The Golden Cage Page 9

  All too soon we were standing outside my door. Silent at last. All of a sudden it felt unreal and unnatural that I should tap in the code, open the door, and go inside without him.

  “Well, then,” Jack said, now seeming almost bashful. “See you around.”

  “Okay.”

  “So long, Faye,” he said, like a line from a cheap Hollywood film, and turned on his heel.

  “Wait!”

  He stopped midstride, turned, ran his hand through his hair, and looked at me curiously.

  “Yes?”

  “Oh…it was nothing…”

  He turned around again. Started to walk. Raised the bottle.

  I didn’t move. Waiting for him to turn. To take one last look at me. Wave. Come rushing back. Kiss me again, properly this time. I could still remember how his lips had felt.

  But he just lit a cigarette as he ambled nonchalantly toward Karlavägen. There he turned left. And disappeared.

  Faye was holding Julienne with one hand and pushing an empty shopping trolley with the other as they walked through the aisles of the ICA supermarket at Karlaplan. The housekeeper had been ill for two days and Faye was thinking of surprising Jack with a home-cooked meal. Her famous spaghetti bolognese. The secret ingredient was celery. And three different types of onion. And it had to simmer for a very long time.

  When they were young and poor she used to make a big pot of it every Monday that would see them through to Thursday. She put red and yellow onions in the trolley, along with some shallots and celery.

  “I want to push the trolley,” Julienne said.

  “Are you sure you can manage it?”

  “Yeees,” Julienne said, rolling her eyes.

  “All right then, darling.”

  Faye let her take hold of the trolley and stroked her hair, pausing to study her face in the middle of the busy shop. She loved her so much that she sometimes thought her heart would burst.

  “Tell me if it gets too heavy,” she said, and set off toward the meat counter to get some chopped meat.

  Julienne pushed the trolley after her.

  They passed an elderly man who was helping a woman the same age to get a can down from the shelf. Faye couldn’t take her eyes off them. He passed the can to the woman, who was leaning heavily on a walker. She patted him on the hand, and her wedding ring glinted in the glare of the fluorescent lighting.

  Faye wondered how long they’d been married. Was this what she and Jack would be like together? She had always had such a clear image in her mind. Growing older, inseparable, getting wrinkled and fragile together. Even if they were going through a bit of a rough patch now, that’s how things would end up. If she were to ask the couple she was sure they’d be able to tell her about the difficulties along the way. Difficulties that they had overcome.

  Julienne looked up.

  “Why are you crying, Mommy?”

  “Because it’s so sweet.”

  Julienne looked confused.

  “What is?”

  “That he’s…oh, it’s nothing.”

  The elderly couple turned into another aisle and disappeared.

  Faye found the last things she needed and headed to the registers with Julienne following behind her. The evening papers were trumpeting that they’d cracked the secret to simple and speedy weight loss. She picked up a copy of Expressen and checked one last time that she had everything she needed. She had long since abandoned the diet juices, and in three days had regained all the weight she had lost. Plus a bit extra.

  She picked the line where a young, rather pretty girl was working quickly and efficiently. A woman put a pack of tampons on the conveyor belt. Just as the cashier was scanning them Faye realized that she was late. Badly late. She should have gotten her period two weeks ago. She pushed any thought of John Descentis from her mind. It was probably because of the diet, but she still felt she ought to make sure.

  Then it was their turn.

  “Do you have…?” She glanced at Julienne, who was staring at a small poodle by the door. “Pregnancy tests?”

  “In the machine over there,” the cashier said, pointing.

  The people in the line behind them sighed and stared as Faye walked past them. She clicked to get to the pharmacy section, then tapped the screen for pregnancy tests. Julienne was busy looking at the dog. Faye took two kits and returned to the register.

  “That’s four hundred and eighty-nine kronor,” the cashier said once she had scanned them.

  Faye took out her personal American Express and paid.

  “Sorry,” she said, “but you don’t happen to know if…if Max is off today?”

  The cashier raised her eyebrows. Was she smiling?

  “Max has been fired. Something about him harassing customers.”

  “I see,” Faye said. “Well, thanks.”

  She hurried out of the shop, holding Julienne’s hand hard.

  Jack had gotten Max fired. She was certain of it. And that had to mean that he still cared about her, surely? In spite of everything?

  Julienne picked up the newspaper and peered at the pictures on the front.

  What would happen if she was pregnant? How would Jack react? When they first met he had said he wanted four children. But once they had Julienne he didn’t seem very interested in having any more. They hadn’t even talked about it. So what about her, then? Did she want more children? Yes, she did. Especially now. A little brother or sister for Julienne could be the catalyst that brought her and Jack back together again, and finally put an end to the strange limbo they were in.

  And it would do Julienne good to have a brother or sister. They could become best friends. She had always wished she’d had a sister. An ally.

  Faye quickly brushed the thought away. She had learned to shut down such thoughts, not to let her mind wander. It did no good at all to think about things she couldn’t do anything about.

