Lifetime (34 page)

‘Welcome to
Summer Frolic at the Castle
,’ Michelle Carlsson said, her voice like warm honey, her hair like silk, her eyes like crystals. ‘This is our last night here at Yxtaholm castle, in the province of Sörmland, this summer, and our guests . . .’

She stopped short and put her hand to her ear. The warmth died out.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘One-two, one-two, can you hear me? One-two . . .’

‘What tape is this?’ Annika asked.

‘I expect it’s a tape of the last session, taken with camera two,’ Anne Snapphane said and started to fast-forward the tape. The soundtrack turned into gibberish, voices squawking like Donald Duck. Two stripes appeared on the screen and the people moved around like silent-movie stars on speed. Annika kept looking, fascinated by this kaleidoscope of reality.

‘Yup,’ Anne Snapphane said a few minutes into the actual show. ‘This is from camera two.’

She set the machine at a higher speed and now seven stripes streaked the screen instead of two. The sound was reduced to mere high-pitched squeaks, barely audible.

While the tape rattled away, Anne reached for the next one, weighing two in her hands and choosing one. She whipped out the labels again, slumping slightly while she waited for the tape to finish running. Three Michelles started to laugh and talk on different monitors at the same time. The guests and crew members in the background couldn’t take their eyes off the TV star. Michelle smiled, sparkled, wrinkled her brow slightly as she listened, welcomed guests and moved on to other segments. The camera clung to her: every last move was important, every expression had its significance.

‘It’s amazing,’ Annika said, ‘this is so powerful.’

‘It’s even mentioned in the Bible,’ Anne said, fingering the labels. ‘The fourth chapter of Genesis.’

Annika, well aware of Anne’s childhood experiences of Lutheran Sunday school at Pitholm’s Evangelical Society, waited silently for her to continue.

‘Acknowledgement,’ Anne Snapphane said. ‘It’s a basic human need. Not getting the appreciation and recognition we deserve tears us apart. You can’t live without it.’

‘Are we back to the story of Cain and Abel again?’

‘The very first documented motive for murder in the history of the world,’ Anne Snapphane said.

‘Sorry,’ Annika said, ‘I’m not really familiar with the details here.’

Anne kicked off her shoes.

‘Cain was a tiller of the ground while Abel tended the sheep. Both of them came to the Lord with an offering. Cain brought the fruit of the ground while Abel brought the firstlings of his flock. But God only saw the gift that Abel had brought – he paid no attention to Cain’s gift.’

‘In other words, the Lord was a total wash-out when it came to parenting skills,’ Annika said.

‘Exactly. And according to the Bible, Cain was enraged when he wasn’t acknowledged, and his countenance fell. And God, the old sadist, asked Cain something like this: “Why are you so angry, and why has your countenance fallen? If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door. Its desire is for you, but you must master it.”’

‘What a bastard,’ Annika said. ‘First he says that we are all equals in his sight, that we’re created in his image, then he assigns us to different sets of circumstances, and finally he admonishes us when we react to his lack of fairness.’

‘Abel was acknowledged and lauded,’ Anne said, ‘while Cain was supposed to swallow being left in the wings and still be good-natured about it.’

‘Abel got all the credit and Cain was supposed to labour away without a complaint,’ Annika said, summing it up.

‘I guess you know the rest of the story,’ Anne Snapphane said, walking over to a bag next to the hard drives.

‘Cain lured Abel out into the wilderness and killed him?’

‘Right,’ Anne said from the depths of the bag. ‘Could you hold these tapes? Thanks. God had seen the whole thing – apparently he had some kind of spy cam – so he knew what Cain had done.’

‘How was Cain punished?’

‘He lost his job: he was no longer allowed to till the soil. He was doomed to be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.’

Anne Snapphane sank back down on her chair.

‘Are you supposed to look at every last tape?’ Annika wondered.

‘Not quite,’ Anne said. ‘But I do have to find out what segments are on each tape, sort them out and make sure that there are no technical glitches.’

The images disappeared and darkness reigned on the monitor screen for a few seconds until the machine switched off. Anne Snapphane sighed and switched tapes with the same rapid-fire precision as before, affixing a label and filing the most recent tape away.

