Betrayal (9 page)

Way too young.

The barman came over to her.

‘A pear cider, please.’

He ducked down and stood up again with a bottle in his hand. With his other hand he reached for a glass from the rack above their heads.

‘That’ll be forty-eight kronor.’

She already had her hand around her purse in her handbag. And then came the surprising question.

‘May I buy that for you?’

At first she didn’t realise that he was talking to her. Surprised, she looked at the man standing at the bar nearby. Maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven, grey jacket, blond hair combed back, looked pretty good.

Why not?

‘Certainly.’

For a second she thought he might be kidding, because he just stood there smiling at her. Then he took his wallet out of an inside pocket.

‘Thank you. I’ll have the same.’

He placed a hundred-krona note on the bar and the barman took down another glass. She was smiling to herself. He had to be more than ten years younger than her, so she obviously had a little sex appeal left.

She wondered what they were doing at home. Whether Axel had gone to bed. She pushed away the thought and tried to smile.

‘I’m the one who should be saying thanks.’

He raised his glass to her.

‘No, that’s not true, I should say it. Cheers, then.’

‘Cheers.’

‘And welcome.’

There was something about his eyes. His gaze was so penetrating that she was almost embarrassed. As if he were looking right into her, could read all her thoughts, and she had no intention of sharing them with anyone. For an instant she regretted letting him buy her a drink. Now she would have to stay here, and she had other plans for the evening. The faster she finished her drink the better. She took two deep swallows.

‘My name is Jonas.’

She drank a bit more. All her thoughts were occupied with the hatred she felt. She couldn’t sit here chatting as if everything were normal.

‘There you see.’

Soon she had finished the drink.

‘I don’t usually buy cider for strange women, if that’s what you think. But I wanted to buy one for you.’

‘Is that so? Why me in particular?’

He stood looking at her in silence.

‘What’s your name?’

He gave her that smile again. Utterly disarming. And then those eyes that went right through her, as if he really wanted to see into her. But her hatred was her own, he mustn’t see it, no one could see it. If anyone should see her shameful hatred, it would make her weak. She had to learn to act normal, otherwise she would never be able to carry out her plan.

She took another swallow.

Good Lord, he had to be at least ten years younger than she was. Quite harmless. He would be good to practise on. For a while he had made her forget that she was the one in control. His undisguised interest had made her uncertain, but that was actually her goal for the evening. He was standing right in front of her and offering her everything she had come here to find. She suddenly regarded him with new interest. He wanted her even though she was at least ten years older. Could she ask for better proof?

She smiled again.

‘My name is Linda.’

She was astounded to hear her own lie. And how easy it was to deliver it. Actually it wasn’t even a lie. It wasn’t talented Eva who was standing at the bar, it was some other woman. A woman who had put aside everything she believed in and without the slightest pang of conscience was scheming to achieve her goal and take what she wanted even if it actually belonged to someone else.

To a Linda.

‘Hi, Linda. Would you like another cider?’

She saw to her dismay that the glass was empty. In the next moment she was aware of her intoxication. Everything suddenly far away, only the moment was present. A restful moment in which nothing really mattered very much. Nothing to gain, nothing to lose. She had the whole night ahead of her.

‘Sure. Why not?’

He looked pleased and called over the barman.

‘Can we get another round?’

She got her glass and they sat on their bar stools, he with his knees touching her and she with her arms
resting on the bar. The barman changed the tape and took a few dance steps when the intro to an old Earth, Wind and Fire song poured out of the loudspeakers. She couldn’t remember what it was called. But they used to play it at parties in high school.

They sat in silence for a while. She wasn’t sure that she felt like staying, but she should at least give him a chance. He was just as good as any other man. She took another sip of cider and looked around. More patrons had arrived. A group of middle-aged Englishmen came in the door. In the mirror behind the bar she could see between the bottles that the man named Jonas was still watching her.

‘May I pay you a compliment?’