  * * *

  • • •

  When they got back to the apartment Julienne dropped the newspaper and her coat on the hall floor. Faye hung the coat on its hook, carried the bags into the kitchen, and started to unpack. From the corner of her eye she saw Julienne come out from her room with her iPad, then throw herself on the sofa, still with her boots on.

  “Take your shoes off before you get on the sofa,” Faye said.

  No answer. She put the frying pan down and went into the living room. She started to remove Julienne’s wet, dirty winter boots.

  “I don’t want to!”

  Julienne kicked out, hitting the sofa with her boots and making dirty, muddy marks. Shit, now she’d have to wash and dry the covers before Jack got home. She grew more heavy-handed. There was mud on the rug as well.

  “Don’t want to! Don’t want to! Don’t want to!”

  Julienne carried on screaming and kicking out wildly.

  Faye managed to get the boots off and lifted Julienne down from the sofa, but she threw herself back on it, still shouting. Faye went into the kitchen and came back with a dishcloth. Maybe she’d be able to wipe the dirt off the fabric if she was quick. She ignored Julienne. To her great relief she managed to get the worst of it off the sofa, and bent down to try to get the carpet clean. Julienne kicked out at her and she managed to catch her leg.

  “You don’t do that!”

  “I do!”

  The darkness rolled in. It was simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. Faye swallowed hard. Clenched her hands several times.

  Julienne must have noticed the difference because she was staring at Faye, sniffling.

  Faye wiped the rug with the dishcloth again. Pushed her hair back and turned away from Julienne.

  “You’re fat,” Julienne said.

  Faye turned around.

  “What did you say?”

  Julienne stared at her defi
antly.

  “Fatty.” She pointed at her. “You’re a fatty.”

  Faye took a step toward her. “No, I’m not. You don’t say things like that!”

  “Yes, you are! Daddy says so!”

  “Has Daddy said I’m fat?”

  Her voice had become so thin. All of a sudden she didn’t know what to do, just stood helpless in the middle of the room. Julienne seemed to realize that she’d gone too far and started to cry.

  Faye stumbled away. Everything was spinning. She hardly knew where she was. Behind her she heard Julienne calling to her in between sobs.

  She shut herself in the bathroom. Locked the door and leaned her forehead against the door for a few seconds. Let the cool wood soothe her. She took out the pregnancy test. Julienne was standing outside the door, banging and screaming. Faye pulled her trousers and panties down to her ankles. Sat down on the toilet and opened the packet with her teeth. She held the stick between her legs, relaxed, and let the warm urine flow over the stick, not bothered that it was splashing her fingers. Julienne went on shouting outside the door.

  STOCKHOLM, AUGUST 2001

  I SAT ON THE BUS, watching the cars rushing past outside. The air was humid and warm. The driver had opened the window in the roof to let more air in, but it made very little difference, just a slight breeze on my shoulder. Beside me sat a large, sweaty woman with a crying child on her lap.

  We passed Humlegården. Where Jack and I had walked. I had replayed that night in my mind hundreds of times.

  Since then I had taken every chance I could get to go to Chinatown—the district between the School of Economics and Norra Real School—in the hope of bumping into Jack. But he hadn’t shown up.

  Apart from that, life was fun, exciting for the first time. Studying was easy, but it always had been. Ever since I first started school, that had been my refuge, the place where I could excel without effort. The professors were full of praise. The courses were enjoyable and interesting, I was having a great time.

  Chris and I spent almost all our free time together. Neither of us needed to study particularly hard. Chris because she was happy to just pass. And in my case because ever since childhood I had only had to read a text a couple of times to remember it in its entirety.

  Viktor’s starring role in my life had dwindled to a walk-on part. I couldn’t quite put my finger on exactly what had changed, but after my encounter with Jack my feelings for Viktor had grown cooler. I kept my distance. Invented nonexistent tests to justify why I didn’t have time to see him. I avoided his calls and let days pass before answering them. I delayed the idea of moving in with him until he stopped talking about it.

  My coldness changed Viktor, it made him pathetic and insecure. He became more desperate, clingy, as I grew colder. Our relationship was dying, but he clung to me as if he were drowning. He called me at all hours, showered me with gifts and declarations of love, constantly asked where I was and what I was doing. He suddenly started to ask me about my past, my family, my life before him. I refused to answer. What could I say? But my coldness, my reluctance to tell him anything about myself only made him more desperate. I became a code for him to crack. It was as if he thought I’d love him again if only he could break the code.

  The worst of it was that there wasn’t really anything wrong with Viktor. He was handsome, kind, and ambitious. He treated me like a princess. He was faithful and reliable—unusual qualities in Stockholm’s jungle.

  But he wasn’t Jack Adelheim. And I realized that I was going to have to dump him. I had been putting it off. But I couldn’t postpone it any longer.

  By the time the bus pulled in at Tessin Park I was in no doubt. Hurting him wasn’t going to be pleasant, but I had to put an end to it.

  “Excuse me, this is my stop,” I said.

