The Golden Cage Read online

  “You’ve been unfaithful. You’ve slept with Jack Adelheim. I’ve got every right to tell him. Does he know about us? About the fact that you’ve got a boyfriend?”

  I knew there was no point trying to explain. It wouldn’t make any difference that we hadn’t slept together, that it had only been a quick kiss.

  Viktor looked like a wounded animal, his eyes black with hatred and despair. I realized he was capable of doing anything to get me back. Or to get his own back. To make me feel the same pain that was tearing him apart. He would tell the truth about who I really was, not only to Jack but the whole world. And my new life as Faye would be over. Everything would be over.

  My panic was replaced by an icy coldness I recognized from before. A peculiar calm settled on me and I realized there was no alternative. I wasn’t going to let Viktor stop me.

  What I felt as I met his gaze was hatred. I had paid a high price to get where I was, and now he was sitting there like some fucking judge. He knew nothing about the pain I had had to endure, the things I had been forced to do, the sights I had seen that I would have to live with for the rest of my life.

  But I held all of this inside me. Men were simple. Men were easy to manipulate and Viktor would be no exception. I had done it before and could do it again.

  I sat down beside him. Took his hand in mine. Spoke softly to him, warmly, stroked the back of his hand with my thumb. I felt him relax. Against his will.

  “You can do whatever you want. I understand. I understand that you’re sad and hurt. But I haven’t been unfaithful with Jack, and I don’t want us to part on bad terms. Let’s do what you wanted. One last evening together. You can have a whole night if you like. A morning. Then you can do whatever you want. Hurt me back if you want to. Tell Jack everything. That’s your right. But I want us to have one last night together.”

  I felt him start to relent. He wanted to believe me. Couldn’t turn down one last chance of intimacy. I knew him. I knew men.

  We ate pizza and shared two bottles of wine. I only sipped my glass, so Viktor drank most of the wine. We made love on the sofa. He took me hard, roughly. I let him. I closed my eyes and thought of Jack. Conjured up his face in my mind’s eye, forced myself out of my body as Viktor thrust into me, whimpering. Afterward he turned his back on me. I got up and washed, grimacing with pain when I tried to wipe myself. When I got back he was asleep. Nothing was going to wake him now.

  I went out onto the balcony and lit a cigarette. The lights above the city were twinkling in the summer night, and I could hear voices, music. When I had finished the cigarette I lit another one. I went in to Viktor, who was lying on his back, snoring with his mouth open. I prodded him. No reaction. He was completely wiped out by the wine and the storm of emotions. I laid the cigarette on the bed, by the edge of the pillowcase, then stood and waited to make sure that the cheap, flammable fabric caught fire. At first it only smoldered. Then a flame began to form.

  The icy chill I had felt started to fade. Panic crept up on me, hammering at my temples. I turned my back on the flames and hurried to the door. By the time I let it swing shut behind me the bed and curtains were alight.

  I felt like I was going to be sick when I emerged into the summer night. The smiling people I passed came far too close, sounded far too loud. I clutched my bag tight. I was free once more and my diary was safely back in my hands.

  The pregnancy test had been positive. There was an embryo inside her, a new human being. Half Jack. He had always wanted a son, an heir. Maybe she would be able to give that to him.

  Faye ran her hand over her stomach as she sat at the kitchen table, unable to do anything. She realized she hadn’t had anything to eat for hours. Her meat sauce stood untouched on the stove because Jack hadn’t come home yet. There was nothing to stop her eating now. The child needed nutrients to grow. She stood up and walked over to the stove. Dipped a finger in the sauce and found that it was lukewarm. She ladled some pasta into a dish. Drenched it with sauce and ate the whole lot standing at the island. It tasted divine. She closed her eyes and chewed the food as well-being spread through her and her body relaxed. It was so wonderful to eat at last that tears sprang to her eyes.

  She would have to put off worrying about her weight until after the child was born. For the time being, her most important job was making sure she got enough nutrition for two.

  Just like last time, she would start exercising straight after the delivery, but she would also follow a strict diet once she’d stopped breastfeeding. She wouldn’t let herself be sucked into the baby bubble, and would prioritize Jack and their marriage instead. Their son would be a fresh start, for their relationship and for her as a woman and a wife.

  She helped herself to another portion and carried the dish to the table.

  An hour later the door opened and Faye felt anticipation fluttering in her stomach. She called out to Jack and he looked into the kitchen. Faye stood up and walked toward him. Soon that little worry line between his eyes would be gone.

  “I’ve got some wonderful news to tell you, darling,” she said. “Come and sit down.”

  Jack sighed. “I’m tired, can’t it wait until…”

  “No, come along.”

  Faye couldn’t wait.

  Jack raised his eyebrows but sat down at the kitchen table. She knew he’d be happy when she told him, and ignored the harassed look on his face.

  “What?” he said.

  Faye smiled at him.

  “I’m pregnant, darling. We’re going to have another child.”

  His expression didn’t change.

  “It could be a boy,” she said. “You’ve always wanted to have a son as well.”