She turned her head and met his intense gaze. It made her want to stay and enjoy his unfeigned admiration.

‘Sure, be my guest.’

‘This might sound silly, but I think I’ll say it anyway.’

Suddenly he seemed embarrassed and glanced away for a few seconds before he looked at her again.

‘Do you know that you’re the only person in here who looks really alive?’

She laughed and took another sip.

‘Oh no, that’s a good one. I haven’t heard that one before.’

He was serious now. Just sat silently and looked at her.

She waved her hand in an attempt to make light of his seriousness.

‘I think they all look fairly alive. They’re moving, at least.’

A hint of irritation. A crease between his dark eyebrows.

‘You can make a joke about it if you like, but I meant what I said. It was intended as a compliment. You have a kind of sad look in your eyes, but it’s obvious that you have a heart that really knows how to love.’

His words pierced the soothing calm.

A heart that really knows how to love. Ha!

Her heart was as black as a windowless cellar. No love would ever be able to survive in there any more. But right now she was sitting in a bar in Gamla Stan, she and this Jonas who talked like a bad poet and was ten years younger but who looked at her with a desire that she couldn’t recall ever experiencing. She felt a sudden longing that he would touch her, lose control and let loose all the desire she could see in his eyes. Prove that he couldn’t resist her. That she was worth loving.

The alcohol gave her the courage she needed.

She turned towards him and met his eyes before she placed her hand over his on the bar.

‘Is it far to your place?’

H
e lay utterly still, couldn’t move, as if split in two. One half filled with a satisfaction and an anticipation that he didn’t think it was possible to feel. Everything he had ever dreamed of.

Ten hours earlier he hadn’t even known that she existed and, now, in the short time he had known her, she had given him everything he could ever have desired. Trembling she had given herself to him, offered him her most sensitive places. The trust she showed had opened his mind wide, all was tenderness, an explosion when the loneliness cracked open.

And then the calm she created. Her confident hands over his skin covered him with a protective layer, purified him, set him free. All the desire that had so long chafed inside him had burst out and flowed into her. The emptiness was gone.

But then the devastating knowledge that he had no right to feel this way.

The other half contained the guilt.

Now it was proven. In a swift descent he had become a deceiver and a cheat. He had let Anna lie alone while he gave himself to another woman. Poured out all the desire he had been saving so long for her. That she should have received.

He was no better than his father.

* * *

She was gone when he woke up. Only a brown hair on the pillow proved that she had really been there. The hair, and the sated hunger of his skin.

They hadn’t said a word to each other. Their hands and bodies had told all they needed to know.

He sat up and was aware of the cold in the room. He had forgotten to turn on the heater when they came home. He wondered if she had felt cold. He turned the thermostat all the way up in the living room and the kitchen and went into the bathroom. The light was on and the blue-edged hand towel was tossed on the floor. He felt a slight pang of distaste but it couldn’t reach him. Her touch lay like a shield around him, an impenetrable armour, it couldn’t reach him any longer.

He hung up the towel and turned on the water in the bathtub, waited until it was half full and then climbed in. The hot water reminded him of her hands and he could feel his desire rise again. So many years he had forbidden himself to give in. Now he could no longer resist the urge, not even now after she had just left. What had she succeeded in waking inside him?

He sat down and leaned back. The memory of her nakedness was like a lifelong gift. He could see her before him. How she had closed her eyes and abandoned herself to the pleasure he could give her.

Her hands. Her lips. The taste of her. Her skin against his, united, no beginning, no end.

How could he have resisted her? She was everything he dreamed of. A vibrant woman who wanted to have him, take hold of him, love him. Made him
reach a pleasure he didn’t think was possible. What terrible god could possibly demand that he say no?

He got up, climbed out of the bathtub and dried himself with the blue-edged hand towel. The one she must have just used. Suddenly he felt like crying. How could he touch Anna now that his hands were full to the brim with another woman?

With Linda.

