The Hidden Child (15 page)

They’d had fifty-five years together. Good years. Happy years. Of course they’d had their ups and downs, just like in every marriage. But the foundation had always remained solid. They’d become adults together, he and Britta. Especially after they’d had Anna-Greta. He’d been so proud of Britta. Before their daughter was born, he had to admit that he’d sometimes found his wife to be rather shallow and superficial. But from the first day she held Anna-Greta in her arms, she’d changed. It was as if becoming a mother had given her a foundation that she’d lacked until then. They’d had three daughters. Three blessed daughters. And his love for his wife had grown with each birth.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. ‘Pappa? What’s wrong? You didn’t answer when I knocked, so I decided to come in.’

Herman quickly wiped his eyes and put on a smile when he saw the worried expression on his eldest daughter’s face. But he couldn’t fool her. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his.

‘Is this one of the bad days, Pappa?’

He nodded and for a moment allowed himself to feel like a child in his daughter’s arms. They’d brought her up well, he and Britta. Anna-Greta was a warm and considerate person, and a loving grandmother to two of their great-grandchildren. Sometimes he couldn’t understand how things had happened so fast. How could this grey-haired woman in her fifties be the daughter who had toddled about the house and wrapped him around her little finger?

‘Time passes, Anna-Greta,’ he said at last, patting her arm as it lay across his chest.

‘Yes, Pappa, time passes,’ she said, hugging him even harder. She gave him an extra little squeeze and then let him go.

‘I’ll fold the napkins while you get the knives and forks. I think that would be best, judging by what I see here.’ She pointed to the scraps of napkin lying like confetti on the table and gave him a wink.

‘You’re right, that would probably be best,’ he said, smiling at his daughter gratefully. ‘That would probably be best.’

‘When are they supposed to get here?’ called Patrik from the bedroom where, at Erica’s request, he was changing into something more appropriate than jeans and a T-shirt. His protests – ‘But it’s just your sister and Dan coming to dinner . . .’ – had got him nowhere. Having guests over for dinner apparently required something more than casual attire. End of story.

Erica opened the oven door to take a look at the baked fillet of pork. She had been feeling guilty ever since she yelled at Patrik the day before, so to make up for it she was cooking one of his favourite dishes: fillet of pork baked in puff pastry, with a port wine sauce and mashed potatoes. It was what she’d cooked for him the first time she invited him over. The first night that they’d . . . She laughed to herself and shut the oven door. It seemed so long ago, even though it was only a few years back. Much as she loved Patrik, it was strange how quickly the daily routines and the demands of child-care could kill off any desire to make love five times in a row, the way they had on that first night. Nowadays the mere thought of it left her feeling worn out. Once a week seemed a real achievement.

‘They’ll be here in half an hour,’ she shouted upstairs and then began making the sauce. She’d already changed into black trousers and a lilac blouse – one of her favourites from the years when she’d lived in Stockholm and still had a decent number of shops to choose from. Just to be on the safe side, she’d put on an apron, and Patrik whistled appreciatively when he came into the kitchen.

‘What do my weary eyes see here? A revelation. A divinely glamorous creature, but with a touch of homespun chic and culinariness.’

‘There’s no such word as “culinariness”,’ said Erica with a laugh as Patrik kissed the back of her neck.

‘There is now,’ he said, winking. Then he took a step back and did a pirouette in the middle of the kitchen. ‘So? Will I do? Or do I need to go back upstairs and change into something else?’

‘Stop it, you make it sound like I’m a real nag.’ Erica looked him up and down with a stern expression but then laughed and said: ‘Very nice. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Now, if you can just set the table, maybe I’ll start to remember why I married you.’

‘Set the table? Consider it done!’

Half an hour later, at precisely seven o’clock when the doorbell rang, the food was ready and the table was set. Anna and Dan appeared at the door, along with Emma and Adrian, who came right in, calling for Maja. Their little cousin was very popular.

‘Who is that cute guy, Erica?’ said Anna. ‘And what have you done with Patrik? It’s about time you traded him in for a fancier model.’

Patrik gave Anna a hug. ‘Nice to see you too, my dear sister-in-law. So, how are the turtle doves doing? Erica and I are honoured that you can tear yourselves away from the bedroom long enough to drop by and see us in our humble abode.’

