Twenty-nine

“Could it be the bananas?”

Ann Lindell shook her head.

“I don’t think so,” she said with a worried expression.

Damn it, she thought, not now, not today.

Erik had vomited after snacktime.

“He was droopy for a while,” Gunvor, the preschool teacher, went on, “but after that we didn’t notice anything else. It was full steam ahead all afternoon.”

“It must have been something that passed quickly,” Ann said, who was finding it harder now to hang on to her expression of concern.

“He normally eats a banana,” Gunvor continued.

“He seems happy now,” Ann said and checked in his cubby to see if she had missed something.

“There’s a meeting next Tuesday, did you see that?”

Ann hadn’t seen it but nodded. She guessed that there was a paper pinned to the notice board.

“A lot going on at work right now?”

“You could say that,” Ann said with an attempt at a smile and took aim for the exit.

“It’s stressful here too, I have to say. Pernilla is sick and Lisbeth is at a workshop and we’re not allowed to take in any substitutes. Luckily we have an intern and he’s wonderful. Have you met him? He’s only seventeen.”

Lindell shook her head.

“Thanks for today! See you tomorrow,” she called from the door.

There didn’t seem to be anything much wrong with Erik. He walked quietly by her side to the car. Ann strapped him into the child seat and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Banana,” he said and giggled.

“Mommy’s going out tonight. Görel’s coming over. That will be fun, won’t it?”

Erik didn’t reply, but there was nothing remarkable about that. He talked, and could be a real chatterbox but only when it suited him. For long periods of time he was completely silent only to explode into a torrent of speech.

Ann Lindell told herself she had no reason to feel guilty. How often did she ask Görel to babysit and find something to do of her own accord? Once a month, not more, and then it was often about work or a parent-teacher meeting.

Now she was going to meet Morgansson for a second time, but they were not going to the movies. Instead they were going to have dinner down by the river. He had called and asked her out. Ann had accepted without hesitation but had immediately called Görel as if she wanted her friend’s approval.

Ann felt less nervous this time. She had gotten to know her colleague somewhat and could relax. But at the same time it was more serious now because this was date number two. It felt as if tonight would determine whether it would go any further.

Görel was going to come as early as five thirty. Görel was great. She had her own children, two girls, and she was straightforward in a way that Ann appreciated. No empty chatter, a sense of closeness without intrusive curiosity, and sometimes a raw humor that took Ann by surprise but made her laugh out loud.

Görel lived with Leffe. He was a carpenter and had helped Ann install windows to enclose her balcony. This was the only luxury she had permitted herself and she didn’t regret it. It was fantastic to be able to sit out on the balcony as early as April and experience the first warmth of spring, or set the table for a Sunday dinner there in September and have the illusion of living in more southerly climes.

Erik started to talk once they were in the stairwell and continued without interruption when they reached the apartment. Ann had to bring him into the bathroom when she was going to shower, because if he didn’t get answers to his questions he became inconsolably grumpy. Now he was perched on his stool, philosophizing. Ann commented on everything in a seasoned manner and from time to time threw in a counterquestion.

Ann couldn’t drop the thought of her find in Petrus Blomgren’s house. It was as if the photograph had imprinted itself on the mirror in the bathroom.

“To my beloved Petrus,” she said.

“What?”

“Mommy’s talking to herself,” she said and continued brushing her hair.

Who was the woman? Did her existence even have any significance at all for the case? Ann decided to call Sammy.

“Too bad for Allan,” Sammy said when Ann told him about the snapshot. “That’s a real oversight. But why didn’t you bring it up? I don’t get it.”

“I don’t know,” Lindell said honestly.

Of course she had thought about it. It wasn’t simply because she didn’t want to embarrass a coworker who had been sloppy. There were also other motives.

Erik appeared dragging his snowsuit.

“Play,” he said.

“Wait a minute,” Ann said to Sammy, lowering the receiver. “It’s too late to go to the playground. Görel will be here soon. Mommy has to work.”

Erik didn’t say a word, looked at her with his wisest expression and lumbered off with the gear.

“It may not even be important,” she said as she continued her discussion.

“I guess,” Sammy said but Lindell heard his doubt.

“What should we do?” she asked.

“What should you do?” Sammy shot back, grinning.

They discussed the matter for a long time. Lindell felt a growing sense of relief. Her judgment and decision to keep this information to herself had been hers and hers alone and she was the one who would perhaps end up taking the heat for it but talking about the problem made her feel better.

“I don’t believe in this queen plot,” Sammy said for a second time.

“Who does?”

“Ander and Allan,” Sammy said. “They sound like a circus act. ‘Come and see tonight’s act: Ander and Allan!’”

He made her laugh. Erik stood by her feet and laughed along.

“We’ll talk more later?”

“You bet we will,” Sammy said, and Lindell was touched by his words.

Thirty seconds after she put the phone down the phone rang. She picked up, convinced it was Sammy who had thought of something else, but the call came from Ödeshög.

“Hello Ann, I just wanted to see how you were doing. I’ve seen on the television how things are going there in Uppsala.”

