There was something special about the nights. To be awake while others were sleeping. When everything had quieted down, when the thoughts of all people were gathered up and sorted into various dream states, leaving the air free. It was as if it became easier to think then, as if her musings had an easier time emerging when they didn’t have to make way for all the rushing traffic. During her student days she had often turned night into day, and whenever possible she preferred to study for her exams at night. When the air was free.
Now the night had become associated with danger, for precisely the same reason. The fewer distractions and disturbing elements there were, the more often the field was clear. Something in there was protesting and seeking contact with her, and the quieter the night got, the harder it was to avoid hearing. Something in there blamed her, despite her brave attempts to bring about order and justice, and she had to watch out that she was not dragged down into the depths. She could only imagine what it would feel like to end up there; the slightest intimation of such a state was enough to scare her out of her wits. For twenty-three years she had managed to keep a distance from the darkness that was growing ever denser, but now it had grown so vast that it had almost reached the surface. The only way to maintain the slight distance that was still left was to stay in motion at all times. Because there was an urgency, a real urgency. She could feel in her whole body how much urgency there was. If only she made a decent effort, it would be possible to make everything right.
She had turned on the radio to drown out the worst of the silence. Pernilla’s papers were spread out on the big oak kitchen table that was specially built to stand right where it stood. With room for ten people. There was no tiredness in her body, it was almost 3:30 in the morning and she was into her third glass of a 1979 Glen Mhor. She had bought the whisky during a trip abroad to supplement the exclusive contents of her bar cabinet, and it had made a good impression on some well-chosen guests. But it functioned equally well as an anaesthetic.
She punched in Pernilla’s income on her calculator and totalled it up again, but it didn’t help. The situation was really as bad as Pernilla had said. Daniella would get a child’s stipend, but it was based on Mattias’s general supplementary pension and wouldn’t be very much. She had searched online and found out how to calculate it. Before the diving accident they had lived hand to mouth, working a bit here and there, saving enough to take a trip once in a while. After the accident Mattias had worked a little, but the jobs hadn’t been particularly well-paid. Pernilla had been right. They would be forced to move if they didn’t get some help.
Not until she heard the morning paper land on the hall floor did she get up and go into the bedroom. The box of sleeping pills lay on her nightstand and she pressed a pill out of the foil pack and swallowed it with the dregs from a glass of water that had stood there since the night before. She wasn’t tired in the least, but she had to start work again and she had to get a few hours’ sleep. If she took the pill now and stayed up for half an hour she would fall asleep as soon as she lay down.
Not one thought would manage to take shape.
Dinner.
She followed the unfamiliar chanterelle recipe meticulously and the whole thing turned out quite well, even though she would have preferred a piece of meat on the plate next to all those vegetables. Pernilla sat in silence. Monika filled her wine glass when needed but refrained from drinking any herself. She wanted to stay sharp, and, besides, she had to drive. She sat enjoying the thought that she would get to take Pernilla’s papers with her when she drove home. She was looking forward to familiarising herself fully with the situation. The papers were not merely an information source, they were also a guarantee, a temporary breathing space where she didn’t have to worry. With them in her hands she was certain to be allowed to return, at least one more time. She looked at the stack of papers lying on the kitchen worktop and noticed how soothing it felt.
She wiped up the last food on her plate with a piece of bread and got ready for what she had to say. That they would be forced to make a slight change in what they might almost call ‘their routines’. She liked that expression, their routines. But now they would have to be altered a bit. She couldn’t jeopardise her job. Then they would both lose. So she sat and prepared for what had to be said.
‘My leave of absence is up tomorrow, so I’ll have to go back to work.’
There was no reaction from across the table.
‘But I’d like to continue to drop by in the evenings if that would be any help.’
Pernilla said nothing, only nodded a little, but she didn’t really seem to be listening. Her lack of interest made Monika uneasy. She hadn’t been able to make herself indispensable, and each time she was reminded of any lack of control the darkness pressed in closer and closer.
‘I thought I might be able to come by tomorrow evening and tell you about that programme and how my talk with them has gone; I’m planning to ring them first thing in the morning.’
Pernilla sat jabbing her fork at a chanterelle that was left on her plate. She hadn’t eaten much, even though she had said the food was good.
‘Sure, if you feel like it, otherwise we can do it on the phone.’
She didn’t take her eyes off the chanterelle, and with the help of the fork it made its way through the sauce, drawing an irregular trail between a lettuce leaf and a leftover wedge of potato.
‘It’s better if I come by, it’s no problem, and I have to give you your papers back anyway.’
Pernilla nodded, put down her fork and took a gulp of wine. There was a very long pause. Monika glanced at Sofia Magdalena, wondering how she could bring the conversation round to some historical topic that might lighten the mood a little and make Pernilla realise how much they had in common, when Pernilla beat her to it. Except that the part of the story she wanted to talk about was the part that Monika wanted to avoid at all costs. The words hit her like a punch in the stomach.
‘It’s his birthday tomorrow.’
