She decided to walk home, despite the cold and the dark, despite her empty head. Her legs were aching; they always did when she was exhausted. A brisk walk was the best remedy, then she wouldn't have to take a painkiller when she got home. She quickly put on her coat and pulled the hat over her ears before she had time to change her mind.
'I'm on my cellphone,' was all she said to Jansson on her way out. He waved to her without looking up from the phone.
The temperature had really shifted up and down today; now it was just below freezing again and large snowflakes were slowly falling. They were nearly hanging still in the air, wavering back and forth on their way to the ground. The snow wrapped all sounds and deadened them. Annika didn't hear the 57 bus until it drove past right next to her.
She took the stairs down to the Ralambshov Park. The path across the wide lawn was muddy and cut up by prams and bicycles; she slipped and nearly fell, swearing to herself. A startled hare leapt away from her into the shadows. Amazing that there were so many animals in the middle of the city. Once Thomas had been chased by a badger on their own street on his way home from the pub. She laughed out loud in the dark at the memory.
The wind was stronger here than up among the buildings, so she pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. The snowflakes were wilder and wet her hair. She hadn't seen her kids all day. She hadn't called back since the morning; it would only have been painful. Usually she felt okay working in the week, since all the kids in Sweden were at daycare centers then and her conscience could rest. But on a Saturday like today, the last one before Christmas, you were supposed to be at home making toffee and baking saffron buns. Annika sighed, and the snowflakes whirled around her. The problem was that when she did organize a baking session or some other big activity it was never much fun. At first both children thought it was great and would quarrel about who would stand next to her. By the time they'd fought over the dough and messed up the whole kitchen, her patience would be giving out. It would be worse if she'd had a hard time at work; she'd end up blowing her top. It had ended that way on more occasions than she cared to think of. The kids would sulk in front of the TV, while she finished the baking at lightning speed. Then Thomas would put them to bed while she cleaned the kitchen. She let out another sigh. Maybe this time it would have been different. No one would have burned their fingers on the sticky toffee and they could all have eaten freshly baked saffron buns together in front of the fire.
When she reached the footpath along the water by Norr Malarstrand, she quickened her pace. The pain in her legs was already easing and she was forcing herself to keep a steady, resolute stride. Her breathing increased and the heart found a new, more intense rhythm.
She used to think it was more fun to be at work than to be at home. As a reporter she would see quick results, get everyone's appreciation, and have a picture byline several times a week. She had full command of her beat and knew exactly what was expected of her in different situations; she could swing things and make demands. At home the demands were more numerous, harder, and less explicit. She was never sufficiently happy, horny, calm, efficient, parental, or rested. The apartment was always more or less in a mess, the laundry basket always on the verge of overflowing. Thomas was very good with the kids, almost better than she was, but he never, ever wiped the cooker or the worktop, hardly ever put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and always left clothes and unopened letters lying in mounds on the bedroom floor. It was as if he thought the dirty dishes found their own way into the dishwasher and the bills paid themselves.
But it wasn't as much fun to go to work anymore, not for the past eight weeks since she became an editor. She hadn't had the faintest idea of how strong the reactions to her promotion would be. The decision hadn't even been particularly controversial. In practice she'd been running the crime desk alongside her job as a reporter for the past year. Now she was paid for it; that's how she saw it. But Nils Langeby had hit the roof, of course. He considered the job his. He was 53, Annika only 32. She had also been astounded by how people felt they had a right to openly discuss her and criticize her over all kinds of matters. Suddenly people would comment and question her dress, something they'd never done before. They would say things about her character and abilities that were completely insulting. She hadn't realized that she became public property when she put on the editor's hat. Now she knew.
She quickened her pace further. She longed to be at home. She looked up at the houses on the other side of the street. The windows gave out a warm, welcoming glow over the water. Nearly all of them were decorated with Christmas lights or Christmas candelabra. It looked beautiful and safe. She left the bank and turned into John Erics-sonsgatan, up toward Hantverkargatan.
The apartment was quiet and dark. Carefully she wriggled out of her boots and coat and tiptoed into the children's room. They were sleeping in their little pajamas, Ellen's with Barbie on them and Kalle's with Batman. She sniffed them slightly, as Ellen moved in her sleep.
Thomas was in bed but not yet asleep. A reading lamp cast a discreet light over his side of the bed. He was reading
'Exhausted?' he asked, after she had pulled off her clothes and kissed him on his hair.
'So-so,' she answered from inside the walk-in closet where she was pushing her clothes into the laundry basket. 'This explosion has turned into a nasty business.'
She was naked when she came out of the closet and crept in beside him.
'You're freezing cold,' he said.
All of a sudden Annika noticed how cold her thighs were. 'I walked home.'
'The paper didn't pay for a taxi? You've worked for twenty hours, a whole Saturday!'
A feeling of irritation immediately hit her. 'Of course the paper would have paid for a taxi. I wanted to walk.' She was almost shouting. 'Don't be so bloody critical!'
He put the magazine on the floor and switched off the lamp, demonstratively turning his back.
Annika sighed. 'Come on, Thomas, don't sulk.'
'You're away the whole Saturday and then, when you finally come home, you swear and shout at me,' he said wearily. 'Are we just here to take shit from you?'
She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, tears of fatigue and inadequacy. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'I didn't mean to fly off the handle at you. It's just that they're at me all day at work, and it's really hard. And then I feel guilty for not being at home with you and the kids. I'm so scared you'll think I'm letting you down, but the paper won't allow me to let them down, and so I'm caught in the middle of some crossfire…'
She started crying for real now. She could hear him sighing on the other side of his back. After a few moments, he turned around and took her in his arms.
'There, there, damn it. Come on, darling, you'll be all right. You're better than the whole lot of them… Shit, you're cold as ice! I hope you don't catch cold, just before Christmas.'
She laughed through her tears and cuddled up in his arms. Silence fell over them in a warm and safe mutual understanding. She leaned her head back onto her pillow and blinked. Up there in the dark, the ceiling was floating. Suddenly she remembered the image from the morning and the dream she was woken up from by the telephone.
'I dreamed of you this morning,' she whispered.
'I hope it was a dirty dream,' he mumbled, half asleep.
She laughed quietly. 'And how! In a space shuttle, no less. And the men from
'They're just envious,' Thomas said and went to sleep.
LOVE
