The Man Who Watched Women (13 page)

Stefan parked his car a short distance from number 44 and set off on foot. He looked around the pleasant residential area. The buildings were arranged in rows, not too close together, but with due deference to the countryside on their doorstep. In front of the entrance to number 44 a cycle rack housed several adults' and children's bicycles. Stefan stopped and looked around, trying to work out where he would position himself if he wanted to spy on an apartment a couple of floors up without anyone spotting him. As far from the road and as well hidden as possible, he decided. Behind the block he saw a hill covered in deciduous trees. Leafy bushes provided plenty of cover, and the fact that he had made the right choice became clear when Sebastian Bergman suddenly peered out from behind the biggest tree with a horrified expression on his face.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?' he barked. Stefan almost burst out laughing at the sight of the man staring at him through the trees, looking absolutely furious. He reminded Stefan of a teenager who had just been caught having a cigarette on the sly.

‘I wanted to see you in your new home environment.'

‘Very funny. Fuck off before someone sees you.'

Stefan shook his head and made himself even more noticeable by planting himself a short distance away from Sebastian on the open, grassy area.

‘Not unless you come with me. Your group therapy starts in half an hour.'

Sebastian stared at him, his expression livid. ‘Aren't you supposed to stick to certain rules and regulations? What happened to people doing things on a voluntary basis?'

‘That doesn't apply to middle-aged men lurking around behind trees, spying on young women they claim are their daughters. Coming?'

Sebastian shook his head. Inside he was ice-cold. His world was beginning to seem more and more fragile. He felt naked and embarrassed, and would have liked nothing more than to go on the offensive. At the same time there was something about the man standing in front of him that suddenly enabled Sebastian to see himself through someone else's eyes, and however he manipulated the truth, the answer was always the same.

He had been to see Trolle.

He had come here.

He was lost.

‘Please, Stefan. Just go. Leave me in peace.'

Stefan stepped into the leafy little world where Sebastian was hiding and took his hand.

‘I'm not here to stress you out. I'm not here to make you feel bad. I'm here for your sake. If you really want me to go, I will. But deep down you know I'm right. You have to stop this.'

Sebastian looked at his therapist and quietly withdrew his hand.

‘I'm not joining a group. I do have some pride left.'

‘Really?' Stefan gazed at him gravely. ‘Look around you, Sebastian. Look where we are.'

Sebastian didn't try to come up with an answer.

Even he couldn't find a way out of this one.

‘I mean, I said last week I was going to try to clear out the garage so I could get the car in there. Chuck out a load of stuff. Do you think I actually did it?' The man opposite Sebastian whom the others called Stig had been talking for more than ten minutes. However, it seemed as if he was nowhere near finished. He just went on and on, as if his huge body contained an infinite number of words.

‘I haven't got the energy. I can't do anything. Just washing up after a meal or taking out the rubbish is a major undertaking. And you know how it is when you get into that state. You get nowhere. Nowhere …'

Sebastian nodded. Not because he agreed – he had written off the man as uninteresting and stopped listening after thirty seconds – but because somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that if he nodded in agreement, perhaps the fat lump would realise he'd made his point, and that he didn't need to come up with more examples in order to prove his total lack of initiative to the group. This motley collection of damaged individuals who, according to Stefan, might be able to save him. Four women and two men, not counting Stefan and himself. Stig took a deep breath and was about to continue his lengthy diatribe when Stefan jumped in. Sebastian felt a great wave of gratitude, even if he was still annoyed with him.

‘But you've been diagnosed with mild depression, Stig. Have you been to the doctor for your medication?'

Stig shook his head, and for a second it seemed as if he might leave it there. But then he took one of those deep breaths that Sebastian had already learned to loathe after only fifteen minutes.

The breath became a sound.

The sound became words.

Too many words.

‘The thing is, I don't want to take a whole load of tablets. I did try once, and I had this reaction …'

Sebastian shut out Stig's babble with a yawn. How could they stand it, the other people sitting in silence around him? Did they share Sebastian's frustration, or were they just waiting for their opportunity to take a deep breath and then talk about their own uninteresting lives for far too long? Surely they couldn't seriously care about each other's banal problems? Sebastian tried to reach Stefan with an angry, pleading look, but Stefan seemed fully occupied in listening to Stig. What saved him was the slim, almost invisible woman opposite him, dressed in a white blouse and jeans. She leaned forward and, in what was little more than a whisper, interrupted Stig's monotonous drone.

‘But if it helps you to start doing things, then perhaps you should give the medication a try. There's no shame in getting help that way.'

The rest of the group nodded and made noises of agreement; Sebastian couldn't decide whether it was because they were pleased that someone else had stepped into the limelight, or because they actually agreed with what she said. Sebastian looked at her. She was probably somewhere in her forties, slender, with fine, dark hair and discreet make-up. Simply dressed, constantly fiddling nervously with a necklace that was far too big. She looked at each of the others in turn before continuing. Sebastian got the feeling that she wanted to be seen, but wasn't quite brave enough to step forward. Oppressed too many times? Used to being silenced? He gave her an encouraging smile, trying to catch her eye, but suddenly she was looking everywhere but at him.

‘I recognise myself in your situation,' she said. ‘You feel as if everything is just piling up, that you can't get anything done.'

Sebastian continued to smile at her, having realised all at once that he might get more than he had thought out of this evening.