‘Cut it out,’ said Anna, blushing as she batted Patrik in the chest. But the look that she gave Dan showed that Patrik actually had a point.

They spent a very pleasant evening together. Emma and Adrian were happy to keep Maja entertained until it was time to put her to bed, and then the two of them fell asleep at opposite ends of the sofa. The food received the praise that it deserved, the wine was excellent and quickly disappeared from the bottles, and Erica enjoyed having her sister and Dan at the table for a nice dinner without any dark clouds on the horizon, without thinking about everything that had happened in the past. Just pleasant conversation and good-natured banter.

The mood was suddenly shattered by the urgent ringing of Dan’s mobile.

‘Sorry, I just need to see who could be calling me at this time of night,’ said Dan. He went out and retrieved his mobile from his jacket pocket, frowning at the display as if he didn’t recognize the number.

‘Hello? This is Dan,’ he said. ‘Who’s this? Sorry, but I can’t hear what you’re . . . Belinda? Where? What? But I’ve been drinking wine, and I can’t . . . Put her in a taxi and send her over here. Right now! Yes, I’ll pay the driver when she arrives. Just make sure she gets here.’ He rattled off Patrik and Erica’s address and hung up. ‘I don’t believe it!’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Anna, worried.

‘It’s Belinda. Apparently she went to some party and now she’s drunk. That was one of her friends. They’re going to send her here in a cab.’

‘But I thought she was staying with Pernilla in Munkedal.’

‘So did I, but clearly that’s not where she went. Her friend was calling from Grebbestad.’

Dan began punching numbers on his mobile. It sounded as if he’d interrupted his ex-wife’s beauty sleep. He went into the kitchen, and they could hear only bits and pieces of the conversation, but it didn’t sound particularly friendly. A few minutes later he came back to the dining room and sat down at the table shaking his head in frustration.

‘Apparently Belinda told her mother she was going to spend the night with a friend. And the friend most likely said that she was going to spend the night with Belinda. Instead, the two of them went to some party in Grebbestad. Damnit! I thought I could count on her to keep an eye on the girl!’

‘You mean Pernilla?’ said Anna, stroking his arm to calm him down. ‘It’s not that easy, Dan. It’s the oldest trick in the book, but even you could have been taken in by it.’

‘No, I wouldn’t!’ replied Dan angrily. ‘I would have phoned her friend’s parents during the evening to hear how things were going. I would never trust a seventeen-year-old. How stupid can anyone be? Shouldn’t I be able to rely on her to take care of the kids?’

‘Calm down,’ said Anna sternly. ‘The most important thing right now is to look after Belinda when she gets here.’ Dan opened his mouth to say something but she stopped him before he could speak. ‘And we’re not going to yell at her tonight. We’ll save that conversation for the morning, after she’s sober. Okay?’ Everyone at the table, including Dan, could tell that this was non-negotiable. He nodded.

‘I’ll go make up the guest room,’ said Erica, getting up from the table.

‘And I’ll get a bucket,’ said Patrik, fervently hoping that he wouldn’t find himself saying the same thing when Maja was a teenager.

A few minutes later they heard a car pull up outside, and Dan and Anna hurried to the front door. Anna paid the driver while Dan lifted Belinda out of the car. She’d been lying across the back seat like a rag doll.

‘Pappa . . .’ she said, slurring the word. Then she put her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his chest. The smell of vomit made Dan feel sick, but at the same time he felt a tremendous tenderness for his daughter, who suddenly seemed so small and fragile. It had been years since he’d carried her in his arms.

A retching sound from Belinda made him instinctively move her head, turning it away from his chest. A stinking, reddish sludge poured out on to Erica and Patrik’s front steps. Clearly red wine had been her drink of choice.

‘Bring her inside. Don’t worry about the mess, we’ll hose it off later,’ said Erica, motioning for Dan and Anna to come in. ‘Put her in the shower. Anna and I will rinse her off and give her some clean clothes to wear.’

In the shower Belinda started to cry. The sound was heartbreaking. Anna stroked her hair as Erica carefully rubbed her dry with a towel.

‘Shhh, everything’s going to be fine, don’t worry,’ said Anna, pulling a dry T-shirt over Belinda’s head.