‘God didn’t care about the results of Cain’s work,’ Annika said slowly.

‘Well, lambs are undeniably cuter than grains of wheat,’ Anne countered.

‘Cain worked his fingers to the bone, ploughing and sowing, weeding and harvesting,’ Annika said, picturing the rocky field. ‘Abel spent his days resting, chewing on a blade of grass, while the sheep got it on and had babies. And yet, baby brother’s job got the recognition. Cain couldn’t live with that.’

‘Abel came across on God’s screen, while Cain didn’t,’ Anne Snapphane murmured.

‘It’s amazing,’ Annika said once again, ‘that this stuff is so powerful. Want to go out and grab something to eat?’

Anne made a face.

‘No, but a cup of coffee might be nice. Put on a fresh pot and I’ll be right out, I just have to . . .’

Annika worked her way out of the cubbyhole and took greedy gulps of air once she got out in the hallway. She went to the lounge and turned on the coffee-maker.

The lounge was really only a glassed-in cubicle in the middle of a large room that had once housed a factory and was now the Zero Television newsroom. White-laminate kitchen cupboards lined one wall, plus a range, a fridge, a sink and a counter-top with a coffee-maker. A stale greasy smell indicated that the fan didn’t work very well.

On the other side of the glass wall there were desks, computers, telephones, and a few sofas. The desks were more crowded together than they were at
Kvällspressen
, and the women were younger and prettier. They spent most of their time persuading people to be guests on different network shows: always on the phone, convincing VIPs to sit in on their TV debates, coaxing household names to let themselves be humiliated by their trendy talk-show and game-show hosts, and flattering hip artists so that they’d plug their latest recordings on one of their shows, preferably as an exclusive.

Annika knew that one of the channel’s personalities, Sweden’s unofficial talk-show king, would only do exclusive interviews. Celebrity guests weren’t allowed to do shows with anyone but the ‘king’ all season, that was the deal, take it or leave it – if you wanted to be seen with the best, it would cost you – and here were the women who did the job, who made sure that the show would go on, who would bring on the clowns . . .

‘Thank God!’ Karin Bellhorn exclaimed as she zoomed in on the coffee-maker. ‘We really should get one of those vending machines, but the coffee’s never as good as the drip kind, is it?’

She sailed over to the counter, took out two china mugs from a cupboard and handed one to Annika.

‘Are you here to see Anne?’ the producer asked as she poured the coffee.

‘Just to grab a quick cup of coffee,’ Annika replied and looked around for some milk.

‘Reporters are calling non-stop,’ Karin Bellhorn said, looking intently at Annika. ‘Very few reporters have access to the entire menagerie of murder suspects, you know.’

Annika felt the woman’s gaze: it was burning and alien. Suddenly uncomfortable, she squirmed.

‘Would you like me to leave?’

Leaning against the counter, her arms crossed over her ample bosom, Karin Bellhorn took a sip of coffee and sighed, suddenly sagging with fatigue.

‘No,’ she said, ‘not on my account.’

Annika tried to smile and, feeling uncomfortable, searched for something to say.

‘You know what?’ the producer suddenly said. ‘You’re the kind of person that people notice.’

There was nothing ingratiating in the woman’s tone, but Annika blushed violently and looked down.

‘It’s funny,’ Karin Bellhorn continued, ‘that certain something that makes some people noticeable. A small portion of it is physical beauty, but it’s not only that. Michelle wasn’t a classic beauty, but I’ve never seen anyone pop out of the screen like her.’

Annika nodded, thinking of the tape in Anne’s office, the effect when Michelle switched on and became so vibrantly alive.

‘Is it true that everyone was envious of her?’ Annika asked.

Karin shot a surprised look at Annika.

‘Envious?’ she said. ‘Well, that would depend on how you define the word. Everyone who isn’t satisfied with what they have wants more. And that would include the publicity aspect.’

‘Why is that so attractive?’ Annika said.

Karin Bellhorn laughed.

‘That’s a funny question, coming from a newspaper reporter.’

She set her mug down on the counter. ‘I suppose you’re aware of the principles at work here?’

Annika shook her head.

‘Celebrity is power. The better known you are, the more powerful you’ll be. And you’ll rule over more space, more territory. It’s all about fighting for your territory, choosing your mate.’

