The Gilden Cage Read online

  “Yes, definitely,” Jack said, smiling at her.

  His face looked more youthful, more at ease. She relaxed. She was on the right track. They just needed a bit of time away from each other.

  “It’s a good idea to get a bit of mom and daughter time,” Jack said. It sounded a little forced, but she was happy to take whatever crumbs she could get. “A girls” trip, or whatever you want to call it. It’ll be harder to do that sort of thing once she starts school.”

  He fiddled with a pen and asked nonchalantly, “How long are you planning to be away?”

  “I was thinking five nights.”

  She held one hand out toward him, and he took it, to her surprise. And relief.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not! Though I’m obviously going to miss you both.”

  She blew him a kiss before leaving.

  “We’ll miss you too,” she said.

  And she meant it. She was missing him already.

  There wasn’t much traffic on the E4, mostly tractor trailers. Faye enjoyed driving, and Julienne seemed excited to be going on an adventure.

  “Can we go swimming?” she asked.

  “The water’s going to be very cold. Let’s see what you think when you’ve felt it.”

  A diplomatic answer. Obviously she knew Julienne would think it was far too cold. It would be several months before the water was anywhere close to warm enough to swim in.

  Julienne immersed herself in her iPad. Faye overtook a DHL truck, the driver stared longingly at their Porsche Cayenne as she pulled in front of him.

  The phone rang. It was Jack.

  “How are you getting on?”

  He sounded happy, and Faye couldn’t help smiling. It had been a long time since she had heard anything but irritation in his voice.

  “Daddy!” Julienne cried.

  “Hello, darling! Are you having a good time?”

  “Yes! Really good!” Julienne said, then went back to her iPad.

  “Where are you?”

  “We’ve just passed Norrköping,” Faye said. “Time for a break soon, probably that place with the golden arches . . .”

  “McDonald’s!” Julienne exclaimed happily.

  There was no fooling her.

  Jack laughed and Faye felt it sweeping away the bad memories, dissolving them like the dandelion heads she used to blow as a child.

  They hung up and she concentrated on driving. There was a long way to go before they got there.

  “Mommy, I feel sick.”

  Faye glanced at Julienne, whose face did indeed have a disconcertingly greenish-white pallor.

  “Maybe you could try looking out of the window? I think you might be feeling sick because you’ve been looking down at a screen.”

  Faye took her right hand off the wheel and felt Julienne’s forehead. It was warm and sweaty.

  “Are you hungry? There’s an apple in the bag by your feet.”

  “No. I feel sick.”

  “We can stop at McDonald’s soon, if you like.”

  Julienne said nothing, her eyes fixed on the road. It’ll pass, Faye thought.

  A few minutes later Julienne started to cough and Faye pulled over to the roadside with a grimace. As they came to a stop Julienne threw up all over.

  Faye jumped out of the car and hurried round to the passenger side. She lifted Julienne out, and held her hair as she whimpered feebly before being sick again.

  A little cloud of steam rose from the warm vomit on the frozen grass.

  A truck drove past and the turbulence rocked the car.

  Faye put Julienne back in her seat, emptied a bag and put it on her lap. She found a roll of paper towels in the trunk and wiped up the worst of the mess inside the car. The smell turned her stomach and she didn’t dare think about what Jack would say when he heard what had happened. The car would have to go in for detailing before she could so much as blink.

  “If you have to be sick again, try to do it in the bag.”

  Faye wound the window down and breathed through her mouth. The stench was terrible as she started the car. Whitney Houston was singing that she would always love you, and Faye turned the volume down. She preferred the original by Dolly Parton.

  A few miles farther on they pulled in to a petrol station. Faye perched Julienne on a chair while she bought some disinfectant and a cloth and tried to clean things up, all the while cursing the decision to drive down on her own.

  They could have flown, then hired a car at the airport. Why did she always have to complicate things? Jack was right. She was completely useless. As a wife, and as a mother.

  Her good mood had vanished altogether.

  Faye fetched Julienne, and bought a banana that she ate on the way to the car, then tossed the peel in a can before getting them both back in the car.

  “How are you feeling now, darling?”

  “I want to go home. Please, can we go home?”

  “Try to get some sleep and you’ll feel better.”

  Julienne was too tired to protest. She leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes. Faye put one hand on her thigh and pulled out onto the highway again.

  Twenty miles from Jönköping she had had enough of Whitney Houston. Keeping her eyes on the road she felt for her mobile to put a podcast on instead, but couldn’t find it. She slowed down and pulled in behind a red Volkswagen Golf, then reached for her handbag, which she had left on the back seat after stopping at the petrol station. As she felt behind her, the car veered slightly. Julienne let out a whimper, sighed groggily, then fell back to sleep again.

  Faye stopped. Shivering with cold she felt through her pockets, under the seats. But her phone wasn’t there. She realized it could be anywhere, at the roadside where they had stopped, or at the petrol station. She stifled a scream so as not to wake Julienne. She hit the steering wheel with both hands in frustration. Her phone contained the number and address of the neighbor who was going to give them the keys to the house.

