‘Eden, I don’t know if you’re in Sweden or if you’ve been following the news, but we’ve had two terrible incidents today. A member of staff at the Solomon school was shot dead this afternoon, and this evening two boys have been reported missing by their parents. Give me a call if you can.’
She put the phone back in her bag. Mikael looked pleased as she lay back, resting on his outstretched arm.
‘Anything important?’
‘Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.’
She had already heard about the shooting, but not the missing boys.
Do I need to get involved? No.
For some obscure reason the Solomon Community had got the idea that they could count on her support and resources in various situations. This was, to put it mildly, a misapprehension. She felt no loyalty whatsoever towards what were somewhat inaccurately referred to as ‘her people’.
‘I thought we might go away in March,’ Mikael said.
Did you indeed?
‘Where?’
‘Somewhere hot. Just you and me and the girls.’
As if they usually went away with a whole crowd of other people.
‘I don’t know if I can get away from work.’
‘I’m sure you can, if you book the time early enough.’
‘We’ve talked about this before; you have to realise there’s a difference between what you do and what I do.’
Mikael was a priest, and Eden loved him for that. Everything was possible in Mikael’s world. The sky was the limit as far as he was concerned, but his naive attitude towards time, and above all to obligations outside the family, drove her crazy. It created conflict and all too often led to arguments.
Things had been calm for a while now; Christmas had been enjoyable, and January hadn’t sprung any surprises. Eden had even managed to drop the girls off at day care and pick them up, just like an ordinary mum.
A normal mum. One who didn’t feel like screaming ‘For God’s sake will you hurry up!’ as soon as she saw the twins ambling towards her, eager to show and tell what they had been doing at day care. As if they had all the time in the world. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, they would hand her drawings and trolls made of stones and all kinds of crap that Eden realised other people took into work and placed on their desks; personally, she just wanted to chuck the whole lot in a box in the garage. She understood that the children thought they had made something wonderful, but she felt as if she would be doing them a disservice if she lied. Ugly was ugly, end of.
‘How long do you think you’ll stay with Säpo?’ Mikael asked.
Excellent, he had already dropped his holiday plans.
‘Why do you ask? I’ve only been there just over six months.’
‘I’m asking because I know you, Eden. You’re a restless soul.’
She stared up at the ceiling. Was that true? Was she restless? Maybe, maybe not.
‘I’ll stay for a while. There’s a lot to do within their organisation before I’m satisfied.’
‘Their organisation? Not yours?’
No. She would never again make the same mistake as she had in London, becoming as one with an organisation that wasn’t hers after all.
The desire for a cigarette grew too strong.
‘Back in a minute,’ she said, getting out of bed again.
‘Say what you like, nobody could accuse you of being a romantic,’ Mikael said, and for a moment it bothered her that he didn’t sound in the least ironic.
She let the comment pass. In the bathroom she unzipped her toilet bag and took out the packet of cigarettes and the lighter she always kept in the side pocket. She ran water into the hand basin, then opened the window and lit up. She closed her eyes as she blew out the smoke, the cold air cooling her body. Just a few drags, then she was satisfied. The odd snowflake found its way into the bathroom, melting on her bare skin.
As usual she doused the cigarette under the running water and flushed the stub down the loo. She was brushing her teeth when her mobile rang again.
She went back into the bedroom. Why couldn’t the Solomon Community understand that she was neither willing nor able to help them?
But it wasn’t the Solomon Community. It was her boss, Buster Hansson, the General Director of Säpo, usually known as GD.
‘We have a problem,’ he said. ‘Efraim Kiel is back in Sweden.’
The telephone slipped out of Eden’s hand and landed on the floor.
‘What’s happened?’ Mikael asked, sitting up in bed.
‘Nothing,’ she said, picking up the phone.
But inside she was in turmoil.
Efraim Kiel. She could think of several reasons why he might turn up in Stockholm.
None of them was good news.
It was almost nine thirty, and Fredrika Bergman was sitting alone in the kitchen with a cup of tea. Spencer was in their bedroom, and she had asked him to stay there. They had had an unexpectedly bitter argument about how he thought he could possibly go off to Jerusalem, because it turned out they had completely different perceptions of what was achievable, and what they could demand of one another.
‘How would you react if I suddenly said I was going off to play the violin for two weeks?’ Fredrika had snapped.
‘The fact is you don’t actually do everything at home while I just watch,’ Spencer had replied, as if that had anything to do with Fredrika’s question.
‘What’s that got to do with anything? Am I supposed to go around feeling grateful because I don’t have to look after the kids and run the house on my own? Is that what you’re saying?’
Spencer had made the mistake of sounding more than a little condescending in his response.
‘If I travel to Jerusalem to work for two weeks, it’s hardly the same as you going off to China to play the guitar.’
At that point Fredrika had hit the roof.
‘I don’t play the fucking guitar! And China? Are you going senile?’
That had been the starting pistol for an extremely undignified row.
So now she was sitting alone in the kitchen. The guitar. In China. She couldn’t help it, she just burst out laughing. Half her girlfriends would have advised her to file for divorce. Right now.
For God’s sake, Spencer, sort yourself out.
The strength in their relationship had always – always – been the unconditional trust, and the fact that they were able to communicate with one another. During all those years when Spencer was still married, they had still known exactly where they were; he had never disappointed her by giving her false expectations or making promises he couldn’t keep. Not once. Their situation was complicated enough; there was no need to make it even more complex with a whole load of lies.
Fredrika wearily ran her hand across the surface of the table. A table on which Spencer had actually taken her just a couple of nights ago, when the children were staying over with their grandparents. She hoped her parents liked babysitting, because if she was going to be on her own for two weeks, she wouldn’t be able to cope without them.
If only everything wasn’t so fragile.
She had never thought she would have everything she had dreamt of.
Spencer.
The children.
The violin.
Now that she had all of those things and was happy for once, why did Spencer have to make such a fuss about something so trivial? Or was she the one who was kicking off? Because she was so afraid of losing everything?
She heard footsteps behind her.
‘I’m sorry if I upset you,’ Spencer said. ‘You’re right and I’m wrong. Two weeks is too long.’
He sat down at the table. He even looked good in pyjamas. Fredrika tilted her head on one side, wondering what she would have wanted him to say if she had been offered the chance to go to Israel.
That’s terrific!