Ann sat down at the kitchen table. Yet another thing she felt guilty about. Ann called her parents all too seldom and she visited them even more rarely. Since Erik was born they had of course come for several visits but the contact between them was getting thinner and thinner. She didn’t know why. Odeshog was a finished chapter. She had no ties there anymore other than the fact that her parents still lived there.

Ann had no siblings and felt some pressure to be a good daughter. Erik’s birth had done some good in deflecting her mother’s at times intrusive though well-meaning intentions, even if her mother had a great deal to say about the circumstances. She touched frequently on the fact that the boy didn’t have a father.

Ann talked about the murder case for a while, shooting down the worst exaggerations of the media and trying to present the work in as sanitized a form as was humanly possible. Her parents were never curious in a positive way. They lamented the fact that Ann had such a depressing job. Ann was never quite clear on what profession they would have been pleased with. Most likely they would have complained about any job that she had had.

Her mother was in good health, her father somewhat unwell as usual. He had not stopped smoking despite his doctor’s orders. Bertholdsson’s youngest had moved away from home. The nearest neighbor had chopped away at the spirea hedge they had in common so it would probably never flower again.

That was, in short, the information that Ann received. Why don’t you tell someone who gives a damn, she thought unkindly, but tried to sound attentive.

They ended the conversation with the usual exhortations from her mother’s side, directed mostly at Erik’s well-being, and Ann’s half promises to visit soon.

Görel turned up and while Ann finished getting ready they chatted about this and that. Görel was like that, she mixed up big and small things into a single conversation. It could be the Prime Minister Göran Persson, discussions about the House of Music, or a new laundering technique.

“You can use regular dishwashing liquid,” she claimed and pinched Ann’s skirt at the same time. “This one is really cute. Where did you get it?”

“I can’t remember,” Ann said truthfully.

“It’ll be coming off quick tonight,” Görel said with a guffaw.

“What are you talking about?”

“This is the second time you’re seeing him. And you aren’t exactly a nun.”

“But Görel, I don’t want to . . .”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to embarrass you. Bring the man home if you like and I’ll sneak off without a word. I promise! But I do want to see what he looks like.”

At exactly eight o’clock—the cathedral on the other side of the Fyris River announced the time—Ann Lindell stepped into the I & I Kitchen and Bar.

Charles Morgansson was sitting at the bar, but could just as well have been sitting in the kitchen since he was involved in a lively conversation with one of the cooks.

He broke off at once when he saw Ann, stood up, pulled out a bar stool, and made a gesture of invitation. She had certain problems getting up there in her tight skirt.

“So, here we are again,” Morgansson said in a knowing tone, after she had managed to get herself up.

Lindell looked around. There were many more customers tonight than last time. Two cooks were busy in the open kitchen and someone that Lindell assumed was new. He looked desperately young but was chopping vegetables at a frenetic pace and with a seriousness that demonstrated that he intended to make the mark.

“So are you done scoping the place out?”

A tall ungainly lug of a bartender towered over them from the other side of the counter. He would have looked rather forbidding had it not been for his eyes which revealed a more congenial personality.

“Perhaps a glass of white wine for the lady?”

Lindell got the impression that he didn’t like to be contradicted and she nodded obediently.

“This here is Tall Per,” Morgansson explained. “He graduated from Örebro Grammar School with a C in comportment.”

“But a B in organization.”

They bandied words back and forth while the Närke native poured out a glass of wine and drew a couple of glasses of beer.

Lindell smiled to herself, tasting the wine and peeking at her colleague from the side. He looked comfortable. She felt relaxed and a surge of anticipation. Her life had all too long been a series of disappointments and duties, with Erik as the only real source of happiness. Her work, which had earlier meant so much—not in terms of a career, which everyone always seemed to talk about, but rather the feeling of being able to make a difference—had slowly but surely changed character. Or was she the one who had changed?

Let it be like this for a while, she thought and took another sip of wine. When she turned to Morgansson he was looking at her.

“This feels good,” he said and Ann was pleased at the straightforward comment.

She nodded. Tall Per retreated and disappeared into the hidden regions behind the kitchen. Morgansson put the menu in front of her. She was ravenous and decided to get the gambas to start and the anglerfish as a main course.

“Great choice,” Tall Per said when she had communicated her order, and she felt as if she had finally received his approval.

They sat there for three hours. Ann called home once and everything was fine. They said almost nothing about work. In part this was because they were out in public, in part because neither one of them was interested in engaging in a form of overtime at the restaurant.

Ann told him about her background, but skipped Edvard. She imagined her colleague had heard that story anyway. When she started in on Erik, Morgansson looked more distracted.

“You don’t have any children?”

He shook his head but said nothing and Ann let the subject drop.

Charles told her about his thirteen years at the Umeå Police. They found that they had similar experiences. Both of them had come from smaller towns and ended up working in large cities.

“I felt as if I knew everyone back home in Storuman, but in Umeå I didn’t get to know very many people,” Charles said. “I don’t miss Umeå but I am homesick for Storuman.”