Annika was taken aback.

‘Is it really that simple?’ she asked, amazed at the naïve brutality of the producer’s words.

Karin Bellhorn shrugged and attempted a smile.

‘We haven’t progressed much further than the dinosaurs, really.’

She looked down at her hands. ‘I used to host shows on TV,’ she said. ‘Did you know that?’

Annika nodded hesitantly. ‘A magazine?’

‘The first of its kind in Sweden. I belonged to the editorial staff too. Back in those days everything was supposed to be so nice and democratic, but they walked all over me every day. All my suggestions were junked while the subjects that the men wanted to cover made the cut.’

Karin smiled sadly. ‘You know the drill. Things change less than we think.’

‘Didn’t you leave the country?’

Karin Bellhorn cocked her head. ‘I married Steven, and then I got as much attention as anyone could ever desire. It wasn’t all good. I don’t think people here at home in Sweden realized what a huge star Steven was in England. The tabloids were parked under our bedroom window around the clock.’

Something in the producer’s voice piqued Annika’s interest. The words were critical, but the tone suggested a pride that was kept in check.

‘That must have been a hassle,’ Annika said.

Karin sighed, raising her eyebrows momentarily as she laughed. ‘Being as famous as we were was an unusual experience,’ she said. ‘You had to deal with all the different kinds of attention you received, even the positive kind. It was difficult to get things done when you were splashed out in the papers or in the headlines.

‘It scatters your energies. You get spread out in pieces, you become everyone’s property, you belong to everyone on that particular day. It wears you down, I don’t know how else to describe it – it’s like bits of you are chopped up and spread to the wind. It’s extremely difficult to pull yourself together and get things done.’

Annika looked around for Anne Snapphane, but didn’t see her anywhere. ‘The media were all over Michelle,’ she said. ‘That must have been awful.’

Karin pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the depths of her cardigan and squeezed it speculatively.

‘Well, you have to acknowledge the true nature of gossip and malicious rumours. They’re entertainment. What one person perceives as intolerable injustice is simply a brief escape from the daily grind for others while they’re having their hair done. You need to keep your sense of perspective, though gossip can obviously be extremely hurtful. Particularly if it’s an attack on a loved one. All famous people have that particular Achilles heel in common: family. An attack on family is devastating.’

‘Family is the most overused excuse for wriggling out of an uncomfortable situation,’ Annika countered.

‘Yes and no,’ Karin Bellhorn said, placing a cigarette between her lips. ‘Bad press will always affect the family. Some old mother or some poor child will always suffer, so there’s a modicum of truth in what you see as a tired excuse. Would you like some more coffee?’

Annika shook her head.

‘Come with me to the smoking area,’ Karin said, and forged ahead through the newsroom.

Annika followed in her wake, crossing the room to enter a cubicle that reeked of smoke and boasted a view of the half-finished Victoria Stadium.

‘Do you think they’ll finish it in time for the games?’ Annika asked, nodding in the direction of the Olympic arena.

‘Of course they will,’ Karin Bellhorn replied, taking such a deep drag on her cigarette that her airways squealed. ‘There are three years to go.’

Uncertain of the producer’s intent and of her own role, Annika didn’t comment on this. She had gone from unwanted to confidante in about eight point seven minutes. She studied the producer’s profile: the deep lines around her mouth, the nicotine-stained fingers that fingered her chin. The grey light of day gave her complexion an unnatural cast.

‘Do you enjoy your job?’ Annika asked.

Karin Bellhorn shrugged a little and kept gazing off into the distance.

‘We’re trying to do something good,’ she said. ‘We’re trying to show society from a female perspective, and that’s certainly not bad.’

‘Even if it means knuckling under to the powers that be?’ Annika wondered.

‘Well, we can be grateful for those powers, after all,’ Karin said, flicking some cigarette ash into a sand-filled tray.

‘If it weren’t for those powers there wouldn’t be any programmes directed at a young, female audience. You have to grab the attention of consumers before they reach the age of thirty; after that people don’t change their habits and preferences. When it comes to household items, women do most of the buying, that’s why commercials cater to them. And just look at public service television – they’re standard-issue to the max.’