the children’s. Her eyelashes cast long shadows across her cheeks. She was breathing deeply and evenly.
His eyes roamed across her hard body, edgy and muscular and powerful.
Sophia Grenborg was so white and soft, she whimpered all the while they made love.
Suddenly he was overcome with an unexpected feeling of complete and utter shame. It made him feel sick. He backed out of the room, leaving her there, lying across the bed without a cover.
He sat at the kitchen table, resting his elbows on his knees, and ran his fingers through his hair.
He sighed deeply, unable to escape.
He knew he would have to lie next to her, unable to sleep, listening to her breathing and longing for hair that smelled of apples and the traces of menthol cigarettes.
He stood up in the dark, confused, knocking his hip against the sink. Surely he wasn’t longing to get away?
Or was he?
A sticky little hand patted Annika on the cheek.
‘Mummy? Bye bye, Mummy.’
She blinked at the light, not sure for a moment where she was. She realized a second or so later that she had fallen asleep with half her clothes on. She looked up and saw Ellen leaning over her with limp pigtails and peanut butter round her mouth.
A broad grin broke out inside her.
‘Hello, darling.’
‘I’m going to stay at home today.’
Annika stroked her daughter’s cheek, cleared her throat and smiled. ‘I don’t think so. I’ll pick you up after lunch,’ she said, struggling up by straining her stomach muscles and kissing the girl on the mouth, licking at the peanut butter.
‘Before lunch.’
‘It’s Friday, so there’ll be ice-cream today.’
The girl pondered this. ‘After,’ she said finally, and ran out.
Thomas looked in through the door, his usual, normal face with its tired morning eyes and hair sticking out.
‘How are you feeling?’
She smiled at him, shut her eyes and stretched like a cat.
‘Okay, I think.’
‘We’re off now.’
When she opened her eyes he was gone.
Today she didn’t wait for the silence. She was in the shower before the front door had closed behind them. She washed her hair, put on a facepack, trimmed her split ends and massaged her legs with cream. She put on mascara and filed her nails smooth, and picked out a clean bra. She made coffee and a sandwich that she knew she would have trouble eating.
Then she sat at the kitchen table and felt the anxiety rush towards her, rolling out of the corners like dark clouds of smoke and poison gas, and she fled, leaving the coffee and sandwich and an unopened yogurt on the table.
Outside the snow had stopped, but the sky was still solid grey. Hard shards of ice were being blown about in the wind, along the streets and pavements, catching on her face and hair. She couldn’t make out any colours; the world had turned black and white, the sharp stone twisting in her chest.
Sophia Grenborg. Grev Turegatan.
She knew where that was. Christina Furhage used to live there. Without thinking, she started walking.
The facade was honey yellow and heavy with plaster embellishments, icicles hanging from the extremities, the glass of the bay windows shimmering unevenly, the door carved and dark brown.
Her feet and ears were freezing. She stamped the ground and adjusted her scarf better.
The intercom was the modern sort that didn’t give away where in the building people lived. She stepped back and looked up at the facade, as though she’d be able to work out where Sophia Grenborg’s flat was. The snow blew into her eyes, making them water.
She crossed the street and stood in the doorway opposite, pulled out her mobile and dialled directory inquiries, then asked for Sophia Grenborg’s number, Grev Turegatan, and was put through. If Sophia had a caller-display phone then her number wouldn’t show, only the number for directory inquiries.
The phone rang. Annika stared at the building. Somewhere in there it was ringing and ringing, a telephone beside a bed where her husband had been last night.
After the fifth ring an answerphone clicked in. Annika held her breath, listening to the woman’s happy, breezy voice. ‘Hello, you’ve reached Sophia, I can’t take your call right now, but-’
Annika hung up, the breezy voice ringing in her ears, the stone in her chest starting to glow and spit.
She went back to the door, pressed one name after the other until an old lady finally answered.
‘Electricity,’ Annika said. ‘We need to read the meter in the basement, can you let us in?’
The lock buzzed and she pushed the door open on well-oiled hinges.
The stairwell was all gold and black marble, wooden panels of heavily polished oak reflecting the light from bronze lamps. A thick dark-blue carpet swallowed all sound.
Annika ran a finger along the beautiful grain of the dado rail as she walked towards the list of occupants beside the lift.
Sophia Grenborg’s name was listed in splendid isolation for the sixth floor.
Slowly she started to climb the stairs all the way up to the attic floor, soundlessly, slightly giddy.
Sophia’s front door was more modern than the others in the building – white and minimalistic.
Annika stared at the brushed bronze nameplate, her feet wide apart, anchored to the marble. Her chest rose and sank, the stone tore and pulled. Then she took out her mobile again and dialled directory inquiries again, this time asking for the number of the Federation of County Councils.
‘Sophia Grenborg, please,’ she said.
The voice that answered sounded just as breezy as it had on the answer machine.
‘My name’s Sara, and I’m calling from the journal
Sophia Grenborg laughed, a light, tinkling sound. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I suppose so…’
‘What would you like for Christmas?’ Annika said, running the palm of her hand over Sophia’s front door.
The woman at the other end laughed again. ‘A kiss from my beloved,’ she said, ‘although some bath salts would be good, too.’
Everything went black before Annika’s eyes, a dark sheet drifting past through her brain.
‘Beloved?’ she said in a flat voice. ‘Would that be your husband?’
More laughter. ‘He’s a bit of a secret at the moment.
Annika closed her eyes and ran a hand over her forehead, the stairwell was starting to tilt, a sucking wave shifting from wall to wall.
‘Sorry, what?’
‘The questionnaire! Will it be out before Christmas?’
She was forced to crouch down, leaning her back against the door.
‘We don’t quite know how much space we’ve got, it depends on adverts.’ Did
The line fell silent. Annika could hear Sophia Grenborg breathing, listened to the other woman’s rhythmic intake of air.
