The Dangerous Game (4 page)

Markus wanted to use only natural light. He needed daylight for these photos. Nothing else. The photos were for a fashion spread to be published in one of Sweden’s biggest fashion magazines. Jenny was wearing a short checked skirt and a purple top with a wide belt around her waist. Grey tights and purple suede boots that reached to her thighs. She wore a light amount of eye make-up and clear lip gloss. Her hair had been curled to look natural and had then been classically styled.

Jenny was the only model, and everyone was giving her their full attention. Hugo, the stylist, checked every fold of her clothing. He wore a belt that held safety pins, tape and various clips. Maria, the make-up artist, had to stand on tiptoe in order to touch up Jenny’s lip gloss and to dab a bit more powder on her face. Jenny was cheerful and relaxed, happy to let everyone do their jobs, whistling softly and chatting as she stole glances at Markus. He took a few test pictures of her in the room. The purple of her outfit stood out nicely against all the grey.

Then the photo shoot officially got started, and the change in mood was instantly noticeable. There was a different vibe as everybody focused on what the model was doing. Jenny’s eyes took on an intense look as she stared into the cold lens of the camera. She struck various poses and flirted with the camera, sometimes with a trace of a smile and a mocking expression. In between shots the make-up artist and stylist stepped in to powder her face, to push back a strand of hair that was out of place, or to straighten a fold of her skirt. Occasionally, Jenny would hum and dance, clowning around to keep up her energy. She didn’t want to freeze up. Although there was no real risk of that happening with Markus as the photographer. He inspired her. They were a perfect team. With small, delicate movements, she altered her poses, moving her hand from her hip, raising one leg, changing the way she sat on the edge of the leather sofa. The grey, modern furniture, the industrial setting, the high ceiling, the polished floor, the sheepskins, the concrete – everything provided an effective contrast to her tasteful elegance. As soon as the camera began clicking, something changed in her. She lit up from inside, glittering so brightly that sparks practically flew all around her, and the charm she radiated had a strong effect on the rest of the team. Everyone became even more meticulous and finicky about the details, even more anxious for the photos to be as good as possible. The hours flew by. They moved to other rooms, then went out into the forecourt. An old Opel from the fifties was driven into place and Jenny lovingly leaned against it.

She willingly obeyed all the directions that Markus gave her.

THE DOOR OPENS
and she hears the usual hearty voice say, ‘Good morning. Seven o’clock. Time to get up.’ Without looking at her, the nurse comes in, turns on the ceiling light, and opens the curtains. It’s still dark outside, but light shines in from the other buildings, reminding her that she’s in hospital, that she’s not well, that she is not part of normal life in the world. The buildings loom like ominous grey monsters outside her window. The hospital is so big that it even has its own street name in the neighbourhood.

Agnes turns on to her other side. Away from the light, away from reality, evading all reminders that there’s a world out there, a life that’s continuing, a life that she could have been living, but it’s about to run away from her. At least that’s how it feels right now. Even though she’s only sixteen.

This is the worst part of the day. Waking up. All she wants is to stay asleep and not have to wake up to yet another hell. The battle to eat as little as possible and to get rid of as much energy as she can, without the nurses noticing.

She doesn’t know how long she’ll be able to keep doing this.

Agnes wishes that she could stay in bed under the covers, yet she’s painfully aware that she needs to hurry and get up in order to jump at least thirty times in the bathroom before breakfast. Otherwise, it will be unbearable to force down enough yoghurt and toast to satisfy the nurse.

For a moment she wrestles with the dilemma, and then, with a great effort, she sits up and gets out of bed. She sticks her feet in the fleece slippers and casts a glance at her room mate, Linda, who is lying in bed with her back turned. She never says much. Agnes goes out to the corridor and into the bathroom. So far, she’s still one of the lucky few who are allowed to close and lock the door when using the toilet. For some inexplicable reason, they still trust her, even though they think it’s taking a long time for her to gain any weight. They don’t seem to have worked out what she’s been doing.