He hardly dared think of her name. Anna would discover what had happened. She would feel the betrayal, that he hadn’t managed to keep his promise.

And what would he say when Linda called? She hadn’t asked for his phone number, but she knew where he lived. He was here in the bathroom, but all his desire was with her.

He sat down on the toilet seat and put his head in his hands.

No matter what he did, he would have to betray one of them.

He had to go to the hospital. Right now, he had to drive over to see Anna and confess what he had done. He had to win her forgiveness. Without it he could not survive.

The telephone rang. He looked at his watch. Ten past seven. Naked he went back into the living room. It must be her. Who else would call this early? She must have called enquiries to get his phone number. What should he say? And how could he resist answering and hearing her voice?

The most fantastic thing was that he could answer after five rings. It couldn’t affect him any more. His
whole body smiled with this realisation when he picked up the receiver and answered.

‘Hi, this is Jonas.’

‘Jonas, this is Björn Sahlstedt at Karolinska Hospital. It’s probably best if you come over. Right away.’

W
hen she came out the front door of the building it was ten after four in the morning, and she didn’t know where she was. The taxi had driven south from Gamla Stan and took a right at Gullmarsplan, she remembered that, but then she had lost her bearings. She turned around. To the right of the entrance hall she had just come out of there was a street sign on the wall, and she took a few steps closer so she could read it in the dark. Storsjövägen. She was in a dead end, and she started walking down the street. The façades of the buildings were dark with shiny black windowpanes. Only a few lights were on.

She was grateful that he didn’t wake up when she got out of bed. For about an hour she lay still, pretending she was asleep, until his regular breathing assured her that he was sleeping. Only then did she dare open her eyes. A bed-sit, strangely empty of objects. Maybe he was just living there temporarily. Only the walls belied this idea. A great number of oil paintings of various sizes, all with colourful abstract patterns, covered almost every square centimetre.

He had fallen asleep with his lips against her left shoulder. It was noticeably cold in the flat. Carefully, so that he wouldn’t wake up, she drew away from him, got up and rummaged on the floor for her clothes.

In his bathroom mirror she saw a woman who was a stranger. A woman who had seduced a twenty-five-year-old, gone home with him to his flat and to bed. She still could not decide whether it had had the effect on her that she had imagined.

Everything seemed shut down inside her.

On the way up the stairs to his flat she became nervous. The courage of intoxication had vanished and for a moment she wanted to leave. But then she envisaged Henrik and Linda together and it made her feet continue through the door of the flat. As soon as she entered the hallway she pressed herself against him, just to conceal her inner imbalance, and his desire was so strong that they scarcely managed to get their clothes off. His frantic hands had fumbled over her body, and it occurred to her that perhaps he was a virgin, but she did her best to instil self-confidence in him, pretending to enjoy his clumsy attempts.

The street ended at an intersection, and she took out her mobile and rang for a taxi.

His name was Jonas and Hansson was the name on his door. That was all she knew, and she had no interest in knowing more. He had done his part and she had done hers.

It was like a void inside her, an inability to be touched. The only man who had touched her in fifteen years was Henrik, and now she had given herself to a total stranger.

And she couldn’t care less.

There was a light on in the entrance hall when she
came home. She took out her purse, took out her wedding ring and slipped it back on her finger. As quietly as she could she hung up her coat and went into the kitchen. Everything was quiet. Axel’s plate was still on the table, and she could see that they had eaten spaghetti with meat sauce. A completely normal dinner. Henrik’s mobile lay on the kitchen counter. Not a single message. The call list showed no numbers, either received or called; it must have been erased. He thought he was smart, that bastard.

She went into Axel’s room. The moon-shaped night-light was on and the floor was covered with toys, but the bed was empty as usual. She sat down on the floor. An Action Man lay next to her on the carpet, with arms and legs stiffly extended. It lay there abandoned by his defenceless little hands – powerless to stop his life coming apart.