verge of ruin was pure exaggeration. Most likely Erik merely needed a pretext to get out of the house. But why had he felt compelled to drag Kenneth over here too? The answer was obvious: because he could.
Then they each returned to their respective tasks and worked in silence for a while. The office consisted of one large room, so there was no possibility of closing a door for some privacy. Kenneth cast a surreptitious glance at Erik. There was something different about him. It was hard to pinpoint, but Erik looked somehow less distinct, more worn out. His hair was not as perfectly combed as usual, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled. No, he was not himself today. Kenneth considered asking him if everything was okay at home, but he restrained himself. Instead he said as calmly as he could:
‘Did you see the news about Christian yesterday?’
Erik gave a start. ‘Yes.’
‘How terrible. To be threatened like that by some nutcase,’ said Kenneth, his tone of voice casual, almost easygoing. But his heart was pounding hard.
‘Hmm…’ Erik kept his eyes on the computer screen. But he didn’t touch the keyboard or the mouse.
‘Did Christian mention anything about that to you?’ It was like trying to make himself stop picking at a scab. He didn’t want to talk about this topic, and Erik clearly didn’t want to discuss it either. Yet Kenneth couldn’t stop himself. ‘Did he?’
‘No, he never told me about any sort of threats,’ said Erik, beginning to sort through the documents on his desk. ‘But he’s been really preoccupied with his book, so we haven’t seen much of each other lately. And I suppose most people would prefer to keep something like that to themselves.’
‘Shouldn’t he talk to the police about it?’
‘How do you know that Christian hasn’t already done that?’ Erik continued aimlessly riffling through the piles of documents.
‘True. That’s very true…’ Kenneth subsided into silence for a moment. ‘But what could the police do if the letters were anonymous? I mean, they could have come from any lunatic.’
‘How would I know?’ said Erik, swearing as he got a paper cut. ‘Shit!’ He sucked on the injured finger.
‘Do you think the threats are serious?’
Erik sighed. ‘Why do we have to speculate about all this? I told you, I have no idea.’ His voice rose slightly, quavering on the last words. Kenneth looked at him in surprise. Erik really was not himself. Did it have something to do with the company?
Kenneth had never trusted Erik. Had he done something stupid? He instantly dismissed the idea. He was much too familiar with the firm’s accounts; he would have noticed if Erik had decided to make any crazy moves financially. It was probably something to do with Louise. It was a mystery how those two had managed to stay together for so long. Everyone except Erik and Louise could see that the couple would do themselves a big favour if they said goodbye and went their separate ways. But it wasn’t Kenneth’s place to point this out. He had enough worries of his own.
‘I was just wondering,’ said Kenneth.
He clicked open the Excel file with the latest monthly statements. But his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
The dress still smelled of her. Christian pressed it to his nose, inhaling the microscopic traces of her perfume that were embedded in the fabric. Whenever he fell asleep with the scent in his nostrils, he could picture her quite clearly in his mind. The dark hair that reached to her waist and which she usually wore in a plait or gathered in a bun at the back of her neck. It could have looked old-fashioned or even spinsterish, but not on her.
She had moved like a dancer, although she had abandoned her career as a dancer long ago. She claimed that she hadn’t been ambitious enough. Not because of lack of talent, but she hadn’t had the determination required always to put dance first, to sacrifice love and time and laughter and friends. She had loved life too much.
So she’d stopped dancing. But when they met, and right up until the end, she’d still had the lithe rhythm of a dancer in her body. He could sit and stare at her for hours. Watch her walking around the house, cleaning up and humming while her feet moved so gracefully that she looked like she was floating.
Again he pressed the dress to his face. How refreshing and cool the fabric felt against his feverishly hot skin, catching on the unshaven stubble of his cheek. The last time she had worn the dress was on Midsummer Eve. The blue of the dress had mirrored the colour of her eyes, and the dark plait hanging down her back had gleamed as brightly as the lustrous fabric.
It was a fabulous evening. One of the few Midsummers that had offered glorious sunshine, and they’d sat outside in the yard, eating herring and boiled new potatoes. They had cooked the meal together. The baby was lying in the pram, with the mosquito netting firmly in place so that no insects could get in. The child was well protected.
The baby’s name fluttered past, and he gave a start, as if he’d jabbed his hand on something sharp. He forced himself to think about the frosty beer glasses and the friends who had raised those glasses in a toast, in honour of summer and love and the two of them. He thought about the strawberries that she brought out in a big bowl. Remembered how she had sat at the kitchen table, cleaning them, and how he had teased her because of the mess she’d made and the fact that every third or fourth strawberry had ended up in her mouth instead of in the bowl. The serving bowl that would later be presented to their guests, along with whipped cream topped with a sprinkling of sugar, just the way she’d been taught by her grandmother. She’d responded to his teasing with a laugh, then pulled him close and kissed him with lips that tasted of ripe berries.
He began to sob as he sat there holding the dress in his hands. He couldn’t help it. Little dark spots appeared on the material from his tears, which he quickly wiped away on the sleeve of his shirt, not wanting to soil the dress, refusing to ruin what little he had left.
Christian carefully put the dress back in the suitcase. It was all that remained of them. The only thing he could bear to keep. He closed up the suitcase and pushed it back in the corner. He didn’t want Sanna to find it. His stomach turned over at the mere thought of her opening it, looking inside, and touching the dress. He knew it was wrong, but he had chosen Sanna for only one reason: the fact that she was completely different in appearance. She didn’t have lips that tasted of strawberries, and she didn’t move like a dancer.
But it turned out not to be enough. The past had still caught up with him. Just as malevolently as it had caught up with her, wearing that blue dress. And now he could see no way out.
‘Could you watch Leo for a while?’ Paula was looking at her mother, Rita, but then she cast an even more hopeful glance at Mellberg. Soon after their son’s birth, both she and Johanna had realized that Rita’s new boyfriend was the perfect babysitter. Mellberg was totally incapable of saying no.
‘Well, we were actually about to…’ Rita began, but Mellberg jumped in and said eagerly:
‘No problem. We’ll be happy to take care of the little fellow. The two of you should just go off and do whatever you were planning to do.’
Rita sighed in resignation, but she couldn’t resist casting a look of appreciation at this man – a diamond in the rough, and that was putting it mildly – whom she’d chosen to live with. She knew that many people regarded him as a boor, an unkempt and brash sort of man. But from the very beginning she’d seen other qualities in him, qualities that she as a woman should be able to encourage.
And she was right. Bertil Mellberg treated her like a queen. It was enough for Rita to see him looking at her grandson to know what hidden resources he possessed. His love for the infant was beyond comprehension. The only problem was that she had swiftly been demoted to second place, but she could live with that. Besides, she’d begun making progress with Bertil on the dance floor. He’d never be a salsa king, but she no longer had to make sure to wear shoes with steel toes.
‘If you wouldn’t mind taking care of him on your own for a while, maybe Mamma could come with us. We were thinking of driving out to Torp to buy a few things for Leo’s room.’
‘Hand him over,’ said Bertil enthusiastically, motioning at the baby lying in Paula’s arms. ‘We can manage for a couple of hours. A bottle or two when he gets hungry, and then a little quality time spent with Grandpa Bertil. What more could the boy ask for?’
Paula put her son in Mellberg’s arms. Good lord, what an odd couple those two made. But she couldn’t deny that there was a special connection between them. Even though, in her eyes, Bertil Mellberg was the worst boss she could imagine, he’d shown himself to be the world’s best grandfather.