The bathroom is cramped, with only enough space for a toilet in front of a small sink. There is no window or mirror. After she finishes peeing and washing her hands, she gets started. It’s not easy with so little space. She can’t do her arm exercises in here; that has to wait until the afternoon in the warm room. Here she can only bounce up and down. She pushes off with both feet, jumping straight up, as high as she can manage. After only a few jumps she’s out of breath. Her heart is hammering in her chest as if protesting such rough treatment. Her legs ache; they’re fragile after such a long period of malnutrition. Agnes grits her teeth and keeps counting, whispering the numbers to herself: ‘Ten, eleven, twelve.’ The whole time she’s scared that a nurse might knock on the door. If she’s forced to interrupt her exercise, it won’t have the same effect, even if she continues later on. She needs to jump at least thirty times in a row, otherwise she’ll be lost.

Soon, she’s sweating profusely and breathing even harder. She perseveres, fighting so much to keep going that she tastes blood in her mouth. They say that she’s emaciated, that she’ll die if she doesn’t put on weight. Right now, she has no idea how much she weighs, because that’s not something they ever discuss in here. The patients are weighed once a week but aren’t told the results. The last time she checked her weight back home in Visby, the scale showed ninety-five pounds. Since she is five foot nine, that meant her BMI was fourteen. She doesn’t think that sounds dangerous. There are plenty of girls who are much thinner. ‘Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.’ No one has knocked on the door yet, but she knows there’s a great risk that soon she’ll be interrupted. She closes her eyes for a moment, as if that might make it harder for anyone to discover what she’s doing. She makes a great effort to quiet her breathing so she won’t be heard. She’s starting to feel dizzy, and her heart is pounding in her fragile chest. ‘Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine.’ She has reached her goal of thirty, so she sinks on to the toilet. Leans back, shuts her eyes. Waits until her racing pulse calms down. When she has recovered sufficiently she gets up and splashes cold water on her face. She takes off her nightgown and rinses her armpits. She won’t have time for a shower. She usually does take a shower in the evening before going to bed. That gives her the chance to do her last exercises for the day. When she finally opens the bathroom door, she breathes a sigh of relief. Now she’ll be able to handle breakfast.

DINNER WAS SERVED
in the dining room, which had been furnished in a discriminating modern style that matched the rest of the hotel.

Filled with anticipation, they all took their places, hungry after the long day’s work. Jenny looked at the others seated around the table. Hugo had turned out to be a steady rock. Always on hand to offer assistance, from safety pins to fabric glue to accessories that suddenly seemed essential because the light was coming in at an unexpected angle and required something other than what had been planned. He was the consummate professional and always understood precisely what Markus meant when he talked about the fold in a garment, a polo-neck, or the heel of a boot. At the same time, he had his own self-assured view of things. If, on occasion, he disagreed with Markus, Hugo would persist in arguing until he got his way.

He had straggly hair that stuck out all over, and he wore glasses with heavy black frames. He chose elegant clothes, displaying an infallible sense of style that was striking without being garish. And he was always so upbeat, which rubbed off on the others. He had told Jenny that he’d recently become engaged to his boyfriend, whom he’d known for only a few months. Maybe that was the reason for his good humour.

When everyone had a glass of wine, Hugo gave a toast to celebrate the excellent work they’d done that day. Sebastian Bigert, who was the art director, and Anna Neumann, the producer, raised their glasses and smiled. They seemed nice, although Jenny hadn’t talked to them much. Kevin Sundström, the photographer’s assistant, was a young guy on his first photo shoot outside the studio. For that reason he was a bit confused and over-eager, but a real charmer who looked after her needs. He was constantly running off to get Jenny coffee and water. He was always asking her if she wanted anything else, his eyes flirting with her from under the black fringe of his hair. Jenny had met Maria Åkerlund eight days ago during Stockholm Fashion Week, when Maria had done her make-up several times. She had a confident and steady air about her, even though she wasn’t very old. Twenty-five at most, Jenny guessed.

Everyone was sitting at the dinner table, except Markus, but they weren’t going to wait for him. He was usually late. The three-course meal consisted of new beets with a locally produced goat’s cheese, grilled turbot with potato purée, and chocolate trifle for dessert.