  Faye turned around in a side road and started to head back toward Stockholm. When she was younger she never gave up, but in recent years she had had a lot of practice at it.

  Matilda would never have given up. But Faye knew exactly how it was done.

  —

  Faye was carrying Julienne in one arm and their luggage in the other. The elevator door closed and she slid the grille across. She looked at her face in the mirror: dark rings under her eyes, puffy, pale skin. Beads of sweat on her forehead and top lip. And a look of resignation.

  Julienne opened her eyes.

  “Where are we?” she murmured sleepily.

  “Home, darling. You weren’t feeling well, we can go to Skåne another time.”

  Julienne smiled dully. Nodded.

  “I feel sleepy,” she whispered.

  “I know, sweetheart. You’ll soon be back in your own bed.”

  The elevator stopped with a jolt. Faye opened the grille and hoisted Julienne up onto her hip. The weight was making her arms ache. Julienne had her arms wrapped around her like a little monkey, and protested feebly when she put her down to look for the keys.

  Jack hated it if she rang the doorbell and disturbed him.

  Eventually she got the door open and they stumbled into the apartment. She summoned the last of her strength to get Julienne’s coat and boots off, carry her to her bed, and kiss her good night. Then she went up into the tower to see if Jack was still working.

  The study was empty and smelled stuffy. She opened the window to air it, placing a plant pot in the gap to stop the window from slamming shut.

  Jack must be at work, she thought with relief as she headed toward the bedroom to shower and change her clothes. She was glad she had a chance to freshen up before he got home. She felt pathetic, and didn’t want hi
m to see her looking like a damp rag.

  Faye pulled the bedroom door open and it was as if the room in front of her was suddenly full of water. Everything stopped around her. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing and a ringing in her ears that grew louder with each passing second.

  Jack was standing at the foot of the bed with his back to her. Naked. Faye stared at his backside. Saw the familiar birthmark on his right buttock. The birthmark was moving back and forth as he groaned and thrust his hips. In front of him was a woman on all fours, her back arched, legs wide apart.

  Faye staggered and reached out for the doorframe for support.

  Everything was happening so slowly. All sound was muffled, subdued. The floor around the bed was littered with clothes, as if they had been in a hurry to get out of them.

  She had no idea how long she had been standing there before they noticed her.

  Maybe she let out a shriek without being aware of it. Jack turned around, Ylva Lehndorf leaped up and tried in vain to cover herself with a pillow.

  “What the hell, I thought you were in Skåne!” Jack yelled. “What are you doing here?”

  Faye tried to speak. How could he be angry? With her? She stood there speechless. Then a torrent of words tumbled out, about Julienne, her phone, the drive home. She tried to explain, tried to make excuses. Jack held one hand up and Faye fell silent at once.

  Jack gestured to Ylva, his business partner, to put her clothes on, and reached for a bathrobe. He was bound to be frustrated by the fact that he hadn’t been able to come. He hated to be interrupted. He used to say that the ruined orgasm stayed in his body all day.

  Jack sat down on the edge of the bed. Looked at her with a cold, steady gaze.

  “I want a divorce,” he said.

  The air went out of her.

  “No,” she said, clutching the door-frame. “No, Jack. I forgive you. We don’t have to talk about this again, you made a mistake, that’s all. We’ll get through this.”

  The words echoed in her head. Bounced between the two lobes of her brain without finding a foothold. But she heard herself say them. So she must have said them. And meant them.

  Jack was shaking his head from side to side. Behind him Ylva had put her underwear on and was staring out of the window.

  Jack was looking directly at Faye, studying her from top to toe, and she ran a hand nervously through her hair, all too aware of how she looked. He tied the dressing-gown tighter around his waist.

  “It’s not a mistake. I don’t love you anymore, I don’t want to live with you.”

  “We can get through this,” Faye repeated.

  Her legs were close to giving way. Tears were running down her cheeks. She could hear the desperation in her voice.

  “Can’t you hear what I’m saying? I don’t love you anymore. I . . . I love her.”

  He nodded toward Ylva, who turned to look at Faye. She was still wearing nothing but her underwear. Gray La Perla. Her taut stomach, perfect breasts, narrow boyish hips all mocked Faye. She was everything that Faye no longer was.

  Jack sighed and Ylva’s wary expression turned to derision as Faye sank to her knees in front of Jack. The wooden floor felt hard under her knees. They had had all the floors replaced when they moved in. Faye had wanted them to sand and oil the original floors, she thought they were beautiful, but Jack had snorted at the suggestion. Instead they had imported new floors from Italy, at a cost of several thousand kronor per square foot. But the expensive floor hurt her knees just as much as the old original floor would have. It made no difference to her humiliation.

  “Please,” she begged. “Give me one more chance. I’ll change, I’ll be better. I know I’ve been hard to live with, mean . . . foolish . . . stupid. But I’ll make you happy. Please, Jack, give me a chance. You and Julienne are all I’ve got. You’re my life.”