Monika swallowed. She looked at Pernilla and realised her mistake. Until now Pernilla had almost never mentioned his name, and Monika had begun to relax, believing that it would continue that way as she hurried past his gaze in the living room whenever she had to walk by. But now Pernilla was starting to be affected by the wine. Monika in her foolishness had bought the wine and kept refilling her glass. The effect could be seen in Pernilla’s listless movements, and when she blinked it took longer than usual for her eyelids to close and then open again. Monika saw the tears streaming down Pernilla’s cheeks; they were running in a different way than they had the other times she had wept. On those occasions Pernilla had retreated with her grief, trying to hide. Now she sat there exposed on her chair, making no attempt to conceal her despair. The alcohol had dissolved all her barriers and Monika cursed her stupidity. She should have known better. But now she would have to atone for her mistake, as she was forced to endure every word.
‘He would have been thirty. We were supposed to go out to eat for once, I arranged for a babysitter months ago, it was going to be a surprise.’
Monika clenched her fists and pressed her nails into her palms. It was a relief when it hurt somewhere she could pinpoint.
Pernilla picked up her fork again and let it return to the chanterelle.
‘They rang from the funeral home this morning; he was cremated yesterday. Well, what they managed to scrape up of him, although they didn’t say that. So now he isn’t merely dead, now he’s been annihilated as well, only a little ash in an urn down there at the funeral home waiting to be picked up.’
Monika wondered how hot the oven should be for the blueberry pie she had bought for dessert. She had forgotten to check before she threw out the package. Two hundred degrees Celsius should do it. If she put a little foil on top it wouldn’t burn.
‘I picked a white one. They had a whole catalogue with caskets and urns in different colours and shapes and price ranges, but I took the one that was cheapest because I knew he’d think it was crazy to waste money on an expensive urn.’
And she had to whip the vanilla sauce too, she’d forgotten about that. She wondered whether they had an electric mixer, because she hadn’t seen one when she’d made dinner, but maybe there was one in a cupboard she hadn’t looked in.
‘I’m not going to have a burial. I know he wouldn’t want to be buried somewhere, he’ll be scattered at sea, he loved the sea. I know how much he missed diving and that in his heart he wanted to start again, it was only because of me that he didn’t.’
Imagine, Sofia Magdalena was engaged to Gustav III when she was just five years old. It said in the books that she had led a melancholy life, she had been shy and withdrawn and subjected to a strict upbringing. She came to Sweden at nineteen and had a hard time adjusting to life at the Swedish court.
‘Why couldn’t he have lived long enough to dive one more time? Just one more time!’
How loud she was talking. She was going to wake Daniella if she didn’t pipe down soon.
‘Why wasn’t he allowed to do it? Why? Just one last time!’
Monika gave a start when Pernilla suddenly stood up and went into the bedroom. It was clear that the wine had affected her legs too. Monika searched the kitchen for the whisk she needed but found none. Then Pernilla reappeared and now she had Mattias’s woollen jumper in her arms, holding it close to her as if in an embrace. She sank down on the chair and her face was contorted with anguish and now she was shrieking more than talking.
‘I want him to be here! Here with me! Why can’t he be here with me?’
Keep moving. Keeping herself in constant motion made it possible to stay out of all this. It was when she stopped that everything hurt.
Doctor Monika Lundvall stood up. Mattias Andersson’s widow sat across the table and was sobbing so hard she was shaking. The poor woman wrapped her arms round herself and rocked back and forth. Doctor Lundvall had seen this so many times. Loved ones had died and the relatives were left behind in inconsolable despair. And they could never be comforted. People in the midst of grief were in a world of their own. No matter how many years a person studied medicine or stood right next to them, they were still in a different place. There was nothing you could say to cheer them up, nothing you could do to make them feel better. All you could do was to be there and listen to their unbearable sorrow. Endure it even though their distress raged all around them that everything was meaningless, that life was so ruthless it was no use even trying. You might as well give up at once. What was the point when it could all end an hour from now? Why make an effort when everything was steadily moving towards the same inexorable end? And it was impossible to avoid. People in grief were one big reminder. Why try at all? Why?
‘Pernilla, come, let’s put you to bed. Come on now.’
Doctor Lundvall went round the table and put a hand on her shoulder.
The woman kept on rocking back and forth.
‘Come on.’
Doctor Lundvall took hold of Pernilla’s shoulders and helped her up from the chair. With an arm round her shoulders she led the woman into the bedroom. Like a child Pernilla let herself be led and did as she was told, lying down obediently in the bed. Doctor Lundvall pulled up the covers from the empty side of the double bed and tucked them around her. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Pernilla’s forehead. Gentle, calm movements that made her breathe more easily. She stayed there. The red numbers on the clock radio changed and returned in new combinations. Pernilla was now sound asleep, and Doctor Lundvall went back to the subject of her leave of absence.
Now only Monika was left.
‘Forgive me.’
One big reminder.
‘Forgive me. Forgive me because I wasn’t braver.’
She stroked away a lock of hair from her brow.
‘I would do anything to make him come back to life.’
Pernilla took in a shuddery breath. And Monika felt that she wanted to say it out loud. Even if Pernilla didn’t hear. To confess.
‘It was my fault, I was the one who betrayed him. I left him there even though I could have saved him. Forgive me, Pernilla, for not being braver. I would do anything at all, anything, if only I could give you Lasse back again.’