Jenny ate everything with good appetite. Hugo raised his eyebrows when he saw her empty plate.

‘That’s the way she is,’ Maria explained. ‘She can eat almost anything, and she never gains even an ounce. No wonder she makes people mad.’

She gave Jenny a big smile and then raised her glass in a toast. The Amarone tasted fabulous, and they all drank several glasses of the red wine. Jenny started feeling the effects, which made her giggly and lightheaded.

Several times during the meal she had discreetly checked her mobile. The others were sure that Markus would turn up at any moment, if for no other reason than he must be hungry. There was no food in the cabin where he was staying.

Jenny went outside to smoke a cigarette and give him a call, but she couldn’t get through. When she asked the desk clerk about this, she was told that the mobile coverage at the cabins wasn’t good. The guests could seldom be reached by phone, and that was the reason why most of them wanted to stay there. To get away from the outside world.

When it was close to eleven, the party broke up.

‘He probably fell asleep,’ said Hugo. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Jenny’s pulse quickened as she thought about Markus. It seemed so unlikely that he would simply have fallen asleep out there. He must be longing for her as much as she yearned for him. Earlier in the day he had whispered to her that he could hardly wait to be alone with her. What if he’d decided to skip dinner and had been waiting for her all this time? He’d told her that he had brought along a bottle of champagne, which he’d stowed in an insulated bag in the car. She felt weak-kneed at the thought of how considerate he was. He cared too much about her to have simply written her off this evening.

Jenny hurried to her room to touch up her lipstick and spray on more perfume. She slipped her toothbrush into her handbag and put on a warm jacket. It wasn’t really cold – the temperature was several degrees above freezing – but she could hear the wind blowing outside the window.

When she stepped outside, she saw that it was pitch dark beyond the dimly lit forecourt. The old stone crusher up on the hill looked ghostly and frightening in the darkness. She couldn’t make out much of the sea, catching only a glimpse of the black expanse as she listened to the roar of the waves. The remaining massive piles of crushed limestone loomed against the sky.

She found a women’s bicycle among the row of ungainly military bikes lined up along the wall of the hotel. Several of them had toppled over in the wind.

The gravel appeared white in the dark; the feeble glow from the bicycle lamp wasn’t much help in finding her way. Far off on the horizon she saw a few faint red dots of light.

She tried not to think too much about her surroundings, focusing instead on her riding. Markus had said that it wasn’t far to the cabin.

She soon found herself approaching the wind turbine on the hill. Its powerful white tower disappeared into the dark sky. She could hear the huge blades spinning; the sound of their rotation penetrated through the rush of the wind and the roar from the sea down below. The closer she got, the louder the sound. She heard a steady swishing, a rhythmic whooshing. As she passed directly underneath, the three arms turned overhead like knife blades slicing through the night air. The base of the tower stood right next to the road, and she could have almost touched it if she’d reached out her hand. It felt as if the wind turbine was a great roaring beast, very much alive. But she had to ride past; there was no way to avoid it.

She pedalled as hard as she could and felt a certain relief once the wind turbine was behind her. Now she entered the woods. The road levelled out, and the wind wasn’t as strong among the trees. Tightly packed on both sides of the road were spruce trees, pines, shrubbery and dense thickets. She happened to cast a glance into the woods and noticed a menacing dark strip of sky with patches of grey. The faint moonlight that managed to filter through the trees created sinister shadows. ‘Don’t look,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Don’t look to either side. Keep your eyes on the road. Don’t look into the dark.’

The road out to the cabin was longer than she’d thought. By now she was regretting the whole venture. She had sobered up and wanted to turn around. She looked over her shoulder, but she could no longer see the hotel, which was somewhere far below her. It was almost midnight, and they all had to get up at six in the morning to work. What was she thinking? Finally, a blue shed appeared at the side of the road. Relief made her dizzy. She had to be close. And the cabin lights could supposedly be seen from outdoors. She tried to remember what Markus had said.