‘Exactly, Annette,' Stefan agreed. ‘If you're stuck, then you have to find the courage to try something new. That's certainly what you did.'

Annette nodded and carried on talking. Sebastian watched her grow with the praise, daring to take up more space, to share her experiences. They know each other well, she and Stefan, he thought as he listened to her. She was a stayer. A patient who had been in therapy for so long that she had started to sound like the therapist. Stefan's encouraging nods confirmed his theory. Invisible little Annette had been seeing Stefan for a long time. Sebastian smiled to himself. Stefan cared about his patients. He too had experienced Stefan's weakness a couple of hours ago, when he had come looking for Sebastian under a tree outside Sandhamnsgatan 44.

He cared just a little too much to be a true professional.

A little too much to be really effective.

Invisible Annette was definitely one of the patients he cared about. Sebastian could see that from the interplay between them. He smiled at the dark-haired woman again. Perfect. He knew exactly how he would show Stefan that it was not possible to put Sebastian Bergman into group therapy and go unpunished.

The group had been sitting in a circle for seventy-five minutes when it was finally time for the obligatory coffee before they broke up. Stefan had summarised the evening with a few well-chosen clichés about being there for each other and the beneficial effects of social interaction, trying to convey to Sebastian with a meaningful look that he had made no contribution on any level. Sebastian had responded with a yawn. When they got up he quickly moved over to the coffee table and the woman. Stefan became bogged down in a discussion with Stig and a younger man who insisted on referring to alcohol as ‘booze' and his wife as ‘the missus' or ‘she who must be obeyed'. Perfect company for Stefan, Sebastian thought as he looked over at Annette; she had walked straight past the coffee table without taking anything, and seemed to be on her way out. Sebastian hurried after her.

Annette was heading for the exit, unsure whether or not to stay for coffee. She normally did; she usually thought it was the perfect end to the evening. She was the one who had been coming to these meetings the longest. She was important. Stefan had once called her a real professional when it came to group therapy, and even though the words had been spoken in jest, she had carried them with her for several weeks.

A real professional. Annette.

No one else had ever said anything like that. This was her place, she knew it. When she was sitting in the circle she was brave enough to step forward, to be seen, to play her part, and during coffee afterwards she loved to fish for comments from the other participants and to give positive feedback on their contributions that evening. But tonight was different. Because of the new man, the one who had sat opposite her. The way he looked at her. It was as if he could see right through her; she couldn't describe it any other way. When she began to speak he listened, really looked at her. Not in a condescending way; it was more of an erotic experience, as if he were undressing her, although intellectually rather than sexually. She couldn't put the feeling into words. She'd never experienced anything like it.

He could see her. Properly.

It was both exciting and frightening, and when Stefan had brought the evening to a close, Annette had decided to go straight home. But she knew that she wasn't moving towards the exit quite as quickly as she should be. In her peripheral vision she could see the man coming towards her. Confident. Purposeful. She realised that he wanted to meet her. She had to be ready. She would regret it if she didn't at least try to say a few words. He hadn't said anything all evening. But now he was speaking.

‘Aren't you staying for coffee?'

She liked his voice.

‘I don't know. I …' Annette thought quickly. She didn't want to sound dismissive, but nor did she wish to seem weak and indecisive. She did want to stay for a coffee, but how could she say so? She was practically halfway out of the door when he stopped her.

‘Come on, surely you've got time for one cup and a cake beautifully encased in plastic?'

He saved her. Realised she was on her way. Persuaded her to stay. It would almost have been rude to say no. She smiled at him gratefully.

‘Well, yes, I suppose so.'

They walked back to the coffee table together.

‘Sebastian Bergman,' said the man by her side, holding out his hand. She took it, clumsily she thought, but his hand was warm and his smile even warmer, if that were possible.

‘Annette Willén. Nice to meet you.' It felt as if all her gaucheness disappeared when he held her hand for just a little too long. He looked at her, and she felt something beyond simply being seen by another person. Far beyond. He saw her as the woman she really wanted to be.

‘You didn't say much this evening,' she said as he poured her a coffee.

‘Did I say anything at all?' he replied, still smiling.

Annette shook her head. ‘I don't think so.'

‘I'm better at listening.'

‘That's unusual. Coming here to listen, I mean. Most people want to talk about themselves,' Annette said, moving away from the coffee table. She didn't want to be disturbed by any of the others.

Sebastian followed. ‘How long have you been part of the group?'

Annette wondered whether to tell the truth: that she couldn't really remember anymore. No, that would sound pathetic. Weak. He would get the wrong idea about her. Be quick to judge. She decided to lie.

‘About six months. I got divorced, lost my job, and then my son fell in love and moved to Canada. I ended up in a kind of … vacuum.'

Too much too soon. He hadn't asked why she was here, just how long she'd been coming. Annette shrugged her shoulders as if to play down her problems.

‘I needed to talk about things. But I'm in the process of reducing my attendance,' she said quickly. ‘You have to move on, don't you?' She smiled at him. For a second Sebastian glanced over at Stefan, who was still deep in conversation with the two men. Annette suddenly got the feeling that Sebastian was already tired of her, that he was looking for a reason to make his apologies and leave, that their encounter would soon be over. She was breathing more heavily. A slight feeling of panic, the panic that came from her deepest fear: that whatever she did, however hard she tried, she was doomed to be alone forever.

But then he turned to her once more, the charming smile firmly in place.