  Faye stroked her stomach and smiled again. He had always loved her smile, said it was infectious. But now he just rubbed his face wearily with his hand.

  “What is it?” Faye said.

  The lump in her throat was back.

  “Now isn’t a good time, Faye. I don’t want another child.”

  “What do you mean?”

  What was it with him? Why wasn’t he happy?

  “I just think that Julienne is enough.”

  “But…”

  Her voice was barely audible. She didn’t recognize the look in Jack’s eyes.

  “It’s not appropriate. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to…well, you know…”

  Faye shook her head.

  “You want…you want me to have an abortion?”

  Jack nodded. “Yes, I know it’s a nuisance, but it simply isn’t appropriate.”

  She wanted to throw herself at him. Shake him. But she knew it was her fault. She had caught him by surprise, she needed to let it sink in.

  Jack stood up.

  “Okay?” he said.

  Faye swallowed the lump. He fought so hard for her and Julienne. Did she really have any right to demand more?

  “Yes, I understand,” she said.

  Jack’s face softened. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

  “I’m going to bed,” he said.

  On the way to the bedroom he stopped and turned.

  “I’ll call my doctor tomorrow so we can get it done as soon as possible.”

  The bedroom door closed and Faye leaped to her feet. She hurried into the bathroom and yanked the toilet lid up. The spaghetti and meat sauce came back up, the taste of tomatoes mingling with the bitter taste of bile. She flushed it away, then rested her head on the cold porcelain and let the tears come.

  STOCKHOLM/BARCELONA, SEPTEMBER 2001

  I HAD BEEN SLEEPING like a log for more than twenty-four hours when I was woken by the shrill sound of the phone. It was Axel. When I heard his broken voice tell me what had happened, that Viktor had died in a fire started by a cigarette in bed, the tears came. I sobbed so hard that my whole body shook.

  I
had been forced to do what I had done, there hadn’t been any choice, but the price was high. The price was always high.

  After the call I lay in bed with my knees pulled up to my chest. I concentrated on breathing. In, out.

  Viktor’s words were still ringing in my ears. I know who you are. The question is, does he know…Viktor would never have been able to keep quiet. If he had lived, Faye would have had to die.

  * * *

  • • •

  A few days later large raindrops started to fall outside the window. It was liberating. The rain washed away the stifling heat that had been draped over Stockholm like a blanket of humidity.

  Chris had gone away. Her parents had invited her to their apartment in Majorca and I was on my own in Stockholm again. When I sent her a short text to tell her about Viktor she offered to come home, but I assured her I was okay.

  I buried myself in microeconomics, macroeconomics, statistics, and financial analysis. College was the only thing that mattered. Succeeding, being the best. It was all down to me, no one else could do the work for me. And I had made up my mind. I was going to create a whole new life for myself. Run a business, travel business class, earn more money than I needed, have a handsome husband (Jack), nice, well-behaved children; I’d own houses and apartments in interesting places I’d read about and seen in films. I wanted it all. I was going to have it all.

  My phone, charging beside the bed, rang. Probably Chris, calling to update me on her exploits in Spain. I lay on the bed and checked the screen before I pressed answer. It was a number my phone didn’t recognize.

  “Yes, hello?”

  “Hi!”

  “Who is this?” I said, although I recognized the voice at once.

  “It’s Jack. Jack Adelheim.”

  I closed my eyes. Didn’t want to sound too keen.

  “Oh, hi…” I said hesitantly.

  “Am I disturbing you?”

  He sounded excited. Happy. I could hear music in the background.

  “Not at all. What’s on your mind?”

  I was making an effort to sound nonchalant, and rolled onto my back.

  “I was thinking of asking if you’d like to go somewhere. Tonight. I need to get away from Henrik.”

  “Sure. Which bar do you want to meet at?”

  “Bar? No, I mean go away somewhere.”

  I laughed. He was crazy.

  “Go away somewhere?”

  “Yes, for a couple of days. We’ll be back on Sunday. Pack a few clothes and meet me at Central Station, and we’ll go to Barcelona.”

  “Okay.” I realized I was holding my breath.

  “You want to come?” he said in surprise.

  “Yes.”

  “See you in thirty minutes, then.”

  I hung up without fully understanding what I had agreed to. Then I leaped out of bed and started to pack.

  * * *

  • • •

  We were drunk by the time we landed. We’d started to drink at Arlanda, and continued with cocktails the whole way across Europe. We had to wait a while in the line for a taxi but got one eventually. I was giggly and a bit unsteady on my feet, and very conscious of the blood rushing through every vein, every capillary in my body.

  “Hotel Catalonia, por favor,” Jack said once we were in the back seat. “Está en el Born, lo conoce usted?”

  The car started with a jerk and I felt Jack’s hand on my thigh, burning my skin.

  “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Jack said with a wink.

  He moved his hand farther up my thigh and all my blood rushed to my crotch.

  “What sort of hotel is it?”

  “You won’t be disappointed.”

  I smiled and turned my head away. How could I ever be disappointed in Jack?

  The dark September night was hot and humid. People in summer attire strolled the streets in search of somewhere cool, dinner, company. I wound the window down and enjoyed the air on my face. I needed to cool off.

