Silver Tears Page 8

  “I don’t know…”

  Yvonne held up a finger to shush her, then put her hand back in her bag and took out a printed photo. Faye noticed that Yvonne’s nails were chewed down, the cuticles dry and inflamed. This photo was blurrier, the light was yellowish, and it seemed to have been taken in the evening. Faye saw right away that the woman whose back was visible was herself. The coat she was wearing was the same as the one in the picture with Jack.

  “What do you have to say?” Yvonne asked, scrutinizing her with curiosity.

  “About what?”

  “It’s you in the photo, Faye. You know it and I know it. You weren’t in Västerås. You were at the scene of the murder.”

  A quick, unpleasant smile flashed across the woman’s face. She squinted at Faye.

  “It’s not me,” said Faye. “Every housewife in Östermalm has that coat—it’s a Moncler. It’s like having clogs if you live in the country.”

  Yvonne shook her head slowly, but Faye calmly stood her ground. Just like the last time Yvonne had turned up, Faye thought to herself that they wouldn’t be having this conversation if there was evidence. And the fact that she had turned up on a Sunday made Faye suspect that Yvonne was acting beyond her authority.

  What did she want? Money? Or could someone have bribed Yvonne to harass her? But no, something told her this was a private crusade—a vendetta aimed at Faye.

  “What exactly is it you want?” she asked.

  “The truth,” Yvonne said quickly. “All I’m after is the truth.”

  Without taking her gaze off Faye, she took a piece of paper from her back pocket. Faye wondered how many things Yvonne was going to pull out. She was like Mary Poppins and her bag.

  Yvonne held out the piece of paper between her thumb and forefinger, dangling it in front of Faye. Faye took it from her hand. It was an old article from the Bohusläningen local paper, one that she recognized immediately. Her stomach dropped and she struggled not to show Yvonne Ingvarsson the tumult within her.

  “You seem to be bad luck for the people around you,” Yvonne said, before adding in a low voice: “Matilda.”

  Two boys from Fjällbacka are missing after a sailing trip with their friends. The entire community is paralyzed with grief.

  “I refuse to believe that they’re dead,” says 13-year-old Matilda, who was there at the time of the accident.

  Faye swallowed hard, slowly folded the printout up without finishing reading it, and passed it back to Yvonne, who shook her head.

  “You keep it,” she said, turning to go. “Nice suite. Really nice,” she muttered as she opened the door before vanishing into the corridor.

  Faye examined the thirteen-year-old girl who was staring straight into the camera below the headline. She looked unhappy and helpless, but Faye knew that she had only been posing for the photographer. Inside her, the darkness had been rampaging.

  She lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. But she didn’t see the white stucco of the Grand—she saw something completely different. Dark, swirling water that made her stomach turn.

  A shrill sound made Faye jump. She looked around in horror. For a second, before she was able to gain her bearings, she was still there by the swirling water. Her pulse slowed when she realized it was just her phone ringing. Kerstin’s name was illuminated on the display.

  “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.” Kerstin got straight to the point, as always.

  “What is it now?” said Faye, closing her eyes.

  Did she want to hear the answer? Would she be able to cope with any more? She didn’t know, and that scared her.

  “Dagens Industri called. They’ve heard a rumor about the buyout. If we don’t manage to stop them from printing the article, the cat will soon be out of the bag.”

  Faye let out a sigh.

  “Which will only lead to even more sales of shares. Rats always leave a sinking ship,” she said.

  “What do you want me to do?” Kerstin asked.

  “I know a woman there. I’ll give her a call and see what I can do. Leave it to me, I’ll handle this.”

  Faye hung up and threw the phone onto the duvet beside her. If she had been the sort to give up, she would have pulled the duvet over her head now and slept for a couple of days. But she wasn’t. She never had been. She picked up the phone again. The battle continued.

  Faye was sitting in a huddled heap on the bed with the pieces of paper left by Yvonne and Kerstin’s account of the share movements in the company. Taken by themselves, these two things were enough to worry about, but taken together they were almost too much. Before long, the serious work on the American launch would be starting—someone had called from Revenge’s office on Stureplan with the news that several people who wanted to invest in the venture had been in touch following Faye’s appearance on Skavlan. Having Yvonne Ingvarsson on her heels at this sensitive stage was risky, and Faye also needed to ensure that she actually still had a company to launch in a new market.

  Her mobile phone beeped and she opened the Telegram app, where her messages and images were deleted after fifteen seconds. She smiled at a photograph of Julienne by the pool.

  “My little darling,” she murmured before the picture vanished.

  A new knock at the door made Faye jump. She raised the throw on the bed and shoved the papers beneath it, got to her feet, and went to the door. The sight of Julienne had given her energy and awoken her thirst for battle. Yvonne Ingvarsson didn’t know who she was crossing swords with, and Faye intended to move heaven and earth to find out who was attacking her company.

  David Schiller was waiting outside the door. He smiled at her.

  “You look like someone who could do with a walk with a friend.”