  The woman with the child stood up with an effort to let me past. She looked tired and fed up. Rolls of fat were clearly visible under her tight white T-shirt, spilling over her jeans. The child was dribbling. Green snot was hanging like bunches of grapes from its nose. Dear God. I was never going to be a mother like that. And my child would always be perfect. Jack’s and my child. I flinched, blushing with shame at my embarrassing daydreams. But all my dreams were about Jack these days. Both while I was asleep and when I was awake. There was no longer any space left for someone like Viktor.

  The doors opened with a sigh and I was hit by the blazing sun. Viktor was going to meet me in the middle of Tessin Park, like he usually did. I imagined him walking out of his apartment. Happy, thinking we were going to get pizza together. Then go home and have sex. Watch a film, more sex, then fall asleep together. None of that was going to happen.

  I felt sorry for him on an intellectual level, but I didn’t feel anything. My desire for Jack overshadowed everything else, making me indifferent. And the new version of Viktor irritated me. He had grown up in his protected little bubble, everything had been so easy for him. His naïveté had been the first thing that attracted me to him, but now it just annoyed me. He knew nothing about life, whereas I knew far too much. Viktor had no idea of who I was. Or what I was.

  He was wearing a denim shirt and pale chinos. He grinned, then leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, putting his arm around me. “You’re taking your studies far too seriously. Which pizzeria do you feel like? Valhalla or Theodoras?”

  “I need to talk to you,” I said. “Let’s go and sit down.”

  I pulled him over to a green bench. Viktor turned to face me and took his sunglasses off. He folded them carefully and put them in his top pocket. His eyes were darting about.

  “Has anything happened? Are you okay?” he asked, acting as if he didn’t know what I was about to say.

  A short distance away a group of alcoholics were playing bocce and drinking wine. Happy, hoarse voices.

  “I don’t want to go out with you anymore. It’s over.”

  I heard how cold I sounded, and made an effort to seem sad. Viktor was staring blankly ahead of him.

  “Okay…Is it something I’ve done?”

  He shuffled uncomfortably on the bench. Avoided my gaze. Swallowed. Then swallowed again.

  “No. It’s nothing you’ve done.”

  I was having trouble looking at him, I didn’t want my derision to show. So I watched the bocce game instead. They were so drunk that the balls ended up all over the place, but they cheered happily anyway. Behind them a little girl fell over on the gravel. Her mom came running over. Wiped the dirt from her grazed knees, picked her up, hugged her.

  “Is there anything I can do differently? Maybe you just need some time?”

  His voice was thick. What I had said was starting to sink in, and he wasn’t far from tears. I looked around. If he started to cry I would get up and walk away. I couldn’t deal with people crying. I’d had enough tears to last a lifetime.

  “No. I’m sorry, but I don’t love you anymore.”

  “But I’m so in love with you! You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The best person I’ve ever met.”

  He put his hand on mine. Kneaded it, massaged it. As if that might make me change my mind. As if I was the one who needed comforting, not him.

  People’s biggest problem, I realized, is that they project their own sorrows onto other people. Try to share them. They imagine that, because we share the same sort of DNA, we will automatically feel sad about the same situations. Sorrow doesn’t get easier to deal with simply because you share it. Quite the contrary, it gets heavier. And Viktor had no idea what real sorrow was.

  “Okay, I get it,” he said, nodding. “But can’t you come home with me and we can talk about this quietly? I can’t handle sitting here with all these people. Let me have one last evening. Just one more. Then you can disappear from my life, and I’ll let you go without any protest. Please…�
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  He was holding my hand so hard it hurt, and I knew I should say no. That it wasn’t going to help him at all. But it was the easy way out, and I took it.

  During the short walk to his apartment I had time to regret my decision many times, but perhaps the breakup would be easier if I let him get everything off his chest. At the same time I wanted to avoid the difficult conversation that was coming, I didn’t want to hear his declarations of love, his reproaches. He needed answers, but I had none to give him. All I knew was that my heart belonged to someone else and that I had to move on.

  No sooner had we arrived at his place than I offered to go and get pizza. I had a feeling it was going to be a long evening, and that we could both do with some food. Viktor didn’t answer. He was sitting perfectly still on his bed with his shoulders drooping despondently.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I said, avoiding his reproachful gaze.

  I got my wallet out of my bag and closed the front door behind me. I can let him have one last evening, I thought. Then I’m free.

  I got back twenty minutes later. Viktor looked at me strangely when I put the pizzas down on the table. Almost triumphantly. He was where I’d left him, sitting on the unmade bed, but next to him was something I recognized. My stomach dropped. My diary. Viktor had gone through my bag. My college notepad was there too. The one I made notes in while I studied, and which had recently been filled with childish doodles. Jack’s name in a heart. My name with his surname. Silly. Ridiculous. But there was nothing ridiculous about it to Viktor.

  “Now I know who you really are,” he said calmly.

  His voice was toneless. Dead. Something inside him had broken.

  “I know who you are. The question is, does he know…?”

  The word he sounded like an accusation. Panic coursed through me. No one could know. My diary described my former life. If the truth came out it would change everything. I would get the same stares I had received back when I was Matilda. I’d be subjected to the same humiliation. No one would look at me the same way again. Especially not Jack.