  I had never been farther from Sweden than Denmark, where I had once been on a motoring holiday with my family. A holiday that had been abruptly cut short. But I didn’t want to think about that now. I let the wind in my face blow away all the memories and told myself that I could replace them with new ones. Every cell in our body gets renewed, replaced. The same ought to be true of memories.

  “I love this city. You’ll see, it’s easier to breathe here,” Jack said, closing his eyes.

  His long, dark eyelashes looked like little fans against his cheeks.

  “You’ve been here before?”

  He opened his eyes and looked at me, the glimmer of the streetlights and neon signs reflected in their deep blue.

  “Twice.”

  I wanted to ask if those had been the same sort of trip. If he had sat in other taxis, with unspoken promises and hands on other women’s thighs. Perhaps this was Jack Adelheim’s standard maneuver? Maybe he was following his usual seduction tactics? But it didn’t matter. Three days in this city together with Jack was far too tempting a prospect for me to waste it on pointless jealousy and unnecessary thinking. I was here now. With Jack’s hand on my thigh.

  We turned off onto one of the avenues, stopped at a red light, then drove into a very picturesque part of the city. The alleys grew narrower. Cobblestones kissed the rubber tires. We waited for an oncoming car to pass. My armpits were sweaty, but I closed my eyes and let myself be seduced by the sounds. Laughter, the clatter of cutlery, intense conversation, music. Bars everywhere, restaurants, cafés. The sweet smell of hash.

  I wanted to take Jack’s hand, squeeze it, look into his eyes, and tell him how wonderful he was, how happy I was to be here. But I had made up my mind not to take the initiative. Not to force anything.

  “Here it is,” Jack said.

  A white façade, glass doors. Above them a sign with the hotel’s name in large letters, HOTEL CATALONIA BORN. A young porter hurried over, skirted around the car, and opened the door for me.

  “Gracias,” I said, and smiled. I already missed the heat of Jack’s hand as I got out of the car.

  “You’re a fast learner,” Jack called as he paid the driver.

  The porter took our bags, we walked in, and Jack started to speak to the receptionist in his rough Spanish. He switched to English when the communication gap grew too big. We filled in some forms and handed over our passports. A photocopier rumbled, then we got them back.

  “All sorted,” Jack said.

  The receptionist called the waiting porter over and we followed him into the elevator that carried us up to the fifth floor. When I walked into the room it turned out that Jack had booked a whole suite. I’d never seen anything like it.

  “This is amazing,” I said, all my intentions to appear worldly blown away. “God, I could fit my apartment in here ten times over!”

  There was a group of sofas in the middle of the large room, in front of a flat-screen TV. Next to it was a well-stocked drinks trolley. The external wall had been replaced by huge panoramic windows with a view that stretched for miles.

  I pulled back the thick curtains covering the door to the terrace, opened it, and stepped out. The city twinkled below. Sounds and smells drifted up to me. The heat felt as soft as velvet. Guitar music was coming from a nearby apartment. The sea lay dark and endless beyond the shoreline it was embracing.

  “What do you think?” Jack asked.

  He stopped behind me, put his arms around me, and rested his head on my shoulder. “I don’t know what to say,” I replied, spinning around and looking into his eyes. I felt like throwing myself at him, kissing him, tearing our clothes off, straddling him and feeling him inside me.

  “I know the hotel’s owner,” Jack said.

 
“Swedish?”

  “Yes. We’re staying here free of charge.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “I never joke about money,” Jack said. “Shall we head out and get something to eat?”

  * * *

  • • •

  We turned left outside the hotel. My heels caught in the cobbles and I stumbled slightly. Jack caught me by one arm. Before we left the room I had touched up my makeup, changed my underwear, and put on a black skirt. I felt beautiful. And I didn’t need to worry about whether or not Jack wanted me. He kept looking at me hungrily. Part of me would have liked to suggest not bothering with food and staying in the hotel room to fuck ourselves silly. But I was too curious to see the city.

  There were clusters of people standing around the street corners. Hoarse laughter echoed through the alleys. A dark-eyed man in a soccer jersey came up to us.

  “Hashish?”

  Jack haggled over the price. The man gesticulated. The deal was soon concluded, Jack handed over a few notes and received a small parcel in return. He unwrapped it and took out a brown lump.

  “Smell.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed in the sweet smell. I’d never tried it before. Not hash, in fact nothing stronger than cigarettes and alcohol. But here in Barcelona, with Jack, it felt entirely natural. Jack was a drug, a drug that made me want to try all the other drugs in the world.

  He carefully wrapped it again and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. The music grew louder and we came to a square. Chairs and tables were nestled along the buildings. People were smoking, drinking, eating.

  “Here?” he said, pointing.

  “Sure,” I said. I was far too busy soaking up my surroundings to make any sort of decision about where to eat.

  We sat down at a table. A waiter in a white shirt and bow tie came over. Jack ordered tapas. Beer for him, a mojito for me.

  Our drinks arrived. Jack reached over, took a mint leaf from my glass, and popped it in his mouth.