bottle, over her face and the base of his cock.
The floor was starting to get wet and Gosta was standing in a puddle. Ylva’s plan was working. Champagne was as good as water. The important thing was that it was wet.
Ylva looked up at him and saw that he was looking at her as if she was a whore he had paid for and could do what he liked with. It was an expression she knew only too well and it was always a precursor to sexual violence.
Ylva filled her mouth again. She put down the glass and clasped her hands behind her back. He grabbed hold of her ponytail and pushed himself in even further. Ylva felt a gagging reflex but pretended to be loving it.
She had the flex in her hands behind her back. As soon as he let go of the ponytail, as soon as he let go …
56
The ringing of the phone was a welcome distraction. The off-key notes of the recorder were playing on a loop in the sitting room and Mike didn’t have the heart to tell his daughter to stop.
The display read
‘Hi,’ he said in a soft voice.
‘Er, hello,’ said the surprised voice on the other end. ‘My name is Jorgen Petersson. I’d like to speak to Michael Zetterberg.’
‘Speaking,’ said Mike, with more authority.
‘Am I calling at a bad time?’
‘No, no, not at all, but I don’t buy things over the phone.’
‘That’s not why I’m calling,’ Jorgen said.
Mike felt his stomach knot in an instant.
‘I want you to listen,’ Jorgen told him, ‘and please don’t hang up until you’ve heard what I have to say.’
Mike sank down on a chair.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.
‘I went to Brevik School with your wife,’ Jorgen explained.
‘My wife is missing,’ Mike said in a sharp voice. ‘Why won’t you leave me alone?’
‘Just one question,’ Jorgen continued. ‘What has Ylva said about Gosta and Marianne Lundin?’
Mike didn’t understand.
‘Gosta and Marianne Lundin had a daughter, who also went to school with us,’ Petersson continued. ‘She committed suicide. The guys that Ylva went around with at school are all dead. I think there’s a connection. I think your wife, in some way, had something to do with Annika’s suicide – that is, I think Gosta and Marianne Lundin hold her responsible for Annika’s death. Michael, are you there? Michael …?’
Gosta let go of her ponytail. Ylva pulled back her head and slipped the flex from behind. She put the stripped wires on his shiny cock and flicked the switch.
A flame flared, there was a muffled pop and everything went dark.
Ylva didn’t know what she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t that the fuse would blow.
‘Jesus fucking damn bugger shit!’
His voice was fraught with pain and Ylva heard him sink to the floor with his back against the wall. He was breathing in great gasps and she could smell burned flesh.
‘I’m going to fucking kill you, you fucking whore.’
She fumbled under the mattress for the fork, grabbed it and started to stab at his face. The first time he managed to stop her, the second time the fork sunk into the cartilage of his cheek.
Ylva leapt up on to the bed, pulled his trousers over and dug into the pockets for the keys.
‘I’m not a whore,’ she screamed, kicking her leg into the black air where she guessed he was slumped. ‘I’m the mother who jumps into the water. Do you hear me, you perverted bastard? I’m the mother who jumps into the water.’
She found the keys and ran to the door. Her hands were shaking and she couldn’t get the key in the lock. She heard him heave himself to his feet with great effort. She wasn’t going to manage in time.
‘I’m going to wring your neck, d’you hear?’
He struggled slowly towards her. The knife and scissors were on the worktop. She hesitated. Door or knife?
She took two steps over to the kitchenette, grabbed the knife and held it out in front of her in the dark. The keys in her right hand, the knife in the left. It felt wrong. The knife should be in the right hand. She had no strength or coordination in her left hand.
She could hear his breathing, his rattling laugh. There was no chance she’d make it to the door. He was on his feet and he was stronger.
‘Getting closer,’ he said. ‘This will end how it always ends. You can’t hide.’
She stood by the worktop, trying to breathe silently. He was only a couple of metres away. He was standing still, now, listening, just like her.
‘Are you hiding in the kitchen? That’s not a good place to hide. The kitchen’s narrow and pokey, there’s barely any room there at all.’
He took two steps towards her.
‘Have I fucked you in the kitchen? I think I’ll do that – fuck you in the kitchen. I’m going to fuck you in the kitchen with a broken bottle, d’you hear?’
A couple of metres separated them. She waited, held her breath. She had to change hands, get the knife in her right hand. But it was impossible to do it without making a noise and giving away where she was. She’d only have one chance, and it was important that the knife went in deep so he couldn’t come after her.
She crouched down. Her joints creaked faintly.
‘Well, well, well. Old creaky knees, eh? So you’re in the kitchen, just as I thought. Waiting for me to come and get you. To fuck you just the way you like it.’
He shuffled nearer. She felt his presence up close. Something swept over her head and the champagne bottle smashed against the wall behind her.
She threw the keys over towards the door to make a distracting noise, switched the knife to her right hand and propelled herself up. The knife sunk into his torso. She pulled it out and stabbed again.
‘All the way in,’ she screamed. ‘How does that feel? All the way in.’
She pushed the knife in a third time and left it there. He collapsed on the floor.
Ylva was on her feet, staggering to the door, feeling around on the floor, finding the keys. Her hands were steady. She put the key in the lock and turned it.