‘Kim was supposed to be there . . . And I thought that . . . But he told Linda he thought I was . . . ugly . . .’ She could barely get the words out between sobs.

Anna looked at Erica over Belinda’s head. Neither of them would have wanted to trade places with the girl for anything in the world. There was nothing so painful as a teenaged broken heart. They’d both been through it and understood why, in the circumstances, she’d sought to drown her sorrows in red wine. But that was only a temporary respite. Tomorrow Belinda would feel even worse, if that was possible – this was something else the sisters knew from personal experience. But all they could do was put her to bed. They’d deal with the rest in the morning.

Mellberg stood with his hand on the doorknob, weighing the pros and cons. It was undeniable that the ‘cons’ were going to win by some distance. But he had come, nonetheless, and there were two reasons for that. First, he had nothing better to do with his evening. Second, he kept seeing Rita’s dark eyes in his mind. He was still wondering whether these two factors were sufficient cause for him to do something as absurd as attend a salsa class. The place would probably be full of desperate women, women who thought they could snag a guy by going to a dance class. How pathetic. For a moment he considered turning on his heel and going over to the petrol station to buy a packet of crisps before heading home to watch his favourite sitcom,
Full Freezer with Stefan and Christer
. The mere thought made him laugh. Those two were such a riot.

Mellberg had no sooner made up his mind to opt for Plan B than the door opened in front of him.

‘Bertil! How nice to see you! Come in. We’re just about to start.’ And before he knew it, Rita had grabbed his hand and pulled him inside the gym. Latin-American music was blaring from a portable stereo on the floor, and four couples looked at him with interest as he came in. An equal number of men and women, Mellberg noted with surprise, and his image of himself as a meaty bone that would be torn apart by a gang of voracious bitches in heat instantly faded.

‘You’ll have to dance with me. You can help me demonstrate the moves,’ said Rita, leading him to the centre of the floor. She positioned herself in front of him, took one of his hands in hers and put his other arm around her waist. Mellberg had to restrain an urge to grab hold of her lovely plump body. He simply couldn’t understand men who preferred skinny women.

‘All right, Bertil, pay attention now,’ said Rita sternly, and he stood up straight. ‘Watch what Bertil and I do,’ said Rita to the other couples. ‘For the ladies: right foot forward, shift your weight to your left foot, and right foot back. For the men: the same move except using the opposite foot; left foot forward, weight on your right foot, then left foot back. We’ll keep doing the sequence until everybody gets it.’

Mellberg fought to master the steps. At first it was as if his brain was determined to erase even the most basic information, such as which was his right foot and which was his left. But Rita was a good teacher. She firmly led the way, making him move his feet forward and back, and it wasn’t long before he started to get the hang of it.

‘And now . . . we’ll start moving our hips,’ said Rita, giving her students an encouraging look. ‘We Swedes are so stiff. But salsa is all about movement, sensuality, and softness.’

She demonstrated what she meant by swaying her hips to the music, making it look as if they were ebbing back and forth, like a wave. Mellberg watched with fascination as Rita moved her body. It looked so easy when she did it. Determined to impress her, he set about mimicking her movements as he moved his feet forward and back in the pattern that he thought he’d memorized. But nothing worked any more. His hips felt wooden, and all attempts to coordinate the movement of his hips with his feet resulted in a total short circuit. He stopped abruptly, a frustrated expression on his face. And to make matters worse, his hair chose that moment to slip down over his left ear. Quickly he pushed it back into place, hoping that no one had noticed. But a stifled giggle from one of the other couples crushed any illusions on that score.

‘I know it’s difficult, Bertil. It just takes practice,’ said Rita, urging him to have another go. ‘Listen to the music, Bertil, listen. And then let your body follow the beat. But don’t look at your feet, look at me. In salsa you always look the woman in the eye. It’s a dance of love, a dance of passion.’

She fixed her gaze on him, and with great effort he managed to look at her instead of at his feet. At first it seemed hopeless. But after a while, under Rita’s gentle tutelage, he felt something happening. Only now did his body truly seem to hear the music. His hips began moving softly and sensually. He looked deeper into Rita’s eyes. And as the Latin American rhythms pulsed from the stereo, he could feel himself falling.