Ann thought about whether there was any place she missed but she didn’t think so, definitely not Ödeshög. She caught herself starting to think about Laura Hindersten but did everything to push those thoughts away.

Charles paid as he had offered to do, and Ann did not object.

When they got up from their seats she was gripped by anxiety. They hadn’t said anything about the rest of their evening. Maybe he took for granted that he was going to go home with her? He knew she had a sitter.

They walked out onto the street together accompanied by Tall Per’s thunderous thanks but then Morgansson ran back inside, said something to the owner, and returned just as fast.

“I’ve called you a cab,” he said. “I’ll pay,” he added when he saw her confused expression.

She opened her mouth to protest but he held his hand up.

“No buts. I said I was going to treat you and that includes transportation.”

So her evening ended with her sitting alone in a taxicab chauffered by a chatty young man. Ann sat in the backseat and watched as the buildings and people swept past outside and she didn’t know what to think. What she felt very sure of, however, was what Görel would think.

When she entered the apartment there was just a lone lamp on in the living room. The soft sound from the loudspeakers sounded like whispers. Görel must be reading, Ann thought, and was suddenly upset about how the evening had ended. It would have been better if she had stayed home.

“Hello, I’m out here!” she heard Görel call out, and Ann heard a nuance to her voice that betrayed she thought Ann had company.

“It’s me,” Ann said.

Görel came out into the hall.

“Alone?”

Ann nodded.

“What kind of a man is he?”

“It feels fine this way, really,” Ann said.

“It feels fine?” Görel sniffed.

Ann turned around, hung up her jacket, and pulled off her boots. Görel waited silently behind her back. Ann wished her friend would keep talking.

“Has everything been calm here?”

“Here? Sure. He fell asleep like a little pig.”

“I think I . . .” Ann started, but she didn’t finish her sentence.

All at once she became very sad, not angry, just sad. She accepted the glass of wine that Görel had poured out and was now grateful for the silence and the low light in the apartment. Chet Baker’s voice almost made her cry. It was Edvard’s music.

She sank into the couch, exhausted. Görel sat down next to her and at first said nothing, letting Ann taste the wine and run through the evening in her mind. After a few minutes Ann told her that everything had felt good until they were standing in the street and she realized he had called her a cab.

“What I regret the most is I let him pay. It’s humiliating! As if I was a piece of luggage with no will of my own, that you can just send home.”

“Maybe he’s shy?”

“Shy,” Ann sputtered, becoming more angry. “He’s going to get his money back.”

“He said nothing about a next time, if you were going to see each other again, or . . .”

“Nothing! It was as if it was on his terms, as if I didn’t have any feelings. When he doesn’t want to go out alone to the movies or the pub then I’m supposed to come through as company for him. And then get sent home.”

“Has he had problems with women?”

“I don’t know. He said almost nothing about his life in Umeå.”

“He’s gay,” Görel pronounced in her incomparable way.

Ann tried to smile but couldn’t manage more than a wry grimace. She was ashamed, for herself and her own weakness and because of what she must look like in Görel’s eyes. She felt rejected. He hadn’t even asked her if he could go home with her.

She didn’t know herself what hopes she had had. Confused, sad, and angry, she drained her glass and immediately refilled it. She shouldn’t drink more. But what does it matter, she thought, the bitterness burning.

Görel moved closer, put her arm around her shoulders, and whispered something comforting that Ann didn’t hear.

“He didn’t even give me the chance to say no,” she sobbed.

She knew Görel needed to go home. She had to get up early. Leffe was probably wondering why she was so late. But at the same time it felt good to have Görel there. Her kindness made Ann feel somewhat less miserable and worthless.

She reached for her glass but Görel put her hand over Ann’s.

“Don’t drink any more,” Görel said. “Tomorrow is another day.”

Ann knew she was right but felt her anger return.

“You have to go home now,” she said. “Tomorrow is another day for you too.”

“It’s not a problem,” Görel said. “I have the night shift tomorrow.”

Ann put down her glass and looked at her.

“Am I . . .” Ann started but then hesitated.

“You are beautiful,” Görel said. “Don’t think anything else. That Charles,” and she made his name sound like an insult, “he’s a bad egg. Forget him. Yes, I know,” she said when she saw Ann’s expression, “it’s easy to say, but there are other men. Men who would give everything for a chance to cuddle up to a girl like you. And you know it.”

Ann shook her head.

Görel went home shortly before midnight. Ann returned to the couch, stared at the half-full glass of wine but didn’t touch it, got to her feet, and decided to try to sleep. She was not drunk, but intoxicated enough to stumble and knock over the standing lamp in the hall. The green glass cover shattered and the bulb went out.

She stared at the remains of the heirloom lamp that her grandmother had bought sometime in the twenties. For the first time she realized that she was perhaps not going to be able to manage, with work, with her loneliness, with being a good mother to Erik.

Without having removed her makeup or brushed her teeth she collapsed into bed with a feeling of regret.