The Drowning. Camilla Lackberg
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turned the card over to see if there was anything on the back. But there wasn’t. The only message was those two cryptic sentences.
‘What’s keeping you, Kenneth?’
Quickly he stuffed the note back in the envelope.
‘I was just checking on something. I’m coming now.’
He headed for her door, holding the newspaper in his hand. The white card with the elegant handwriting seemed to burn in his back pocket.
It was like a drug. Sanna had become dependent on the high it gave her to check his email, go through his pockets, and surreptitiously examine his phone bill. Every time she didn’t find anything, she felt her whole body relax. But that didn’t last long. Soon the anxiety would start building again, and with it the tension in her body, until all the logical arguments for why she should restrain herself ceased. Then she would sit down at the computer again. She entered Christian’s email address and password, which had been easy to crack. He used the same one every time. His birth date, so he would always remember it.
In reality, there was no reason for this feeling that kept tearing at her heart and clawing at her guts until all she wanted to do was scream. Christian had never done anything to give her cause to distrust him. During the years she’d been carrying on this surveillance of his correspondence, she had never once found the slightest trace of anything suspicious. He was an open book. And yet … Sometimes she had the feeling that he was somewhere else entirely, a place to which she was denied access. And why had he told her so little about his background? He’d said that his parents had died long ago, and she’d never had occasion to meet any of his other relatives, although surely he must have some. He didn’t seem to have any childhood friends either, and no old acquaintances had ever got in touch. It was almost as if he hadn’t existed at all until he met her and moved to Fjällbacka. She hadn’t even seen his flat in Göteborg when they first met. He’d gone there alone with the removal van to pick up his few belongings.
Sanna ran her eyes over the messages in his inbox. A couple of emails from the publisher, several newspapers wanting interviews, some news from the local municipality having to do with his job at the library. That was all.
This time the feeling of relief was just as glorious as ever when she logged out of his account. Before turning off the computer, she did a routine scan of his web browser history, but there was nothing unusual. Christian had checked out the websites for the newspapers Expressen and Aftonbladet, as well as his publisher’s home page. He’d also looked at a new child’s car seat online.
But there was still the issue of the letters. He had insisted that he didn’t know who had sent those cryptic messages to him. Yet there was something in his tone of voice that contradicted his claim. Sanna couldn’t really put her finger on what it might be, and it was driving her nuts. What wasn’t he telling her? Who had sent those letters? Was it a woman who had once been his lover? Or someone who was his mistress now?
She clenched and unclenched her hands, forcing herself to breathe calmly. The temporary sense of relief had already vanished, and she tried in vain to convince herself that everything was as it should be. Reassurance. That was the only thing she desired. She just wanted to know that Christian loved her.
But deep inside she knew that he had never belonged to her. That he had always been searching for something else, someone else, during all the years they had lived together. She knew that he had never loved her. Not really. And one day he would find the person that he wanted to be with, the one he actually loved, and then she would be all alone.
Sanna wrapped her arms around herself for a moment as she sat on the desk chair. Then she got up. Christian’s mobile bill had arrived with the post yesterday. It would take her only a minute to peruse it.
Erica walked aimlessly through the house. This eternal waiting was going to drive her crazy. She’d finished writing her latest book, but she didn’t have the energy to start on a new project right now. And she couldn’t do much in the house without her back and joints protesting. She spent her time reading or watching TV. Or she did what she was doing now – wandering around the house out of sheer frustration. At least today was Saturday, and Patrik was home. He’d gone out with Maja for a short walk so she’d get some fresh air. Erica was counting the minutes until they returned.
When the doorbell rang, her heart nearly skipped a beat. Before she managed to respond, the door was thrown open, and Anna came into the front hall.
‘Are you practically going out of your mind too?’ she said, taking off her scarf and jacket.
‘How’d you guess?’ said Erica, suddenly feeling much more cheerful.
They went into the kitchen, and Anna set a steaming bag on the counter. ‘Freshly baked buns. Belinda did the baking.’
‘Really?’ said Erica, trying to picture Anna’s eldest stepdaughter wearing an apron and kneading dough with her black-painted fingernails.
‘She’s in love,’ said Anna, as if that explained everything. Which, in fact, it actually did.
‘Well, I can’t recall it ever having that sort of effect on me,’ said Erica, putting the buns on a plate.
‘Apparently he told her yesterday that he likes girls who are the domestic type.’ Anna raised one eyebrow and gave Erica a knowing look.
‘Oh, is that right?’
Anna laughed as she reached for one of the buns. ‘Hey, calm down, you don’t have to go over to his house and give him a thrashing. I’ve met the boy, and believe me, within a week Belinda is going to get tired of him and go back to her black-clad losers who play in obscure rock bands and don’t give a shit whether she’s the domestic type or not.’
‘Let’s hope so. But I have to say that these buns aren’t bad.’ Erica closed her eyes as she chewed. In her present condition, freshly baked buns was as close as she was going to get to an orgasm.
‘Well, the one advantage to how we look at the moment is that we can stuff ourselves with as many buns as we like,’ said Anna, taking a bite of her second one.
‘Sure, but we’ll have to pay for it later on,’ replied Erica, although she couldn’t help following her sister’s example by taking another bun. Belinda really seemed to have a natural talent for baking.
‘With twins, you’ll soon lose all that weight and more!’ laughed Anna.
‘You’re probably right.’ Erica found herself thinking about something else, and her sister seemed to guess what it was.
‘Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. Besides, you’re not alone this time. You have me to keep you company. We can move two armchairs next to each other in front of the TV and watch Oprah as we nurse the babies all day long.’
‘And take turns ordering takeaway for dinner when our husbands come home.’
‘Sure. You’ll see. Everything’s going to be great.’ Anna licked her fingers and leaned back with a groan. ‘Ow, I think I ate too much.’ She propped her swollen feet up on the chair next to her and clasped her hands over her belly. ‘Have you talked to Christian?’
‘Yep. I was over there on Thursday.’ Erica followed Anna’s example and propped her feet on a chair too. Only one bun remained on the plate, and it was practically shouting at her. After a brief battle, she reached for it.
‘So what exactly happened?’
Erica hesitated for a moment, but she wasn’t used to keeping secrets from her sister, so in the end she told Anna everything about the letters and their menacing tone.
‘Wow, that’s horrible,’ said Anna, shaking her head. ‘I think it’s odd that he started getting them even before his book was published. It would have seemed more logical if they arrived after he attracted attention in the media. I mean, they seem to be from someone who’s a little cuckoo.’
‘I agree. It does sound like that. Christian refuses to