‘No!’
‘What am I supposed to wait for, then? For you to make up your mind whether I’m good enough as a replacement?’
‘Cut it out, Linda. I just feel that everything’s moving too fast. I do realise that because I’m reacting this way that . . . that . . .’
He broke off. What was it he had actually realised?
‘That you actually love your wife?’
‘No, that’s not true. I really don’t.’
Or did he?
‘It’s not that. I just realise that . . . that I’m not ready yet . . . it wouldn’t be fair to you to . . .’
Please, get me out of this!
‘I’m just not ready. It wouldn’t be fair to you if we started a life together when I’m feeling this way.’
‘So you think I should sit and wait for you? In case you ever happen to be ready?’
‘Everything is so much easier for you! You’re not risking anything.’
She sat up again.
‘I’m not risking anything! I’m a day-care teacher who’s having an affair with the father of one of the children! What do you think will happen to me when this gets out? And those emails that somebody sent? How do you think it feels to have someone go into my computer and find my private letters and then send them off? Don’t you get it? Somebody knows. Somebody who has seen us. Who’s trying to punish me!’
‘It wasn’t Eva. I know you think so, but she’s not like that. And why in hell would she do it? She must be satisfied by now. It gives her a free hand, after all.’
Linda was silent, and he saw that she was shaking her head, slowly shaking it back and forth in disgust.
At him.
‘Listen to yourself. Listen to what you’re saying. Poor little rejected Henrik. It’s such a fucking shame!’
He didn’t reply.
He had lost her.
She went over and opened the cabin door. The sharp glare from the fluorescent lights in the hallway blinded him. All that was left of her was a black silhouette.
‘You’re never going to be ready, Henrik. If I were you I’d spend my time finding out who I am and what I actually want to do with my life. Then you can go out and involve others in your future.’
He swallowed. The lump in his throat wouldn’t go away.
‘Now go.’
He couldn’t recall the last time he had felt so nervous. The enormous bouquet of roses on the seat next to him suddenly looked grotesque, like a foolish prop in an even more foolish film. It was just after ten in the morning, and he was grateful that he would have the day alone at home so he could collect himself before she came home from work. He hadn’t called to tell her that he was returning a day early.
He was close now. Close to home. But he had never felt so far away. He cursed at a badly parked old Mazda that stood halfway out in the road just before the right turn into his street. With one hand on the wheel he manoeuvred his way past and in the next moment he saw his house.
Her car was in the driveway.
Why wasn’t she at work?
And then the next thought.
Maybe she wasn’t alone inside. Maybe she had made sure to bring home her lover now that Henrik was out of the way for a few days, show him their home, what she had to offer in the way of material assets. The thought disgusted him as much as it scared him. He stood alone now while there were two of them. And he was the one who would have to leave the house, she was the one who had the financial wherewithal to buy him out. And then that other bastard would move into his house, get to enjoy all the hard work he had done to fix it up. Fuck. And she who had been so understanding. Suggested maybe he should go away for a few days and think. I’ll take care of everything here at home in the meantime, it’s quite all right, the main thing is that you feel good again. I’m here if you need me, I always will be. Maybe I’ve been poor at showing it, but I’ll try to improve.
How was it possible to be so cold and calculating, all to get rid of him for a few days so she could fuck her lover in peace. Who was she really, this woman he had lived with for almost fifteen years? Did he know her at all?
And the trip she had paid for. And the champagne. Had it all been to assuage her guilty conscience?
He opened the car door, took the bouquet of roses and climbed out. If she had seen him through a window he couldn’t very well retreat now. But what would he do if the other man was in the house?
He took his time after he put the key in the door. Made as much noise as possible to give them time to interrupt whatever they were doing. A bedroom drama was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. He put his bag down on the hall floor and looked around for strange shoes or coats without finding any.
Her voice from upstairs.
‘Hello?’
Instinctively he hid the bouquet behind his back.
‘It’s only me.’
Her steps across the floor upstairs and then her feet, legs and finally all of her visible halfway down the stairs, where she stopped. The expression on her face was hard to read, maybe surprised, maybe annoyed.
‘I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow night.’
‘No, I know. I changed my mind.’
He swallowed his impulse to ask if she was lonely, his need to know.
They stood there looking at each other, neither of them ready to take the next step. The bouquet burned in his hand, suddenly so embarrassing that he wanted to back out and toss it away before it was discovered.
It was impossible to determine what he actually felt when he saw her. Only a desire to be able to go up the stairs in peace and quiet, sink down in their sofa and let everything be normal. Decide who was going to pick up Axel at day-care, where he would be able to drive without having a stomach ache, and then eat a normal Tuesday dinner together. Ask how Axel was doing, whether anyone had called and where she had put his mail and whether they should rent a movie that evening. But there was a mountain between them. And how he was going to get over that mountain he had no idea. Even less what might be waiting for him on the other side.
‘Why aren’t you at work?’
He hadn’t meant to sound like he was snooping, but he could hear that it sounded like an accusation. And it was more than clear that she was searching for a suitable answer, since she didn’t really have one.
‘My throat is a little sore.’
She said it on her way back up the stairs, without looking at him. And he knew she was lying. When she was gone he put down the bouquet and quickly took off his jacket, looked at himself in the hall mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he had bought her flowers, or whether he had ever done so before. But if he were to be successful with what he had decided to do, then he would have to try and overcome the distaste he felt. He had one single goal, but his feelings were fighting for space inside of him. Anger, fear, confusion, decisiveness.
He took the bouquet and went up the stairs.
She was standing by the kitchen table stacking up sheets of paper. A calculator and a pen. The folder they got from the real estate agent where she put all the bills and loan papers related to the house.
The fear again. Stronger than the anger.
‘What are you doing?’
She didn’t have time to answer. She looked up at him and saw the blood-red bouquet. Stood there mute and stared at it as if she were trying to identify what it signified. And then, finally, after an uncomfortable pause when all he felt was his own heart pounding, she finally managed to grasp what the bouquet was.
‘Did someone send you flowers?’
‘No, they’re for you.’
He held the bouquet out to her but she didn’t move. Not a hint of a reaction. Everything felt hollow. Not a move to step forward and take them. Her indifference made him suddenly feel so embarrassed that it was too much for him, and he wanted to scream out all his accusations right in her face. Crush that false mask devoid of feeling that she hid behind and force her down on her knees. Make her confess. But he had to be smarter than that to manage all this.