  * * *

  —

  Faye and David strolled over to Strandvägen—deserted on a Sunday. It was a warm evening. People were walking their dogs along the avenue and the theme park rides at Gröna Lund were sparkling, spinning, and shining across the water on the island of Djurgården. Faye had forgotten how enchantingly beautiful Stockholm summer evenings were.

  “Are you feeling okay after our chat yesterday—about everything you told me?”

  David sounded concerned. Faye realized she was moved.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said with a smile, and David’s blue eyes lit up.

  “Great. I was worried that you might have regretted it afterward.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. It was…liberating. I haven’t really talked to anyone at all about what happened, and about what life with Jack was like. Barely even with Kerstin, who I consider my closest friend. Of course, Chris knew most of it…”

  “Who is Chris?” said David carefully. “You mentioned that name before.”

  He looked like he was attempting to take his first steps out onto ice formed during the night to see whether it was strong enough.

  “Chris. God, how do I explain who she was? We became friends at business school. She…she was a force of nature. Nothing was hard for her.”

  “What happened? If it’s all right for me to ask…?”

  They passed the Strandbryggan restaurant, which was in the midst of dealing with the evening onslaught. The young, beautiful, and distinctly inebriated all flocked there, surreptitiously checking out one another’s designer bags and false eyelashes and the Rolexes given to them to mark their high school graduation.

  “She got cancer,” said Faye, raising her arm so that he could see her Fuck Cancer wristband. “It happened so quickly. But she had time to fall in love—with an amazing man who was perfect for her.”

  “That’s still wonderful,” said David. “Finding love before the end. Isn’t that what we’re all looking for?”

  They’d turned left, heading up toward the Nordic Museum and Junibacken.

  David gazed out acr
oss the water. The Vasa Museum was just visible behind the trees—a peculiar monument to one of Swedish history’s greatest flops.

  “Do you love her?” said Faye.

  David looked at her quizzically.

  “Who?”

  “Your wife. Who else?”

  David laughed in embarrassment.

  “Well yes, I suppose I should have understood. After fifteen years together it feels like such a weird question. Love. Is that something you do after fifteen years, the daily grind, and kids? Does anyone?”

  “That sounds pretty cynical.”

  “Maybe. Or perhaps we were just wrong for each other from the start. If I’m being completely honest.”

  He shook his head and turned away from her.

  “That makes me sound so awful.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Faye linked arms with him as they approached Gröna Lund. The delighted screeching from the rides was increasingly audible.

  David cleared his throat.

  “I don’t think it was ever about love. It was…well, I suppose it was something more practical. It was about ticking all the boxes. But feelings? I don’t know.”

  He patted Faye’s arm.

  “Are you offended?”

  “No, not at all. People get together for a thousand different reasons. Few are privileged to truly experience love. Real love.”

  “Have you?” he said, stopping.

  Part of her wanted to avoid his gaze, to avoid answering. She heard the screams from the freefall tower—where people voluntarily went high up in the air to feel the tingle in their stomach as they plunged toward the ground. That was kind of how she experienced love.

  “Yes, I have. I loved Jack. More than I thought I would ever love anyone. But that wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. And then Julienne came along. And that was a completely new kind of love. And it took over…”

  Her voice faltered and she turned away. For a moment, she was overcome by all of it. Everything that the family had been subjected to. By Jack. And by her when she wanted to rescue them from him.

  “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through,” David said, and Faye shuddered—for a moment she had forgotten that he was there. “And to lose a child? Faye, I…I wish I could take away all that loss, but I don’t think anyone can do that.”

  Faye shook herself. She forced away all the emotions and memories that clamored for her attention. If she let herself remember—or feel—she wouldn’t be able to take another step.

  “It’s just good that you’re here,” she said. “That you’re listening.”

  They continued to stand there in silence, the flashing lights of the amusement park in the background. Neither of them said anything for a long time. Then David reached out with his hand.

  “Come on. Let’s head back.”

  Faye nodded. They turned around and began to walk back toward Strandvägen. Once they had passed Strandbryggan again, David stopped and turned toward her.

  “Want a swim?” he asked.

  “Here?”

  “Yes, it’s a warm evening and we live in the Venice of the north. There’s places to swim everywhere you look. For example, right there.”

  He pointed to a spot between two houseboats where a wooden jetty protruded into the water. Without waiting for her, he jogged over to it—the boats concealing him from Strandvägen. He bent forward and untied his shoes. Faye looked around. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Traffic was sparse. David took off his linen shirt, jeans, and shoes. His socks. His underpants. His pale buttocks shone in the darkness and then Faye heard a cry that was followed by a splash. She leaned forward. Six feet below he was treading water and looking up at her.

  “It’s cold but it feels good,” he reported. “Come on, jump in.”

  Faye glanced over her shoulder and saw that the coast was clear. She took off her shoes and placed her dress next to the heap of David’s clothes but kept her underwear on. Then she took a deep breath before kicking through the air and breaking the water’s surface. She cried out with horrified joy. It really was cold.