  Faye tried to take Jack’s hand but he pulled it away. He seemed disgusted. And she could understand that. She was disgusted by herself too.

  He went over to Ylva, who was now sitting on the bed with one long leg crossed over the other. With a proud air of ownership he stood beside her. Put one hand on her bare shoulder. Ylva put her hand on his. Together they looked at Faye, who was still on her knees on the bespoke Italian wooden floor.

  Jack shook his head and said, without the slightest tremble in his voice, “It’s over. I want you to go now.”

  Slowly Faye got up from the floor. She backed out of the bedroom, unable to take her eyes from Jack’s hand on Ylva’s bare, bony shoulder. She didn’t turn around until she had passed Julienne’s closed door. She knew she ought to be thinking of her daughter, make some sort of decision, take her, not take her, say something, not say anything. But Julienne was safe and the only thought her brain was capable of formulating was that she had to get out of there. At once.

  With the image of Jack’s bare backside between Ylva’s legs etched on her retinas, she stumbled out of the front door and let it swing closed behind her. Only when she was standing on the landing did she realize she’d forgotten to put any shoes on.

  —

  Faye was sitting on the floor outside Chris’s flat, her body racked with sobs.

  Somehow she had managed to hail a taxi, and when he saw the state of her the driver had helped her into the back seat without a word.

  She had banged on the door in the vain hope that Chris could save her from everything, but when there was no answer she had collapsed to the floor. Now she didn’t know if she was ever going to have the strength to get up again.

  “Faye? Christ, what’s happened?”

  At last.

  Faye looked up and saw Chris walking cautiously toward her. Faye reached out to her, now sobbing so hard that she couldn’t speak.

  “Help me” were the only words she managed to utter.

  PART TWO

  -

  “How can you be sure that . . . that it was him who did it?”

  “I can’t go into detail about that at the moment,” the policewoman said, without meeting Faye’s gaze.

  “Please, I’ve lost my daughter. But the idea that Jack . . . I mean, we’ve had our problems, but I still can’t believe . . . there must be some sort of mistake . . .”

  “I really shouldn’t . . .”

  The policewoman looked around. The other officer had gone to fetch Faye some coffee. She lowered her voice and said, “It’s not just the blood we found in the car. The satnav shows that Jack drove to a harbor on the shore of Lake Vättern in the middle of the night. We found a boat there with traces of blood that’s probably Julienne’s.”

  Faye nodded, then winced as the movement made the wounds on her face sting. The interview was being taped, so she knew she wasn’t going to hear anything they weren’t ready to release. They wanted her to trust and form a connection with the woman standing in front of her looking at her sympathetically. They wanted to get her to cooperate. They didn’t understand that they didn’t have to play any games with her. She was going to cooperate. Jack wasn’t going to get away.

  “Is there anyone we can call? Anyone you’d like to come over?”

  Faye shook her head. She grimaced again with the pain. She had been patched up in the hospital, and now had a number of stitches.

  “We can probably leave it there for today. But I’m sure we’ll have to come back to ask some more questions.”

  “You’ve got my number,” Faye mumbled.

  “The vicar’s on his way. Obviously you can go home if that’s what you’d like to do. But I don’t know if it’s such a good idea for you to be on your own right now.”

  “The vicar?”

  At first Faye didn’t understand what the police officer was talking about. What did she want with a vicar?

  “Well, people who . . . who have suffered a loss like yours often need comfort, someone to talk
to.”

  Faye looked up and met her gaze.

  “People whose children have been killed, you mean?”

  The police officer hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

  A movement on the bed. Someone had sat down on it. Faye forced her eyes open and found herself looking directly into Chris’s. They looked simultaneously concerned and firm.

  “I love you, Faye, but you’ve been lying in this bed for two weeks now. As soon as anyone mentions Jack or Julienne you start crying. This can’t go on.”

  She nodded toward the door.

  “If you want anything you’re going to have to come and find me. If you want food, from now on you’re going to have to go to the kitchen and make it yourself. I won’t be coming into this room again, even if you swear Denzel Washington is lying naked and tied to the bed.”

  The next day Faye stumbled into the kitchen, wearing her underpants and a Nirvana T-shirt.

  Chris had a cup of coffee in one hand, and Vanity Fair lay open on the table in front of her. She looked at Faye over the rim of the cup.

  “There’s breakfast in the freezer. I’m sticking to the Lindsay Lohan diet.”

  Faye pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “Which is?”

  “Coffee, cigarettes, and the morning-after pill.”

  She smiled ironically.

  “Get yourself something to eat. I have to get to work soon. Do you want to come along?”

  Faye shook her head.

  “Probably better to stay at home. Watch a film, have a cry, feel sorry for yourself. I’m just glad you’ve emerged from that room. It was starting to smell.”

  Faye put her hand on Chris’s arm and looked her in the eye.

  “Thanks,” she said. “For everything. For . . . oh, you know.”