  They swam a little way from the shore and then stopped. They were treading water beside each other as they took in the lights of the city, shivering.

  “I like you,” said David.

  The words were intermittent, through chattering teeth.

  And Faye smiled, because the whole thing was so crazy. She felt so warm inside herself that for a while she forgot about the cold. She wanted to answer but remained silent. She had promised herself she wouldn’t fall in love with anyone, but she knew that her defenses were beginning to crumble. David made her laugh, and he was a gentleman without any hidden motives. On the contrary, he was a successful businessman who understood her work and he had a smile that made her heart melt—even in this cold, cold water.

  When they had gotten out of the water and quickly put their clothes back on, David rubbed her upper arms to warm her.

  “What should we do now?” she asked.

  She realized that she didn’t want to go back to the hotel room.

  David looked mischievous.

  “Come with me,” he said, slipping on his shoes.

  She followed him toward the yacht club on the far side of the Djurgården Bridge. Her hair was plastered to her shoulders and back as they jogged to warm up. They stopped at the gate. David peered into the guard’s hut, noted it was empty, and climbed over the fence.

  “There’s a camera,” said Faye, pointing.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, once he had landed on the far side. “I’ve got a friend with a boat here. He won’t be upset if we borrow it.”

  Faye tentatively raised her foot, grabbed hold of the fence, and heaved herself onto the other side, where David caught her.

  He surveyed the boats.

  “There it is,” he exclaimed, pointing to a large motorboat moored farthest away.

  The next moment, he grabbed her hand and dragged her along.

  They climbed aboard and David crouched, fumbling with his hand under a white seat cushion, before holding up a set of keys with a triumphant smile. He unlocked the cabin and Faye went in, relishing the warmth. They took off their wet clothes and wrapped themselves up in large bath towels that David found.

  “Whose is the boat?” Faye asked. She sat down on a sofa while he rooted through the compartments in the kitchen.

  “A good friend’s,” he repeated, before exclaiming: “Well, look what we have here! Whiskey!”

  He poured two glasses and passed her one before settling down beside her. The spirit warmed her body from within. Waves lapped against the hull, making the boat rock pleasantly. A child’s barrette with Elsa from Frozen and a large blue rosette on it was lying on the side and she played with it distractedly. It reminded her of Julienne. She loved Elsa and liked to sing “Let it gooooo” in her best attempt at English.

  “Where did you go?”

  David looked at her tenderly. Then he saw the barrette and gasped.

  “Sorry…I…”

  Faye put a hand on his arm to show that it was fine. She was touched that, sensing the barrette had triggered thoughts of Julienne, his first thought was to shield her from painful memories of her murdered daughter. The warmth from his body made her tingle.

  David smiled at her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  She was close to saying that she liked him too—a delayed response to what he had said to her in the water. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to. The words got stuck in her throat. Got stuck in her scars. The ones that weren’t visible from the outside.

  “Can I visit you when you move out of the Grand tomorrow?” he asked.

  “If you like.”

  “I would.”

  “M
e too.”

  He sighed with a smile.

  “I don’t know what’s up with me, but when I’m with you I’m just so absurdly happy. I’m like a fifteen-year-old, y’know—I want to impress you. I don’t even like wild swimming. And I know it’s no big deal, that you like me too—even if you don’t say it. And I’m grateful to you for opening up to me.”

  Faye nodded silently.

  “I met him, by the way. A few years ago. Jack. I thought he seemed like a stuck-up, self-satisfied bastard and—”

  Faye leaned toward him. She didn’t want to talk any more about Jack. Not now, not ever. She pressed her lips to David’s to silence him. His lips were softer than she had expected.

  “We’re not talking about him. We’re not talking about anything other than us—at least not tonight.”

  “Deal.”

  As if by unspoken agreement, they stood up and took the bottle into the sleeping compartment. The bed was surprisingly large and made up with white sheets.

  Faye sat down on the bed. She let the towel fall from her. Underneath it, she was completely naked. She looked into David’s eyes. His gaze was hazy—equal parts whiskey and excitement. He moved toward her slowly, also letting his towel fall. He was already hard. He strode over to Faye, where she was sitting on the edge of the bed, his penis in her eyeline.

  Without dropping her gaze from him, Faye took hold of his cock with her hand. She slowly moved her face closer and opened her mouth. At first, she simply let her warm breath envelop his glans. Then she extended her tongue. She licked away a drop of precum. David groaned deeply. He briefly closed his eyes but then opened them again and looked at Faye.

  She opened her mouth a little further. Let her lips enclose the end of his cock. Her tongue teased the small frenulum and she enjoyed the gasping sounds coming from David. Slowly, slowly, she took more and more of him into her mouth. She felt a gentle gag reflex but withdrew his cock ever so slightly just before it became uncomfortable. Then in again. And out. She kept her hand around him; her saliva had made his cock wet and slippery and her hand glided with ease.